Blackfeather Woods i'm never changing who i am

There was a growl when Scimitar was mentioned, and Cicero knew right away that he had hit the jackpot. It was clear that Blacktail Deer Plateau had been a personal matter unrelated to Blackfeather Woods and unrelated to any hatred Burke carried (for Cicero liked to think he would've been warned otherwise, had his mission been dangerous). Scimitar, however, was apparently a different case altogether. Cicero smirked, glad that he had brought home some good information. His wounds were momentarily forgotten, though the pain thrummed in the back of his mind. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to talk about it, it was mostly that he had more important things to talk about — this — and besides, he didn't think that anyone would ever truly be able to understand his reasonings. They would try to stop him or look down upon him when he would return home with injuries next. Perhaps they would even refuse to believe him if ever he had gotten into a serious scuffle. Neither could he explain to anyone what had happened with the white wolf, because he didn't even know himself. And if he did tell his side of things, he'd have to tell about Sheogorath, too, and he couldn't bring himself to do that.

And so Cicero easily focussed on the present, and a playful smirk danced across his face as Burke mentioned preparations to move against Scimitar and his Neverwinter Forest. "Interesting. Scimitar said he and his pack were new to the Wilds, arrived from the west." It had been a ruse, and though Cicero had thought it so at the time because of the man's curt demeanour, he enjoyed having his suspicions confirmed. "What history lies between Blackfeather Woods and this Scimitar?" asked Cicero, curious to know. The man had stiffened when Cicero had mentioned his pack (though at the time Cicero hadn't been sure if he had seen correct), so he had drawn the conclusion that perhaps there was something between their packs.