Blackfeather Woods Listen

@Potema maybe?

Still becoming accustomed to her new home, Emma weaved her way through the foliage and against the dark. She still had yet to meet the entirety of her superior group, and knew it was something she ought to do sooner rather than later. She relaxed for a moment and thought back to where she was before, alone, and how it was something she never wanted to be again, so it made sense to get on the good side of those who ruled these lands.

Mismatched eyes watched from the shadows, where they belonged. It was not only his unusually tinted eyes that betrayed his presence, but also the white that starkly contrasted the black of his fur. He watched as she passed a route by him, though reasoned she would likely smell his presence. He did not move, staying in place as he watched her pass to see if she was paying enough attention to notice his scent, look in his direction, and see the contrasting parts of his fur and eyes light up from the shadows.

hope i'm ok too (;

The night had become overwhelming, clouding the scenery with darkness. Emma had nothing left beside her hearing, which had been taken over by the hymns of the night, and her sense of smell. Her head tilted upward slightly as she took a whiff of the air and listened intently for any other wanderers of the eve. She chuffed out her presence as she inhaled the scent trail of another and began to speak. Hello? she called out, half expecting someone to reply, and half expecting the only audience to be her imagination.
She took a step forward and felt the crack of a twig beneath her heavy step, so she continued, taking care to keep silent. Her eyes flickered around the shadows, but they had lost their old use with her age, so despite her trying to spot the other, she couldn't see much at all. Is anyone out there?

He saw her look in his direction, but it seemed that she had not caught the lightlights of his fur and eyes of yet. She approached, with noise at first, silently later. He slipped away into the shadows, moving away, a smile upon his face as he was enjoying this game. He knew he would be caught; maybe she even saw him now that he moved, turning away and slipping through the woods. He moved silently, smaller and lighter than her; his ribs showing and face still sunken from the earlier famine. He was used to being silent, and so he moved away, taking care not to be too noisy. He did not move far, halting beneath the trees and turning his muzzle to look if she was still following, or had yet caught up.

Emma stood still with her ears perked and standing high upon her head. There were breaks in the wind, silent markers of one's movements, though she couldn't tell exactly where. Without her eyes to guide her, she was dependent on the creaking limbs of autumn to guide her. She closed her eyes for a moment, and allowed her feet to guide her. When her eyes reopened, she caught a glimpse of the other's fur.
She tilted her head inquisitively and slowly began to approach. You're not bad at lurking, huh? Unaware of who she was talking to, she kept her tone neutral and awaited a response.

It was a game between the pair of them, one that had a serene feel of its own. Cicero was a patient game master; he enjoyed good conversation, but he enjoyed games even more and could have played all day if he had wanted. Yet he decided when she spoke, after they had moved through the dark forests for some time, to come out of hiding.

He remained in place as she spoke and said, "It is easy when there is so much to lurk within." The shadows of the woods offered him protection, but now that she would be able to draw closer she would be able to see that part of his fur was white and his eyes were contrasting to add to his hard-to-disguise fur, too. Outside of the forests he needed a more social type of disguise to hide himself.

Emma immediately put her hackles to rest, seeing as her "playmate" was another of her pack. She looked in the direction of the voice before shaking her head in a realizing laugh, paired with her iconic rumble. She wasn't giving a threat by any means, but Emèlie's demeanor had simply become known for the defense. I'm getting too old to play games. I'm Emèlie, or Emma if you prefer. You are? 
She planned to meet as many of her packmates as she could before setting off on mission, and this seemed to be the best place to start.

He chuckled when she said that she was too old to play games. Cicero hoped he would never be one to say such things himself some day. So he countered; "Ah, Emèlie, one forgets that games are not a matter of age." Games provided information and, if played with the right risks, thrill. Cicero could not imagine his life without games, for many of his actions were shrouded in riddles and philosophy, both, to him, things that were a part of games — games of the mind, games of the words. In this case, however, it was a simply game of psychology.

Soon after he introduced; "Cicero." He did not need to give his rank, for he cared little for it and anyone who would be around the pack a bit longer would know that he stood beside Damien to rule.

A silent ah escaped from Emèlie's lips. It was a name she'd heard before though this was a first time she had a face to go with it. Maybe games themselves aren't, Emèlie laughed, but heart attacks? Now those are a matter of age, and when I tell you about the one you almost gave me... Emma's laugh was a thick rumble, drizzled in the hearty recollection of her more youthful period.
Now, at no point was Emèlie ever a wolf built for games or things of the like, but there was a time when she could enjoy a joke every now and then. These days were different. She'd become stoic. Cold. Numb. But so long as it benefited her in the long run, Emma would give up anything.

