Bearclaw Valley sundown it's time to feed it

There was definitely something intriguing about the male as he came towards Cicero. It was evident from the beginning that he was either looking to snatch the plant, or interested to meet another wolf. It was only when the first words left the lips of the stranger that Cicero knew the answer to his question. There was a reserved distance between them that he did not mind; although time had passed, Cicero had not forgotten about the white wolf. And whilst it had been Sheogorath at play in part, it had made him warier of strangers. Male ones, at least.

An amused smile tugged at the corners of Cicero's lips as he watched the male let out a sound that could only be described as a moment of inner pleasure, probably to do with thoughts running through his mind. If his thoughts regarding this plant were so positive, perhaps he was crazy — but then again, the crazy ones were often oddly so the most reliable. At least you knew that you never knew what to expect, whereas with the decent sort they could always turn round and blow up in your face.

"Something to keep the pain away," he said somewhat cryptically. The inner pain, anyway. It was better not knowing where one was or what was real, so that one might forget the woes of this world. "A tool, or a weapon. It all depends on one's intentions and dose." Cicero canted his head, his face stoic as he looked at the stranger as though trying to decipher which of these he intended to use it for.