Blackfeather Woods i'm never changing who i am

Cicero took another few bites of meat while Burke talked. He allowed the words to sink in and mulled them over in his mind while he tried to think of a good answer. Cicero did not see the necessity to kill, himself, truthfully. He remembered Caiaphas' stance on the Brotherhood, and wondered if it would do their reputation good to offer such missions. And at what price? Yet, he was the one who would experiment with poisons on himself and who would allow others to beat him up just so that he could feel alive — who was Cicero to judge others for their own perverted pleasures?

Yet how to include other packs in this without becoming too known... It would be tricky. Cicero had noted that too many wolves were speaking aloud the name of the Dark Brotherhood even though he himself had not once breathed that name to an outsider. "The Brotherhood needs rumours, gossip," Cicero decided eventually. "Wolves speak the name of the Dark Brotherhood aloud, where they should be afraid to but whisper its name. What the Brotherhood needs is to fill needs wolves do not even know they but have. Find wolves that have problems, share their problems — gossip — and we —" Cicero wriggled his nose in distaste at the use of the word, for both his speech and amibitions felt as though they were edging towards the dark beast, "— will fill their desires for violence against those who wronged them."

Now, if only Caiaphas hadn't thought the Brotherhood to have been the one to have wronged her. And if only he knew who the ruddy girl was and who had taken her as forcefully as he himself had been taken. Cicero would go after the white wolf himself, for as he thought of the red girl's assailant he realised with a start that he had one of his own to chase, but he knew nothing about the man but the pale glint of the moon on his white fur as he walked away and the bleuish colour to his pawpads, likely caused by the moon.

His scent, though, Cicero would remember, for it seemed to stay with him for ever, no matter how hard he had tried to make it go away. There were tidbits of information he had, and besides, the more often he would feel Sheogorath inside of him, the more vivid, perhaps, he would once more start dreaming of Sheogorath's violent endeavours and the encounter with the white wolf.

Yet Cicero blamed mostly Sheogorath — himself — for the white wolf encounter. Would it truly be fair to punish another being for his own pain?

Realising that he had been lost in thought, Cicero said, "Perhaps Inari will bring us news or gossip of such wolves, if he does return here upon the time Cicero gave him." It would be another month at least, but that meant he might have garnered lots of grapevine information they needed. "Cicero has forgotten to mention a pack in the east, at the forest on the other side of the mountain ridge. Rosings, they are called. It is a pack where couples are formed, arranged, chosen by its Alphas. A very interesting way of life. They seemed the peaceful sort." It wasn't all that interesting, but Cicero figured he should at least mention it to his Alpha.