Blackfeather Woods flesh and blood

That made sense. "I love Euron and Maegs," he told the pair of them, plain as day. He didn't catch Cicero's meaning when it came to love; he loved his siblings, and in a way he supposed he loved Cicero as well. He loved Vaati and each of the pack mates he interacted with, but in a lesser way because they weren't around much. Ramsay felt that he loved everyone, but none moreso than his litter mates, and he was none the wiser to the less-than-pure meaning behind Cicero's version of love.

He listened with interest to his father's next answers, and when the patchwork wolf had concluded—even going so far as to spell out his greatest fear—the boy shared, "someone said to me they were scared. Of here. They said was scary here. But it's not scary. Not scared of here." At least, he didn't think he was. Everything in the woods felt like home, even the death and decay that marked their borders, though he didn't much like it. He'd never been faced with the possibility of losing either of his closest siblings before, so he couldn't say he was afraid of that either, though should it ever come to fruition, then he would feel fear in its purest form and know his worst fear was much the same as Cicero's, albeit not for the same reason.