Blackfeather Woods and you've seen too much

Pietro was confused. Cicero said he would be alright, but everything about him looked deteriorated, pliable, and all around not alright. The already skeletal wolf had been vomiting; he could smell bile around his mouth and recognized the scent from one of the miscellaneous times his puppy stomach had been upset. Surely if anything else came up out of him, his brother would pass out or die— he didn't look like he could lose much more of himself to... poison.

The boy looked a little perturbed at the wolf's admittance. While Pietro was not unfamiliar with the word or its meaning, he had a hard time trying to understand what had possessed Cicero to ingest anything toxic in the name of discovery. Suddenly the slate child's expression went from worry to condescension. Such stupidity did not deserve sympathy, and he was now quite certain that there was something wrong with his brother, aside from the poison he had taken in. "I would've just given it to someone else to see how it worked." Even the child could rationalize this. "What if you're not gonna be alright, though? Cicero? What if you die soon? What then? What did you do this for?" He had a lot of questions, but most of them came from anger.

Now whether it was because he truly cared for Cicero or he was just trying to understand the situation, was up for debate. "You need water right? Or food?" he asked after a beat, beginning to move in the direction the weakened wolf was originally heading. "I can get my dad..." he offered as well, though this sounded very vaguely like a threat. Maybe he thought Burke would punish his mother's older son for his idiocy. Like he should be.