Blackfeather Woods the friends inside of my head

Scamp was confident in his new home, his place there no matter how low it was. Ranks weren't a thing he understood, not really, he just knew who was the alpha, his MASTER, and that was all that mattered to the feral beast. With Damiens tutoring, he'd learned words, commands really, but still could not figure out how to utter them. There were few words he knew, but one of them was the name bestowed on him by his Dark Master. Scamp, Scamp Blackfeather. Why it was needed, he did not know, but it was in his eyes a title of sorts, something to be proud of. It wasn't a rank, that he knew, but the ring to it was nice.
Often was he in and out of Damiens den, but never staying long. It was more of a routinely check than anything else, and this time when he poked his shoulders in, he was greeted with the thick scent of Cicero but an empty space. He didn't know this ones title, and had only ever met him that time on the borders, but none of that mattered to the charcoal man. Cicero understood his language, or so he assumed, and he was a friend. Was he close?