Blackfeather Woods where it all goes down

Cicero nodded as Argent picked up beside him, though his gait seemed a little uneven and clumsy compared to Cicero's lighter one. His size perhaps didn't help, but Cicero was convinced that he, too, could learn to sneak, well, better, at least. After all, Cicero, too, held patches of white on his fur that did not help. But patches of white -- wolves of white -- in his experience when moving evenly and slowly could blend in, too.

"Try for a more even gait. It takes a lot of practise, you are doing well enough for now. When one's appearance shows, an even gait can make it so others still do not notice them as easily." And it made for running away quicker when one was spotted, too, he thought. Cicero hummed briefly as Argent asked him if this was what he did. "Part of." He did not consider himself a master spy even though it was his forte and what he did, mostly. "Though Cicero considers himself more of a philosopher." He grinned briefly again as he said it. Not many wolves understood the nimble art of philosophy. Most wolves ran on instinct and cared little for his words and thoughts.