Blackfeather Woods only a madman likes the pain

maybe @Kendra ?

Ever since the loss of so many around them, some by the actions of those among themselves, Cicero had felt a touch of affection for his little sister. It was not in the same way that he felt affection for Damien; rather, it was a fatherly sort of way, a desire to protect her and to help her in any way he could. She had so very little left in this life, and he desired truthfully to be part of this little category; if she allowed him to.

Of late he had felt the beast brewing beneath the surface again. He had been through much, nearly toppled over the edge of death during the famine, but now he was growing stronger. Yet during all the time he had spent cooped up in Damien's den he had both built up more desiring thoughts and feelings and had had little output for them. He did not want to be Sheogorath, especially not here. He feared for Damien most of all if this were to happen, feared what would happen if the beast would come and would not care for Damien's confusion or denial of the truth of their love. He could not bear the thought.

He needed the pain, for he needed an outlet. With no one around to hurt but himself — he smiled meekly thinking of Pietro's words that day, when he'd attempted to blackmail the philosopher — he turned to the herbs. Yet he had to find them first and it took him a small while to track down some. The plants had returned, but his caches were yet to be refilled.

Ragged, thin-furred ears perked forward as he laid eyes on a patch of poison ivy and without thought he pushed his sensitive nose in and ripped a piece of plant from its place so that he could feel the terrible and yet fantastic sensation running along his tongue.

this could actually be perfect!!

The girl lived within the shadows. Her face was not often seen, she didn't feel she had much to lose anymore, and frankly it had been the truth. Her beloved brother, taken from her, her mother she never knew. Her father ran off with her other siblings, choosing them over her. What was the reality of love? Of affection? And of care? It was all pretty abstract and so were her feelings for her older siblings. Damien promised to be in her life but as she expected she had not seen him afterwards.

Her so called sister, one self absorbed thing that seemed to know her way around magic or what ever the hell that was didn't even know how to talk to her. The girl was quite done with them both. Her eyes fell on her last brother. Cicero. He had always been good to her. Though she had little faith in him too. She studied him from the bushes, seeing how he worked that poison ivy. It stung. The girl knew this. It had not been the first time her brother had hurt himself. Had he?

She had recently mauled a lone stranger to death, hence her own scrapes and wounds across her body and with a nasty bite wound on her shoulder. Potema said he took care of it. Still, she wanted others to feel her pain, to have them endure what she had to endure her whole life. She liked to watch them in pain. She tipped her head, looking rather taken by her bloodlust. She shot forward to her brother. Though with little technique of fighting and stalking, she tired to lunge herself at him like a dark shadow separating itself from the larger body of shadows. Ready to give him pain too, the pain she was feeling all the damn time. Her maw opening and ready to clamp down on the skin over his romp, something that had been the closest to her, and maybe not to most logical place. But how would a girl without training know this?

Perhaps if he had noticed her sooner, the shadow -- one that reminded him of himself, in ways, always searching for answers and the meaning of life -- then he would have offered her to do exactly what she did then. Like he had offered Burke, an offer that had been swiftly rejected. An ear flicked back but through the stinging sensation along his muzzle and mouth he did not react timely. Cicero did not instantly react, allowing Kendra to sink her teeth into his chest. He was not sure what she wanted; yet in his experience, pain was only all the more satisfactory when you worked hard for it. Better than when it came easy.

The biggest question in his mind was why him, why now -- but then something clicked, something changed, and teeth were bared to match her own.

His tongue was littered with ugly blisters as it was revealed through his snarl and teeth sought purchase along the top of her head or, if he could reach it, her nape. He did not aim to maim her, but he would draw blood if he could get a good enough grip; that was why he had chosen those locations. He did not aim to maim, but simply to blow off some steam. He hoped that it worked for both of them that way; and most of all, he hoped that it would not mean the parting of their ways when all was said and done, but rather an intensifying of the fragile trust between them.

The girl's teeth found purchase on Cicero. Her jaws clamping down and her pale eyes closing in victory as her head started to move from left to right, trying to stretch and rip the skin. She was in a haze. He had to hurt. Feel her pain. He should know this. She wanted to give him more pain, bite harder, rip more. She wanted to smell and taste the blood, hear the whimpers and pleading.

