Black Morass frostbite

Other wolves were a tricky thing these days; Cicero was wary that they might mean harm, but at the same time he needed them to see if anyone had seen the wolf he was looking for. The voice caught him off-guard as he had not expected to find any other wolves in this dreary place. Cicero's head erected and hackles pricked, and he glanced back at Ramsay to indicate him to stand still for a moment.

"Hello," called Cicero and he followed the origin of the voice on limping cold feet, his body relaxing into a more neutral stance for he knew it to be the biggest odds for survival (if it came to a fight, he knew that he would not live regardless, but maybe he could at least help the boy get away). "Do you live somewhere here?" He had never been this far west so Cicero knew very little of these lands. The ridge that held the Moonspear was the farthest he had been that he remembered, perhaps only slightly over it but never this far. If there was a wolf who lived nearby then maybe they'd seen Burke pass at some point, or knew where he lived. It was a long shot, but worth a try.