Blackfeather Woods When I speak your name

In truth, while Cicero loved to talk, he did not enjoy speaking of himself or his woes much, he had discovered over time. In particular since the appearance of Sheogorath in his life, Cicero preferred not to share, lest he share the wrong information. It was perhaps because of this realisation that Cicero enjoyed prying loose other wolves' secrets so much; he knew that secrets were anyone's most prized and well-kept possessions. They certainly were his, anyway.

There was no real way that he could explain what had happened to Burke. Cicero did long to speak of it with someone, but he did not long for the judgement that would certainly follow. While Cicero was not ashamed of much, did not care for public opinion, he was ashamed of what Sheogorath did to him; what he did to himself, in a way. Cicero did not know of his father's problems in similar areas, and to him, it just seemed like he was going crazy.

Silence reigned between them for some time while Cicero stared at his mother's bones as though they were going to give him the wisdom and advice he needed. Eventually his lips parted to reveal only untrue riddles. "It was nothing. Just a scrape." Cicero had never been one to lie, but truth was so deeply hidden from the surface that he could not bring himself to spill it forth. It was not his love for Damien that he was ashamed of; only his physical interaction with the white wolf.

The secret weighed heavily on his heart, and though Cicero did not think most would care (his physical relations were his own choice, after all) telling anyone would not only inflame his own shame, but it might mean that word of what had transpired would reach Damien's ears, too. Those were Cicero's biggest fears in the moment.

More silence filled the spaces between them. Advice was necessary, but admission was far from the moment they were in.