Yet, it was her own yelp that came first. Surprised by the counter attack. Her eyes were closed after all, how foolish she now realized. Though it was mostly the loose skin the male grabbed, and she was startled from her frenzy. Her grip becoming less on the male's skin. She realized her defense was poorly and if she wanted to maim others she would need to defend herself. The scent of blood filled the air, unsure if it was her own or if it was her brother's. She endured enough pain. She wanted to inflict it on others. Make her like her. Broken and alone. She was no one. She placed her paw against his shoulder to get him off, trying to drag it down to get freed. Or maybe, maybe she didn't want to be freed. Maybe this way she could inflict more pain. The inexperience made her bite try and bite down on his right front leg if her neck would be able to stretch far enough.

When he hit home, Cicero heard her yelp and it made him inclined to stop. He cared deeply for her, perhaps because in her inability to deal with her pain he saw reflected some of his own inability to deal with the pain that the white wolf had caused him. After the act he had manipulated and hurt himself and others, to gain back some control over his life, to feel something, anything, power, alive... Was this the same, in some way?

At first it looked like she were trying to free herself by pressing a paw to his shoulder, but he held on to her nape firmly, feeling blood run through his mouth as well as from his chest. The taste did little to make him feel good, for this was an individual he did not truly wish to hurt.

She grabbed the top of his leg, then, and he let go of her nape, realising it did him little good to fight her. This was not stopping the beast, for it was not any way to let go of anything; not unless he knew for sure if Kendra liked the pain as much as he. He allowed himself to roll onto his back and looked up at Kendra, searching her eyes with his mismatched ones, looking for any form of emotion that would tell him the answers to his questions.

The girl realized that the grab on the nape of her neck was getting less firm while she held on to the male's upper leg. Eventually the male even flopped down, her grip on his leg loosening and eventually letting go. Her panting filled the air, her pale eyes blinded and distant. Why did he stop? Why was he giving up? Her gaze looked troubled, the girl was mentally not okay.

She was ready to attack him again, make him fight her back. The pain he inflicted burned and throbbed. It reminded that she was still very much real, not just a shadow in these woods. No one cared. No one came to check up on her after that one message her father left. The girl didn't even expect them to. Her older siblings were going to leave her too. They didn't care she was certain of it. She was swallowed by all the thoughts surrounding her head, wanting to attack every walking thing to deal with her anger and misfortune.

There was a moment of pregnant pause between the pair of them in which Kendra seemed confused and conflicted by his actions. He remained on the floor, in silent surrender, a thing she seemed to sense. Her face betrayed that she wished to continue the fight, to shred him apart, but he could not before he knew her motives for engaging in it. He would let her blow off steam, but did she wish only to hurt something, someone, or was it aimed at him? And did this truly help her? The pain was still vivid in her every move, in her very face, so he could not imagine that this was helping much so far, not in the way that she wished it to.

"Kendra can hurt Cicero as much as she likes, if it helps," he said; an offer that he had made before, although never with as heavy implications hidden between the lines as now. "But Kendra needs to think if it will help, if it will make her feel better. If it is worth it. Kendra — you — need to know that Cicero will always be there, he will not leave by free will. Only death could rob him away." And he rolled to expose his stomach further, turning his head to expose his throat if she wished it so. His mismatched eyes sought her face, for he knew his words could be as volatile and painful as the acidic herbs he would use upon himself. And if she sought to end his life, then at least he wanted her to look into his eyes and see, in some way, the glimmer of affection that he carried for her.

He was not even sure why he was doing this, but perhaps he hoped that offering her such a ridiculous thing as — between the lines — taking his life, she would see how much he cared for her, that he would give his life for her. Or perhaps he truly was a madman who had made amends that his life would end at some point, and it may as well be by the teeth of one who had gone as mad as he.

The girl was somewhat surprised about Cicero's words that she was allowed to hurt him. The somewhat part was only because she knew he liked poisons on himself, so her attacking him was partly to test if he really liked the pain. Her pale eyes looked at him. She just attacked him, but did she like attacking him? She just wanted others to feel her pain and despair.

