Blackfeather Woods life is nothing without the pain

A smirk ran along Cicero's face as Damien asked him if he were okay, because he looked terrible. Perhaps he should've been insulted, but, truthfully, he knew that he looked awful. Cicero's appearance had always been an acquired taste, he so guessed, but since the famine he had looked unhealthily thin. His eye sockets were sunken low, his cheekbones jutting from the sides of his face, and his ribs showing so clearly that they could be counted. Even his hipbones stuck out to prove the malnutrition he had faced this summer. Cicero could only hope that there would be no more setbacks until winter so that he would be able to get his strengths back before it grew cold.

"A famine does that to one," he said with a squint of his mismatched eyes. His head was beginning to swim, and he swayed unsteadily from left to right on his paws as he looked at Damien. "How is leadership treating Damien? Is it as good as drugging someone using their own child as bait and then torturing them for a prolonged time?" He grinned as he referred back to Grimnir. There was no denying that Damien had to have enjoyed that. It felt as though they were but children at the time, so young were they then.