Blackfeather Woods and you've seen too much

His return to Blackfeather Woods was a little while ago, but Cicero had settled back in well. There were many things that yet haunted him, but all in all he felt much better. He had also fallen in place well enough as scout and spy of Blackfeather Woods, making himself useful to the pack.

Now it was time for him to pick up other trades again, too; such as his poisons. He had slowly started losing interest in healing herbs — perhaps because pain was such an integral and joyful part of Cicero's life that he cared little to eleviate it — but the poisons called for him, and he obeyed their call. He had begun experimenting more again, though often was his own guinea pig. Not that he preferred for anyone to know; they would worry needlessly. He only took small amounts and gradually upped the dose when he did experiment, and so he knew that the poisons would not kill him (in the short term, anyway). A bit more refined than when he was a pup and just ate them all. A bit more brains and calculation involved.

Yesterday he had tried out a mushroom that he did not remember seeing before (perhaps because it grew in this time of year, and this was his first true winter), and it had made him vomit greatly. This morning Cicero, after awakening from an unruly sleep, had expected to feel much better, but he did not. It took a lot of effort to get up, and his mouth felt dry and disgusting from the vomiting. With dreary steps that each vibrated pain through his body, Cicero plodded through Blackfeather Woods, on his way to a stream and hoping he would not lose his stomach contents again. It helped he had little left in there.