He called her Kendra, but she was not sure if she still wanted to be called that. Her purple tipped tail flickered in agitation. Though the words that she might kill him, could kill him was something that did something to her. It made her feel a bit of dislike for it. She might not have trust that her older siblings would stay around yet she did not want to kill him. She just wanted others to feel her pain, it was not her fault they died because of it.

She flattened her ears more as she looked at her so called brother with a steely gaze. Her conflicting thoughts vanishing a bit more behind her steely gaze. She didn't know if she had answers to his questions. "I just want everyone else to feel my hurt," she commented, and she felt like she could only express that my making them feel actual pain.

When the tension fell somewhat, Cicero rolled onto his stomach. The wounds on his chest smarted somewhat, but he enjoyed the pain in a way. He would have enjoyed it more had he known that it truly helped Kendra too, though. She said that she wanted everyone else to feel her pain, but no one ever could. Pain was such a unique thing... Yet he understood her feeling, remembered his own violent streak when he had gone through his things.

"Ah, hurting others is what one wants... But is it what one needs?" Often these two were conflicting and he could only conclude the answer was no, because if it was a yes then she would have done it -- killed him, hurt him. "When Cicero was... When he was forced upon by another, he wanted to fix things by hurting others, for some time. But it brings only a temporary relief. It will never bring happiness." He had never told anyone about what had happened that day with the white wolf and he had not thought he ever would, but here it was. He doubted she would care for his story and was not sure it'd help her in any way, but somehow, it still felt really good to have it out there. "Pain is a temporary though good relief, too, yet only when it would help the other in some way... That is how it works for Cicero, anyway." It had always been like that for him. He'd enjoyed pain from a young age. Yet in time it had also become a way to control and suppress the beast.

The girl wasn't sure if the inflicting pain of others worked. Until now it had brought only temporality relief. Though, she also admitted to herself that she didn't really care for the wolf she had maimed before. She was rather indifferent to what she had been feeling towards hurting this wolf. For a long moment it felt good, until he died, then all the fun had been gone. He couldn't feel the same pain as she was feeling anymore.

She listened to Cicero, and in a way he was right. She didn't think too much why he was angry. His words about how brief the relief was, had been true for her. But she had only hurt one other wolf. She hoped that if she hurt more wolves that it would go stronger and made her able to digest all that happened. Maybe Cicero was not right. Maybe it was different for her, yet she did stop hurting him. This was all very confusing to her.

The girl looked at her brother, into his eyes. "My life doesn't contain happiness," she spoke on a monotone like voice.

When she caught his gaze, he looked back, hard and deep, not blinking once as she told him that she had no happiness. Her life had not been easy, he knew, yet such a powerful string of words still hurt coming from a girl so young, who had so much left in front of her if she willed it so.

A part of him felt humbled by her desire for inflicting pain, drawn to it, even; a part of him wanted to find both of their boundaries, see how much pain he could take, how much pain age could inflict. Yet he doubted it wise for her mental health.

Instead of laying such strange offers upon the table however, Cicero instead said, "What does it contain, then? Is there anything but the pain?" He did not care if she knew he would be there for her; he wasn't asking her in expectation to hear his own name mentioned, for he knew that such silly expectations would only lead to disappointment. He was not even sure what the expected... in truth, he only knew what he feared -- for the answer to his question to be 'yes', even if he doubted one ever felt truly only one emotion at once; but even so the fact that she was feeling it still was meaningful in some way.

The girl kept her steely gaze towards her brother. However she did plant her butt down against the ground instead of standing before him like she had done before. Cicero asked a valid question. The girl did not need to think long. Pain was the most prominent, but there was also anger and confusion. A misunderstanding. A sprinkle of hope that her father hadn't left them on purpose. "Yes. In a way. Most emotions become pain, my body aches. My heart the most. It sometimes turns to anger. Everyone leaves me Cicero. My mother never cared for me because she was dead after my birth. My damn brother had to die because I was not paying attention to my surroundings. Then on top of that my father abandoned me and I don't even why! He was always in that den with Malice and I don't even understand why he left? Why was he a traitor," she seemed to break now and tears started to well into her eyes.

