Blackfeather Woods i am a hoarder of worlds

The display was not one he'd have ever expected to see coming from Cicero, successfully managing to catch him off guard. It was quick that he'd recovered, however, responding with a low growl and a narrowed gaze. It was not Damien before him, but his brother—a being that the albino fully believed to be of no threat, for he'd neither the same power nor drive as the shadow prince. As such, he was not someone to fear or act differently around. "I won't fix it," he'd said once more, glancing towards the kid. "I didn't choose to bring it here, I didn't say that I wanted a sibling. That thing isn't my responsibility." His ears had since fallen back against his head, a mixture of disgust and annoyance present within his features. It wasn't his fault that she'd wet herself, and so he'd do nothing to help her.

No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't perceive the patchwork wolf as a legitimate threat. The famine had reverted him into a living skeleton, more or less, and so there wasn't much that he could do. In a way, the Inuit almost pitied him, but all of that had been zapped away the second he'd opened his mouth. "It's Xan, not Alexander," he'd corrected, his name still being a touchy subject even after so long. "If you care about it so much, then you clean it." With that, he'd moved forward, fully intending to shove passed the other male. He's not been tempted enough to truly lash out with tooth and claw, but he also didn't hold back or lessen the force placed behind his shoulder.