Cicero could appreciate the game he felt she was playing. He did not think that she had not enjoyed this — chasing him through the shadows, the thrill and danger of the chase. He enjoyed hunting — wolf or prey — for that thrill, because he knew he could get caught, he knew he might get hurt. Then, he knew it was not the same for all. They did not all share his preference for pain.

Yet heart attacks seemed over the top. Had he gauged her wrong, he wondered, to think that she had appreciated this little game they played. He offered no more than a roll of his shoulder and easily pushed the subject aside to ask: "Did Damien accept Emélie into Blackfeather Woods?" It was either his brother or Nemesis that had accepted her into the pack, though Damien seemed the more likely of the two.

Mhm, sure was. It wasn't clear in Emèlie's mind whether or not she'd even met Damien yet, but because he was an obvious superior, she added it to her list of things to do. I haven't had much time to meet my superiors, but I'm glad I finally get the chance to meet one of them. Emma gave a respectful nod and adjusted her posture as necessary.

It could only be assumed that she meant that she had been accepted by Damien into the pack. He offered a toothy grin with the feel of a grimace; he did not care much for formalities, but he understood that others wished things of him for being a leader. The only reason he had accepted was because someone should stand by Damien's side. He was brash and arrogant, and so was Nemesis. They needed reason in heated situations; although of late, Cicero had begun to doubt whether he was the right wolf for such a job. But for now, he would have to do.

"Ah, yes." He glanced around the forest and asked, "How is it so far?" The forest, its inhabitants; anything. He found her hard to feel through, as she seemed calculated so far.

It was something about Cicero that made her feel comfortable, or at least more so than Nemesis or Damien did, thus she sat back on her haunches and shook her head free of the cold. He asked if she was enjoying her stay, and she was, but only because there hadn't been a reason for her not to. It's not that she adored the Woods, but having a meal was definitely better than having nothing at all.
It's nice to be a part of the Woods. I'm a fan of not starving, and its reassuring to know that the wolves here share my interests. Law and order were the things that she spoke of, but her definition of the term included the death of those who didn't conform to it and obviously her superiors' did too.

With a grin he was quick to answer, "Not starving is good." Cicero himself had too recent experience with starving to feel assured he would make the winter were circumstances to rule against his favour. He had never been a lone wolf himself, having been born and raised within these woods, but he could relate somewhat and understood better than most privileged with his position the position of outsiders. It was a good dose of empathy, even if he lacked a lot of the sympathy to go with.

As for her other words, he canted head and asked; "Interests?" As he did not fully understand where she was coming from and ever the interested wolf in those things he did not grasp yet.

Emma laughed with Cicero's confirmation that there were worse things than not starving. But a bit of confusion rose as he inquired on the interests she spoke of. I'm a very angry woman and sometimes I like to do bad things. I like to living where I'm not judged based on my actions. Emma had a temper like none other and a thirst for blood that seemed to never be quenched. The way that I was raised, you see, I ain't have a lot of love like some other folks did. My mother tried to love me, but she was ruthless and got what she wanted. Took that trait from her, I s'pose. 
Excuse me for being so blunt, but you don't seem like the others. What she meant was that he was softer spoken, less commanding -- airy in nature. Though she wasn't a huge fan on his gentle energy, she liked the surprising factors he offered. Besides, it's not like she could change it anyway.

Cicero could not help but laugh a wry yet genuine laugh when Emélie mentioned that she wanted to live somewhere that she would not be judged by her actions. "One always gets judged based on their actions," he said, though his words were not meant unkind or correcting — merely food for thought. "Be it positively or negatively." He could see that Emélie might have a lot of qualities that Damien and Nemesis would find useful. He, himself, he did not care so much for someone's personality. He found that the wolves others found to be rash or arrogant were actually the ones that were the most predictable. Damien was a prime example of that. Most wolves were unpredictable, so wolves with such strong personalities at least gave some predictability to them.

But he was enjoying the conversation, even though Emélie seemed to think herself quite the bad wolf. It sounded like it came from a place, though; from her parents, as often seemed the case. He seemed thoughtful a moment until she said that he was not like the others. "Ah," he said, another thoughtful pause following before he added, "Cicero is indeed not like most inhabitants of the Woods. Most are not fans of philosophy and plant study. Cicero's qualities lay elsewhere." It wasn't that he was not much of a fighter — as a matter of fact, he had fought often, although his wounds were presently all healed, leaving behind only small scars that did little more than ruffle his already chaotic fur — but it was mostly that he did not look it, and often kept it far from the safe haven that the Woods provided.

"Cicero must be on his way now. Until later," he greeted and with those words he silently vanished into the darkness, as quickly as he had come.