"How? He always lead them, he was always too busy to spend too much time with me because he needed to patrol the borders. He tried to be there for me too, but the pack was number one. Always. How can they call him a traitor? What did he do? I never even get to see my little brothers. I liked Malice. I thought that she might want to be my mother or something. But-- She left. They all did. I was not important?! Why? WHY CICERO WHY?!," she grew angry now. It was not even that she wanted to tell Cicero but it seemed that a dam had been broken and that all she had been thinking was flooding out now.

Her words struck a chord with him, particularly because he had wished for things to be different, for Burke and Malice to not be gone. It seemed he had found a kindred spirit in his like for Malice, that she did not wish it so, either. The fact that she wished for Malice to have become her mother was particularly heart-wrenching, perhaps the most of all the things she had said. He smiled sadly at her. He was not sure explaining would eleviate her grief; he knew the reasons behind all of this happening, but it did not make the pain easier to carry for him.

Damien was a selfish little shit, even if Cicero loved him; both his siblings were ambitious. They thought they deserved privileges because of their heritage. Burke had been in their way, and Malice had been the straw that broke the camel's back for them. An excuse, a scapegoat to get what they wanted, in a way, although Cicero thought that that was something subconscious, and not an opinion they shared on the surface. The worst part was that none of them knew or understood how their actions influenced others; either that, or they simply did not care.

"The deeper pain carves into us, the more love we can contain," he murmured, something he had once heard, something that he thought of when he saw Kendra. She was hurting now, but it would get better eventually, if she survived this phase of heartbreak and pain. If she would get through it, one day she would be able to appreciate the good things in her life doubly knowing how terrible things were once.

But now was far from that moment, and only time would tell if his philosophies would turn out true. He did not doubt his words did little for her now.

"Life is not often fair, is what Cicero had learned," he answered, more to the point this time. "One can dwindle and wallow in it, or one can pick up the pieces and try to figure out what is best for them with what pieces they are given, however misshapen those pieces may be." Kendra was still in the process of picking one of these options, he felt. "All of us are just here to try and survive. Had Cicero known, he would have stopped this, but it was too late when he found out. So now, all Cicero can do is pick up the pieces and move on." He looked at Kendra, his face stoic, though there was a sorrowful glint to his mismatched eyes. He showed no reaction to her tears otherwise, even though he felt torn apart inside. Yet somehow — perhaps because of his taste for the pain — his own pain never seemed to matter in equal matters to those of others and so it was easier to ignore, for it was beside the point here, today, now.

The girl looked at the man that was her older brother. She couldn't deny that he was wise for what he had encountered. The young female was still frowning though. Unsure of what pieces she was able to pick up. She felt there weren't any. "Maybe I should leave," she spoke. "There is nothing for me here," she stated. Maybe she would find her father. Yet, there was this one big problem. She didn't know how to hunt. She never had a liking for it, and often ate with the pack of from its caches.

Before she could even head out on her own she would need to know the basics. She let out a low grunt. She was stuck here with these wolves and only because of her own fault. "I wish you had stopped it. I don't understand how my father left in the first place. He loved it here. I know Damien took over but I didn't think that would make him leave too. And they had young babies?! I don't understand. There is nothing left for me here, Cicero. These woods are cursed! Mephala is not our friend," she stated, trying to blame her problems on some god instead of facing them herself. She rather wanted to run away instead of facing her problems. Maybe she did want to be okay in the end. However, she had no clue of doing that, not here in these dark woods.

It hurt his heart to hear her thoughts of leaving. "Ah, to leave the forest..." he mused with a thoughtful frown. "But to go where?" He looked at Kendra, hoping to catch a glimpse on her face that betrayed whether she even knew where to go. She probably just wanted to leave, hoping that would leave the pain behind. Perhaps it would. Had his altercation with the white wolf been here, perhaps he would have felt the same.

