Blackfeather Woods i'm coming home

The reaction he was met with nearly had the elder reeling, his own instinct driving him to remove himself from the immediate threat, assess, and then take action. In this case, the latter two steps were discarded, for he did not fear the younger male. He was taken aback, of course, as the actions seemed out of character—they didn't match the Cicero he knew—but not even for a moment did he consciously relate the patchwork boy to being anything worthy of an attack. In fact, he was sooner to assume it was his own fault he'd nearly been greeted by teeth, thinking he must have accidentally touched a sore spot. When Cicero drew back, however, he'd concluded there was more to the story. Whether or not he'd question it had yet to be decided.

The results of the mission were the less desirable sort, but even so he nodded, accepting the words. Still, he did not speak right away, working the words over instead. "I guess she will do whatever she wants," he commented eventually. "Thank you for at least trying, Cicero. Even if she refused to follow you, your effort is what matters." Kove was disappointed by the fact that he would have to wait longer to see his daughter, but he didn't hold that against the younger male. There was nothing he could have done, save for drag her to the woods kicking and screaming—an act that would have been far more displeasing than not seeing Desna.

Wrapped up in his own mind, the Inuit had just about forgotten of his pack mate's condition. Something reminded him after a minute or two had passed, however, which drew up a single question: "What happened to you out there?"