Shy Deer Steppes the darkness was over the face of infinite space

Cicero was interested to hear all that she told him, guzzling up the information piece by piece. The way she spoke of this lord and the way she turned to the skies, to the sun, when she told Cicero of her lord, it was not hard to know that he was a god of some sort. Like Mephala. He wondered what sort of things there were to learn from her, but Cicero's belief in this lord was flawed (as was, in ways, his belief in Mephala; he wanted to believe, ever the dreamer and philosopher, but the analytic part of him wondered if there was really any gods out there, this lord or his own). He had no proof, after all, and proof was needed before throwing your life around like that.

Idly he wondered about what had happened with the white wolf and if this lord could provide any sort of salvation. He did not ask for it, however, knowing it unwise to change his life like that.

He was curious, though, and so Cicero said, a small smile twitching at his lips, "Cicero has no proof of this lord's greatness. What is in it for Cicero? His pack has his own beliefs, bonded to Cicero in ways that do not allow for simple tearing." Imagine if he came home saying he had changed to some unknown lord and saviour, leaving Mephala behind. The thought was laughable.