Cicero often wished he had stopped it, but he knew that he had been unable to in the state he had been in at the time. He had needed time to prepare such a thing, so that he could have used his cunning. But it had all been planned above his head, and he had found out only the day it happened, when he had still been weak and unable to do much. Otherwise things could've been different; he could've told Burke and they could've deviced a plan. Hopefully one that would have kept all wolves in the pack — at the very least Damien. Cicero thought of a scenario where Burke would've kicked them all out on their asses, and where Cicero would've been able to keep Damien as a pet, locked away in the very same dungeons they once used to hurt Grimnir... The thought was enthralling, but he quickly pushed it from his mind to focus once more on Kendra's words.

"Potema intended to take the children," he explained. "They had little choice but to run. Cicero misses them dearly, but he feels that it is better that they are now elsewhere, safe." He hoped they were, anyway.

He closed his mismatched eyes briefly before he reopened them, remembering his own conflicting feelings when he was younger. "When Cicero was young, he used to think the forest was not for him, perhaps. That he were to be happier in a place that was lighter. Yet as he spent time in such lighter places, and as time came along, Cicero came to understand that he is a dark creature, capable of terrible things and with a mark of pain and violence in his being much alike that of the Brotherhood. His heart may wish for a different place to live, but his soul is foul and murky, like the swamps of his home. That is why he lives here still, despite wishing to leave often, and over time he has come to accept this darkness is a part of his life, and therefore Blackfeather Woods is a part of his life." He saw in Kendra the same darkness, and the same desire to leave. Perhaps she would better understand why she belonged in Blackfeather Woods, even if she did not believe in Mephala. Truthfully, he was not so sure he did, and if Mephala did exist, then she was probably eager to hurt her subjects.

The girl casted her eyes away from the mismatched eyes. She was not sure where she would go. Follow her father? Find a new life to live. She wouldn't know. But she couldn't survive on her own so she was stuck here. She just shrugged lightly. Maybe if her father was so happy then she could join his happy life. But in a way, she could feel that Cicero was right. She remembered how that mega deer reacted to her wanting to hurt others. She was dark, she had a darkness. Maybe other packs wouldn't accept that of her. She would have to hide her true self. Could she be true here within the darkness?

The information about Potema was new to her. She frowned with the idea of it. Potema wanted to take those children? Why? Burke would never allow that. Was that why they were running? To protect her younger brothers? To protect them from her wicked ways? Her magic and weird chanting? The girl left disgusted if her sister had made them leave. She knew it. The girl knew that her older siblings would do something so dark. Yet, she just realized she was dark too. Was she just as dark as them? Perhaps so. And if she was so dark as them was she even allowed to be mad at Potema? "I miss them too," she then admitted very quietly. Her father would have known what to do...

The girl moved her pale eyes back towards her bother's face. "Do you think I belong here?," she asked her brother. "What pieces should I pick up if there aren't any pieces left?," she questioned. After all she didn't feel she had a connection with anyone. Perhaps Cicero. He showed that he could open up and spark a discussion within her. Maybe she could trust Cicero, but she lacked trust in Damien, Potema and all the others of her pack. Frankly she didn't even want Xan close anymore. He had not even been looking for her, he clearly didn't care for her. "Even plants don't make me happy anymore," she admitted to the other. They brought her so much joy, yet all that joy had vanished the moment she needed to mourn another loss.

Cicero did think that Kendra belonged within the confines of Blackfeather Woods. She had shown a desire to hurt others much akin to his desire to experience pain as well as the beast that lurked inside of him. He had once felt stuck here, felt like he should leave but had no other place to go, for this was the only place he could be himself, would not get hunted down for being who he was. Yet in time he had come to accept and love the dark forest, had come to realise it had things to offer and it had become a prison he was very willing to stay within. A golden cage.

Ah, he did wish Burke was still here, if not only because he was a better man than Damien was. Damien was volatile, vain and lusting for power. Burke had always wished to do well by the forest, even if he had made mistakes. But then, all wolves made mistakes. It's just that they cost some wolves more than others.

