Blackfeather Woods You were both born to be kings

He should have seen it coming, this. Cicero had remained in Damien's den for a while, had gathered little amounts of his strength back. It was with painstaking slowness that he dragged his skeletal body through the Woods because he knew something was amiss. And when he saw the pitchforks and torches outside of the birthing den, he knew something was amiss.

This was perhaps the natural flow of things. The strong survived, in most cases; but in truth, the strong were often the popular. To see his brother rise above Burke in the game of popularity was a mixed feeling. It felt as if it should have been Burke's to give, this position, this honour, as if Burke should have guided Damien to his full potential.

Cicero moved to Damien's side and nosed it. He looked at his brother and said, "There is no use or benefit in murdering the innocent without giving them a chance. Will Damien let them live and flee if they surrender the throne to its rightful owners?" There was no mistake in his words when he spoke the word -- he would stand beside Damien if this were to take place. Not because he was thirsty for power, but because he knew that Damien would need a conscience to guide his steps.

Malice had swiftly grown into someone Cicero enjoyed spending time with. He had been so blind not to see that others did not share his sentiment. Yet how could he steer away from tragedy now? Blood was thick in the air and Burke could not take on the rest of the pack by himself. Burke had never liked Kove and so his choice was an easy one. Even his own Beta did behind Damien. And Cicero, well...

He liked Malice, he respected Burke -- but he loved Damien.