Blackfeather Woods When I speak your name

The good news was shared, and Cicero nodded. He had never put much stock into labels or titles, and deemed himself fine wherever he was placed, within or outside of the Dark Brotherhood; he trusted Burke enough to know that wherever he was placed was where he belonged. Cicero had little ambition, unlike the dark beast that slumbered within. For now, however, Cicero hoped that it was sated, and that it would stay away as long as possible. "That is good news," Cicero offered with a small smile on his face in response to the news — he imagined Damien had to be proud. Cicero wondered if he would see Damien before any official joining; it would be strange to be called before Burke and be officially made brothers if they did not see each other beforehand, but he would make due.

Burke then suggested he rest up, and Cicero nodded again. Cicero rose to his feet and bumped his nose briefly against Burke's shoulder in affectionate greeting. "Tell her Cicero misses her," he said then, casting the bones one last glance, before he turned away and melded back into the shadows in which he belonged. Burke had told him to rest, after all, and perhaps he was right. Perhaps resting more would make it easier; but perhaps it would only make the nightmares return.

Only time would tell, and as he lay down against a tree that he and Damien used to sleep at sometimes in the past, before things got complicated, Cicero started to drift off into an unkind dream filled with violence — a dream that, rather than Sheogorath, starred the white wolf this time.