Stavanger Bay wash away

The fact that the other wolf, though his façade remained stony, would ask him about the name of his 'friend' lead Cicero to believe that he knew more. Considering he had ran into Caiaphas too, who knew but refused to tell, it would not surprise Cicero to find their pack somewhere along the coastline in some form or other. There was a pack nearby, he had smelled it, but was now glad that he had not gone to its borders like he had with the other packs, if they were all as defensive as this one was. A name, however, was yet to be given. Of course Cicero knew no one from the pack, but he had his solutions already laid out for that problem.

"She uh..." He looked away, feigning bashfulness while he remained submissively crouched, "We had these, ehr — nicknames for each other. Mine was Flowers, 'cause she thought I was such a softie..." Cicero smiled briefly, almost beginning to believe his own web of lies and the friend of the Plateau. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling — I called her Rocky, 'cause she was agouti in fur. I know it's silly, I'd just... I hadn't visited a while and then she was gone, and I'd really like to get in touch again." He finished his words softly, almost feeling guilty in the elaborate haux that he had made up. But talking as the friendly ambassador Cicero had not given him the results that he wished for when he visited a variety of packs and spoke to a variety of wolves. Had he been Cicero of Blackfeather Woods, surely there would have been just another turning him the cold shoulder now, and so desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, this added a zing to the information game that certainly pushed Cicero's buttons in all the right ways.