Greatwater Lake shards in the water

It was not hard to catch up to Cicero, for he was slowed down by the strain of his wounds. In a way he derived some sort of sick pleasure from it, the pain that tore through his body every step that he took upon his right leg. Others would call it sick, anyway. Cicero did not care much, savoured the feeling, for it made him feel alive. He wondered if she would find him, the ruddy girl, if she would want to fight him again or if she would be ready to talk. His hopes were not too high, but a part of Cicero hoped that she would so that they could help each other.

Mismatched eyes shifted towards Malice as she closed the gap between them, guarded at first, for the nightfall made him so, but relaxing as soon as he realised who was beside him. He did not fear Malice. She was amicable — worried, almost — as she looked upon him and he forced a narrow smile to his face that betrayed his weariness but also that he was glad to see her again.

"Indeed," Cicero agreed, although what with a lake separating their packs, it was no real miracle that they would run into one another eventually; if they wanted to. "How did meeting Burke go?" Cicero asked, curious for her efforts as well as Burke's. In Cicero's eyes, Burke was not an unreasonable wolf. He could be harsh, but he was also compassionate oftentimes.