Bramblepoint Every night my dream’s the same

Cicero offered the female a smile as she good-naturedly joked back to him and remained in his spot in the shades of a tree, splotches of light dancing on his patchwork fur. His smile faded into a wry grimace as she mentioned the locusts, which he guessed was due to his emaciated appearance. ”Ah, yes,” he agreed wryly. ”It was not Cicero’s best day, either.”

At that moment a third wolf appeared, and Cicero turned his head towards the newcomer, a wolf he did not recognise. He asked if any of them knew a wolf named Lazarus. Cicero shook his head, for he had not heard of such a wolf. ”Not that Cicero knows. Where is this Lazarus from?” Cicero asked it with a curious lilt to his voice; he considered that way it would be easier to comb his memory, had he a specific place.