Blackfeather Woods i am—yet what I am none cares or knows;

He allowed her to lean against him, closed mismatched eyes for a brief moment. He had never longed for touching but now, now that many wolves of Blackfeather Woods had forsaken him, he found out how alone he was. No Damien to crawl up to at night; the pups by his side often because without anyone else's warmth, his own fur would cause him to be cold all the time... He let out a strained sigh and then, as soon as it had come, that short moment of intimacy with a wolf he didn't even know all that well was over.

A wry grimace painted his face as he watched her shuffle round the stone, finding that he missed Damien now more than ever and even her touch had felt nice. He longed for it back but instead watched the stone as she moved it closer to him. Cicero was not so sure what he was supposed to do with it, and his connection with the gods had never been very strong -- he preferred to do as they wished, rather than pray to them; each had their own role -- so he ended up just staring at it. It was beautiful thing, but meant little more than that to him.