Blackfeather Woods no fear but i think i'm falling

The day was drawing near. Cicero had not seen @Potema since that fateful day, for he knew that she would not wish to see whatever form of him. He did not remember and thus did not know how much she knew of Sheogorath, but he assumed it was nothing. He had never told anyone of his condition, although the itch to tell @Damien was crawling nearer every day. What would his insane brother make of it, anyway? Probably not much, and it may be a relief to tell someone; anyone. And relief was good, any form or shape, for it kept the beast away.

His paws longed to wander but his heart kept him rooted within the walls of Blackfeather Woods. He would lurk and watch some of them from the shadows but ultimately he stayed away from most. He found solace in what little poisons Sheogorath had stored up, found peace in the pain. He wondered at times if he enjoyed the pain so much because he was such a sinful creature through and through; as though he thought he deserved this somehow. Or perhaps the Gods had made him so for their own twisted pleasures and means, so that he would become so sinful, just like they desired.

Cicero had brought Damien some food, though he had been greeted by hisses and he had not had the feeling that his brother had recognised him at all. When he returned from the maze he saw the worried look upon @Relmyna's face as she greeted him. She knew that he was different. He knew that she knew. Cicero could not bring himself to face her or to ask her about her story. Perhaps because then she would know too much about his. He looked away and turned her help away, paws carrying him towards Wolfskull where he knew they had two captives. He yearned to set them free but knew he must not, for Fox had been his prisoner — Sheogorath's — but @Cassiopeia and @Cyron were someone else's. He had brought half a scrawny rabbit as he poked head round the corner to see if they were awake.

anyone welc!

She was growing tired. Not the kind that vanished given a night's rest, but the deep-seated, emotional and mental exhaustion of trying to retain her spirit in the face of the overwhelming darkness of her situation. She had accepted now that Moonspear would not care for her, so long had she been aloof and distant from her pack members. Why would any pack risk angering another for the privilege of bearing a dead weight in their ranks? 

She huddled into herself, the skeletal boy leaning against her own bony back. When the face first peered out of the darkness, she squinted her eyes and hoped it would simply vanish when she opened them. How easy it was to imagine faces in the darkness, as she had countless times before, or her mother and dead father and others beside. But when her gaze flickered open again, the face was there still, patchwork and tangible. She stood, the boy barely noticing her movements, stepping forward to face the face. "what do you want?" Her voice sounded dull and listless to her own ears, her gaze moving quickly to the food the male held, but saying nothing of it.

He saw movement there, however vague, and ragged ears perked forward in silent question. It seemed for a moment like she would fade back into sleep, that she would not awake after all, but then her eyes snapped open almost as if she tried to recall if she had really seen something. He stepped forward only then, chuffed through his full mouth. One of his ears remained forward as she asked her question while the other snapped back to listen to the dark forest's sounds.

He put half the rabbit down in front of him and nudged it closer to her. "Cicero came to bring food," he shared and he sat down. "And perhaps in exchange, you would share with him the story of how you came here?" Head tilted in question, knowing she might not be so eager to share anything with him or any of the wolves of the Woods -- Fox sure hadn't -- and Cicero waited with patience, his face void of emotion.