He nodded in silent answer to her question. She was as dark as he; light spots upon her darkened soul, but not so light that it was safe to walk in the sun. It was safer to stay in the shadows. "Kendra's fate is intertwined with that of the forest." He believed this to be as true as his own fate belonging to the forest. And the fact that Kendra was in the same position as he had once been made him feel all the more protective of her.

Her next two admissions were heart-wrenching. His expression fell, stoic facade breaking up briefly to show the sorrow that clenched his heart for a moment. "Perhaps others can help one find new pieces," he offered. The blood still dripped down his chest and he found himself enjoying the sensation and desiring for more. Yet however much he wanted to ask her if she wished to further test his boundaries, to find a safe environment for her to hurt others — him — he knew that he could not right now, for he was unsure it'd actually make her feel better. For now, perhaps administering plants to animals was a safer bet, if she wished for anything to do.

After all, doing things with plants was always more fun when in good company.

The girl disliked to hear that the male thought she belonged here. She could make it her finding piece to prove that she didn't belong here. Though, somehow that felt like a lot of effort. She still needed to bourn the loss of what happened, still needed to process it all. Maybe she needed to get to terms with what she lost, all she lost, not just her father, before she could continue to live her life, as broken as it was.

"Do you think father left me on purpose? Answer honestly," she questioned him, Cicero would give an honest answer. He missed her father too, he said so. Perhaps Cicero was her only friend in this pack. The others all seemed to hate her father. She wanted to know that answer because if he hadn't left her on purpose but because of other reason she might be able to accept the fact that he left her. She might believe in a better world where her father needed to be happy. Maybe then she could find happiness too.

"I don't care about the others," she huffed. "They are all fake. Only care about themselves, and who can even blame them?," she let out bitterly.

It was not hard to truthfully answer Kendra's next question, for he could not believe Burke would leave his daughter had he a choice. He must have felt that there was no time or opportunity to retrieve her before leaving. Yet, perhaps he had also thought it better for her to grow up here. Considering how angry he had been in the days before their departure, however, Cicero was doubtful of that.

He aswered, "Burke would have asked Kendra to come if he had seen the opportunity." He spoke the words as if they were truth, even though he did not know the full truth of the matter, for he could not see into Burke's mind. But it was as close to the truth as he could get, and that was what she had asked him for. What he thought.

A careful smile tugged at Cicero's lips at Kendra's next words, only because they hit the mark so well. She was such a smart girl. Cicero knew his siblings were selfish prissy brats. He loved them despite it, but he could see how others may not see them that way. "They are selfish, yes." In a way, all wolves were selfish, for survival was the first thing on anyone's list, but some more than others. Damien's ambition was both admirable and frightening at times. "Cicero knows that Damien is a selfish asshole lusting for power, but there is a deep love in his heart for his brother nonetheless. It is strange how these things work... It is sort of like how Cicero would have loved Kendra, even if she had decided to kill him. But in a different way." Damien's love was different from Kendra's, of course — but what he meant to say was that sometimes wolves did the worst things and yet your heart still felt love for those wolves, simply because you could not not love them.

"The rest of the world is not much better, Cicero fears. That is not to say Kendra must love these selfish fakes as well. That is a choice only the heart can make." Cicero smiled sadly at her, for he felt for her and the pain she was going through; and that she needed to deal with it alongside such selfish individuals. Yet the rest of the world was no better, he felt.

The girl's heart instantly went out to her father. What had they done to him to make him leave? Or had they kicked him out? No-- He was a traitor, so he left. What they had done to her father or said was unknown to her. "What did they say to him? What happened? I thought father was busy with his newborns, that was why he was in that den with Malice. Was that it?," she had so many questions. She wanted to know the truth.

The girl looked a bit surprised when Cicero did call them selfish and fake. She had not expected that from him but it was nice to know that she wasn't alone. She listened to his words, but she was not sure if she could ever love them. She wasn't sure if she could ever make herself care about anyone else but herself. In a way she was selfish too. She didn't want anyone close so she could lose them again. It was a troubling thought.

"My heart is not in this pack at the moment," she admitted and looked into his mismatched eyes. Cicero would understand. However the girl didn't know how she would be getting her heart back for this pack. She felt empty now her anger and sadness had been taken away through talking. She could only compare herself with an empty shell.

