Blackfeather Woods courage is knowing what not to fear

At Damien's rejection of his offer to eat, Cicero lay his head down on the den floor and left the food be for now. It was hard to process it, for his body was not used to this much at once anymore; he would rest and eat the rest later, Cicero decided. A smile danced across Cicero's sunken face when Damien admitted to something. It was always hard to tell how deep things were with Damien; if his comments were just as they were, or if there were deeper intentions behind them.

Cicero licked his lips and swallowed dryly as he looked up at Damien with his haunting mismatched eyes. There was a strangely soft quality to Damien's voice, a rare treat to his ears. "Is that so," he said thoughtfully. Cicero had not given much thought to how his death might impact those around him, truthfully. He wondered in that moment how their lives would proceed were he to stay alive. Would he ever stand beside Damien as true equal, in his rightful place? Or would Damien's heart forever continue to lie to itself in lieu of what others might think, in lieu of more... conventional choices?

It was a hard future to predict, particularly because Cicero was not the one in charge. He was not the one who could change how things would turn up; all the balls were in Damien's court.

Yet it drove him to query softly, "How does Damien think his life will be in a year's time?" For perhaps it was not a prediction — one's future was rarely as one painted it to be, Cicero knew — but it would be an interesting discussion regardless.