Whitewater Gorge new pack on the block

"Everyone much rather thinks that," Cicero countered with a playful sparkle in his eyes when Malice admitted she rather wanted to believe that someone needed her. Cicero himself liked to believe he was needed, but he knew that ultimately, he, like all wolves, was expendable. Not that he expected Malice's wolves to rise up against her, for she seemed reasonable enough to him.

Alliances. She seemed disappointed to find out that Blackfeather looked after its own wolves. Cicero did not understand the point to alliances. They might as well start a massive pack with all the wolves in it, then. "Blackfeather Woods likes its peace. What is an alliance for, if not to start war on a third party?" he asked honestly, curious for her answer. Peace could be agreed upon without any alliances of such. Alliances suggested that packs were expected to back each other up in case of fights, war. Therefore, it in itself implied war.

The subject of Malice's wrongdoing intrigued Cicero beyond the words they exchanged. He wished to know her secrets, was curious for her soul and the stains upon it. Perhaps so that his own blackness was not so painful to carry, perhaps because there was something about secrets. Her father had shown mercy, so it was an easy guess in what relation she might've done anything poorly. "Malice's mother must have been crushed to see her leave," Cicero said with a sympathetic look upon his face. He studied Malice as he spoke, eager to find out more about her.