Wild Berry Meadow no power in the world can take away the pain until it is ready to leave

Ah, Kendra's words made Cicero wonder... What did one truly deserve? He doubted that this woman had got what she deserved. He did not know her, and so he did not know if she deserved more or less than that which she had received now. He would like to think that she deserved less, that she was a good wolf, but he doubted it. She had taken food from a young wolf, one that might have starved, for all she knew. Of course, one's brains liked to make assumptions in regards to these things. Her brains had probably thought little of it — had made her think little of it — had whispered to her that the child was likely well fed, that it had plenty of food, and that she needed it more.

Perhaps there were circumstances; perhaps she was a loner, perhaps she was starving, perhaps she was pregnant, perhaps she had pups waiting at home that would starve without this... There were always circumstances. While he saw a lot of Kendra mirrored in himself, Cicero also saw a thinking in blacks and whites, at times, that reminded him of Damien. It was not a bad quality per say, but one that could lead to frowny faces. Perhaps that was why she and Damien did not always seem to see eye to eye, he wondered. Both too afraid to lose so they push each other away, both too stubborn and arrogant to see that the other might have a point at times.

Ah, but what did he know? He took from his thoughts to look upon the battered stranger and smiled thinly. "Ah —" In almost a romantical manner, as he contemplated briefly — "It is always easier and more pleasant to live forth if one makes oneself believe that, yes." The smile was mischievous, for he enjoyed replying to rhetorical questions with philosophical questionaires. It was not even that he wanted to stand and think of the wolf's pain — he felt little to see those he loved suffer, nor himself, let alone some stranger — that he answered so cryptically. It was just how he was — who he was.