"They said that he was a threat to the pack for impregnating a wolf from outside of Blackfeather Woods and bringing her here." He did not mention the breech of the tennets, for they meant relatively little to him. The faith had never been his prime thing, even though he filled in a lot of the things Mephala stood for without trying. But he did not feel that information'd be of any use to Kendra, especially because it had been used as an excuse to grab for power and kick Burke out themselves.

Cicero smiled sadly when Kendra said that her heart was not in the pack. He knew the feeling, and he understood, but he had little words of consolation to offer. It wasn't like he had a button that he could press that'd make everything better, that'd make her care for the pack once more. He eventually said: "Cicero can teach Kendra about pain, if she brings him a deserving victim." Or they could find one together, he added silently, but the smile he offered her said as much. He hoped she would pick up on the context of that, but that at least him offering to teach her something she held interest in was a bridge throw towards her, a distance breached.

She frowned at his words, because she was not entirely sure if Malice was ever a thread. She had seen her father finally smile and be more relaxed but apparently that was not allowed as a leader of this pack. The girl slowly started to nod. In a way it would make sense that he would leave after being kicked down the pack ranks, though she still couldn't understand how he would leave her behind or not come to her.

The girl had much to think about and she was certain that this was not going to go away easily. The young female turned her attention back to Cicero when he offered her a new type of class, torture, inflicting pain. She instantly nodded. "I want to," she agreed, because now they only seem to die before they got to experience the real pain, which wasn't what she wanted.

Noticing her frown, he tacked on, "Cicero thinks it was an excuse to grip for power from Nemesis, too." Figuring that that was what Kendra was thinking about. He specifically did not trust Nemesis farther than he could throw her — which, especially in her current state, wasn't very far — which in part came from his protectiveness over Damien, in a way. He'd never felt physically protective of Damien, but he felt that she had set up Damien to be the scapegoat, that she thought him a puppet she could easily control.

He smiled as she said that she wanted to learn. Cicero was not so sure it was good things he was going to teach her, but he did not care much. He knew a lot — for a big part from experiencing the pain he had administered to himself — and he could teach her how to give it to others.

Then the philosopher rose from his position. The wound along his chest stung as he came into motion and he squinted his mismatched eyes briefly. Then he nosed along the side of Kendra's forehead and he promised: "Cicero will be there for Kendra." He waited to see if she had anything more she wished to say to him, or if she wished for him to stay. His stance indicated he intended to depart soon, unless she willed it otherwise.

Kendra let out a stiff nod. They all seemed to want power, which is something she wanted to least, at least now. Maybe when she was older she wanted that power too. Now she felt like she was more like her older brother. Pietro had been obsessed with power too. She let out a long sigh. "Power seems to make wolves do things that are very out of character," the girl spoke to her brother.

She nuzzled him back briefly and then nodded in reply once more. "I guess you will then," she spoke with a light shrug, not entirely convinced, however she did remember that Cicero promised to be there more for her and he had been. So in that aspect he could be trusted. Yet, the girl had been so hurt that she couldn't fully trust him yet. Maybe that would come now, as he proved himself that he was there for her. She was interested in the techniques he was going to learn. "I am also not a toxicologist yet," she commented, as a hint she wanted to learn more about that.

Her wariness only made him smile lightly; it was good to be wary, really. In a way, the prospect departure of others made it easier to deal with loss, for one had expected it, but at the same time, trust was an issue too. Ironically, Cicero trusted the more selfish wolves in his life the most, because they were predictable. Damien would always choose for his own gain, as would Potema, if the choice came to that. They were predictable, even if the outcome was not very pretty. Burke had been a much better man, but that made him less predictable.

When she mentioned plants his smile wound up a bit more. She had said she could not find joy even in plants now, but her words indicated she wished to learn about plants now. That was another good sign. He nodded and shared, "It should be easy to combine with finding a victim first." Perhaps asking her to bring him one was a bit much to ask — perhaps they should find one together, and feed it a poisoned piece of meat to combine the lessons.