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

The quiet wolf remained silent as usually. Cicero liked that about her; she would not tell a soul what she had seen, simply because she could not. "Let us look for replacements," Cicero said, slipping up in his speech a moment (a thing he himself did not realise at the time), squinting his eyes at the stinging pain that festered through his leg. He carefully rose to his feet and started to limp in eastern direction, where he hoped to find some poison ivy. He glanced backwards to see if the quiet wolf followed; if she did, he could tell her a thing or two about poisons or spying, whichever she preferred.