Blackfeather Woods i don't know if i am real without you

The quiet wolf remained typically quiet, of course, though the worry in her eyes charmed Cicero. He smiled at her and shook his head, as though telling her not to worry — he would be fine. "It's okay, Cicero is a doctor," he said with his typical dry humour. The pain only kept him further on edge, and Cicero did not worry that it might be fatal. If it were it would still be worth it, in some strange ironic way, and maybe someone could use his knowledge. He did not fear death; even a hunting trip might break a leg and prove fatal, even an outriding trip or spying trip could prove very dangerous. Why not, then, use the body that he had been given by the dark mother herself for the purpose of science? Or was that merely what he told himself it was?

"It will be fine, in time. It is interesting, though, is it not?" Cicero looked at the blistering wound, the poison ivy barely visible any longer as it melded to his wound. "It is good to remember many poisons work better applied to open wounds." Perhaps this knowledge would enlighten her and perhaps, in the light of this enlightenment, she might feel as disgusted with him as Pietro had been; or perhaps she would understand his thirst for knowledge or his thirst for pain; or maybe both.