Blackfeather Woods the friends inside of my head

Things had been quiet on his front. He still stayed in @Damien 's den, a privilege he would prefer not to give up even though he was doing better now, and he had noticed @Scamp was around a lot of the time, too. Damien had taken a liking to him, it seemed, or perhaps it was the other way around and Damien's attachments were purely for the sake of convenience. Although Cicero still looked very thin he did look a bit better than before. He had taken a couple of small scouting trips so far out of the Woods' territories and normalcy seemed to return to their lives, somewhat, bar the tension that did and likely would for some time, if not always, hang around himself and Damien. But then, that tension was also part of the normalcy in their lives. It had been like that for some time, and part of Cicero enjoyed the tension.

The weeping willow had been stripped of its leaves but its pollen had been in tact last time that Cicero had checked. With Malice, no less. As that had been a few months ago and things were in full bloom now, Cicero decided to take another look there and so he wandered through the woods' darkness at night, on his way to the willow with the poisonous spores.

Scamp was confident in his new home, his place there no matter how low it was. Ranks weren't a thing he understood, not really, he just knew who was the alpha, his MASTER, and that was all that mattered to the feral beast. With Damiens tutoring, he'd learned words, commands really, but still could not figure out how to utter them. There were few words he knew, but one of them was the name bestowed on him by his Dark Master. Scamp, Scamp Blackfeather. Why it was needed, he did not know, but it was in his eyes a title of sorts, something to be proud of. It wasn't a rank, that he knew, but the ring to it was nice.
Often was he in and out of Damiens den, but never staying long. It was more of a routinely check than anything else, and this time when he poked his shoulders in, he was greeted with the thick scent of Cicero but an empty space. He didn't know this ones title, and had only ever met him that time on the borders, but none of that mattered to the charcoal man. Cicero understood his language, or so he assumed, and he was a friend. Was he close?

Cicero was on his way through the territories, not at Damien's den presently, though he frequents there a lot. :) i'll just say they ran into each other near to Damien's den instead, with Cic' just arriving now :3

There was little he found at the tree, except that it was growing slowly. He had not come near enough to try its intoxicating perfume, deciding to return home to Damien's den instead. It was there that he noticed the wolf's presence, this Scamp, as Damien called him. He was more of a pet to most, perhaps, but Cicero recognised that he was more a guardian than anything. A being, a thing maybe even in the eyes of Damien — a tool — that he could mould to protect him, no matter what happened. He was not as big a brash fool as he sometimes seemed, Cicero thought with a smile; Damien knew he needed dumb loyalty. He'd seen what happened to Burke.

Ever the observer, Cicero noted, "Looking for Damien?" How disappointed the poor thing would be once he found out it was but Cicero that stood outside the den now.

Oops sorry! Ill fix it.

Along with the scent of Cicero close, his voice suddenly rang out behind him. His tail began to wag, and he backed out of the den to face the other man with a grin. He understood one word: Damien, and the way it was said was in question. With a dip of his head in a crude nod, Scamp wondered where his Dark Master went when he was nowhere to be found. It was usually then that he left the territory for a few hours, but today presented him with Cicero. He was unaware of the man's thoughts of him, blissfully happy to simply have a purpose.

A nod was given in response, which made Cicero think that the wolf already knew a lot more words than when he had first come. He wondered how much mental capacity the wolf truly had. Yet, whatever his purpose here was, whatever tool Damien used him as, he was also a wolf with feelings and thoughts, and a member of Blackfeather Woods.

He had given it a name, Cicero had caught on to, and so he decided to ask a more specific question to see if ‘Scamp’ would know what to do. ”Does Scamp know where Damien is?” he asked, his voice slow as he guessed that would have more odds of a positive answer.

This time, there were two words, or rather names, that the Blackfeather knew, and the rest, well, he could only assume he was asking where the Master was from his tone. It still held a question, and with his name thrown in there he must've been asking for Scamp's opinion. 
His answer was a shrug, and his eyes swept around them as if Damien would appear any moment. Hopefully, he would! Clearly, he wasn't sleeping.

A smile crinkled the corners of Cicero's emaciated face as Scamp looked around in moderate excitement as though he hoped Damien would appear. He had probably misunderstood the question, thinking Cicero was saying that Damien was coming. "Ah," he mused and he briefly closed his mismatched eyes, almost as though he was thinking of another thing to say. But instead of rephrasing his question in more understandable words, Cicero said: "Yes, Damien is great, is he not? Cicero loves Damien very much." There was something liberating about saying those things out loud to another, and Cicero wondered why he did not do so more often. What if he would? What if he'd tell everyone in the pack? Would Damien stop being so prude about their relations then? If everybody knew, then why would he need to be ashamed? He thought about this while he wondered if Scamp understood any of it at all — but it didn't matter, and truthfully, Cicero was not sure he cared whether Scamp understood or not.

Cicero didn't seem as hopeful as he, and Scamp's eyes again fell warmly on the bicolored man. He was speaking again, but the only words he knew the meaning of were his Masters name. Love? Great? Each word was stored in the back of his mind, both positive things, but the actual definition of which was unknown. One day, he would know them all! Just don't tell him about other languages. Cicero's inner thoughts were as hidden as his actual words, and Scamp could only tip his head with a questioning whine.

"Hmm," Cicero hummed to himself as he looked at Scamp's enthusiasm. He did not seem to truly register the words, but it was okay that he did not. He had still lead Cicero to new thoughts and possibilities in the future, and perhaps his innermost thoughts would prove to be as liberating as they felt when he said them out loud to Scamp.

Cicero lay down at the den's mouth then and looked at Scamp, accepting a moment of silence between them while they both waited for Damien to arrive.