Blackfeather Woods only a madman likes the pain

maybe @Kendra ?

Ever since the loss of so many around them, some by the actions of those among themselves, Cicero had felt a touch of affection for his little sister. It was not in the same way that he felt affection for Damien; rather, it was a fatherly sort of way, a desire to protect her and to help her in any way he could. She had so very little left in this life, and he desired truthfully to be part of this little category; if she allowed him to.

Of late he had felt the beast brewing beneath the surface again. He had been through much, nearly toppled over the edge of death during the famine, but now he was growing stronger. Yet during all the time he had spent cooped up in Damien's den he had both built up more desiring thoughts and feelings and had had little output for them. He did not want to be Sheogorath, especially not here. He feared for Damien most of all if this were to happen, feared what would happen if the beast would come and would not care for Damien's confusion or denial of the truth of their love. He could not bear the thought.

He needed the pain, for he needed an outlet. With no one around to hurt but himself — he smiled meekly thinking of Pietro's words that day, when he'd attempted to blackmail the philosopher — he turned to the herbs. Yet he had to find them first and it took him a small while to track down some. The plants had returned, but his caches were yet to be refilled.

Ragged, thin-furred ears perked forward as he laid eyes on a patch of poison ivy and without thought he pushed his sensitive nose in and ripped a piece of plant from its place so that he could feel the terrible and yet fantastic sensation running along his tongue.