Blackfeather Woods life is nothing without the pain

Potema was quick to confirm Cicero's words. Damien had the same desperation in his eyes, worry — fear, even — but Cicero felt nothing as he looked at it. He loved Damien dearly, but that did not mean that he cared for Damien's sorrows. How could he, if he did not even care for his own? He was not so sure whether that made him more broken or more fixed than any of the other wolves he met, to feel so little, even despite carrying a moral compass of some sort around, one at times bigger than that of his siblings.

"Science, brother — Experiments," Cicero said to Damien, looking his brother in the eye as he felt no shame to admit such things. "What effects do herbs have, how much can the body of a wolf take? These are all questions that can not be answered so sufficiently as by oneself." Even feeding another the poisons would not be sufficient. One never knew how another felt, truly, not even if they were to tell one in the most elaborate of ways.