Blackfeather Woods Blood, gold and tears

if you have time c:

A lot had happened lately. He had seen little of his sister of late, except in passing. They had had little personal interactions; except for that one with Damien present. He wondered what his sister thought of that. His memories were hazy at best, but he had other things to occupy him. He did not look very good, though by comparison to before it mightn't show that much, considering he'd come out of the famine period so poorly.

His memories were hazy at best, but he thought maybe he should talk about that day with his sister. So he set out to find @Potema, making his way through the forest to her herb den first, figuring this was the likeliest place to find her.

Potema had finished her organizing and preparing, and dozed in the infirmary, too tired to crawl the short distance to her den. The witch was a white ball, her nose tucked underneath her tail. The only break in her snow-like pelt (which was growing thick as the weather grew colder) were flecks of plants, leaves, petals, roots. She slept, dreamless in a rare point of her life, her toes and ear twitching as she snored.

As he reached his sister's herb den, there were snoring noises coming from her den. Ragged ears perked forward as he came round the corner and found her there, toes twitching as she was fast asleep. He canted his head and observed her for a couple of minutes, simply sitting and staring. Perhaps he would allow her her rest, he reasoned, perhaps he would wait until she awoke, or perhaps he would awaken her himself if he decided his desire to speak to his sister was strong enough.

Potema snuffled in her sleep, eventuall stretching out of her ball, creating a vertical line with her body. The witch's eyes twitched, the film behind it opening slightly. Had no one been there she would have stood up, walking in a circle, and plopped back down into bed, but since her brother Cicero was standing there, quiet, she decided to wake up. Oh, Potema said with a yawn, bringing herself to her haunches. Hello Cic'. Did you need something?

She awoke, seemingly unstartled by his appearance. Cicero remained unmoving as she greeted him and asked him if there was anything he needed. "Much," he answered to that, ever the philosopher. He wondered if she still had that child lingering about; he remembered various children, but many had departed and many had arrived. He did not keep track of them all.

"Is it wrong to love one's brother so fondly?" he asked, building upon that which he knew she had seen. Potema was smart; he would know that it was more than brotherly love blossoming between them. Yet what made it so wrong? What terrible things could it bring? Cicero could think of none, and so he would hear his sister's opinion. If he could not sway Damien's mind, perhaps someone else could; and the more wolves knew and accepted it, willingly or otherwise, the less Damien had to fear.

She tried her best to straighten herself up, gently nibbling her fur to clean it as best she could. She flickered her single eye up to Cicero as he spoke. His question confused her, and her mouth opened to ask a question, only to then realize what he spoke of. Oh, was the only word that exited from her mouth. Her single eye was wide, recalling the actions and words of the intoxicated Cicero. Oh, Cic', Her voice took on a tinge of pity; Cicero's love for Damien was beyond normal bounds. It was incestuous, but Potema felt no disgust. Does Damien know? Does...he reciprocate? What did that feel like, to love someone, anyone, but not have any love in return? She doubted it, given Damien's reaction to Cicero's drunken nibbling, but she had thought he was adverse of that simply because of the drugs pulsing through Cicero's blood. That was what she thought...

There was more surprise there than he had anticipated. He was not sure if it was only surprise that he saw in her features or if there was a sort of pity, too. Was it because he would never father children, or because he would go through life without love returned? Yet when they slept together at night it did not feel like nothing. He could not deny there was a fear within him however to test it, to stretch it, to provoke Damien until he returned the affections. Last time it had driven him away for a time. Now they were older and more mature, but would it really make enough difference?

He looked away briefly, his face void of emotion for the only thoughts within him were philosophical. Even his fear was shrouded in philosophy and thought. Perhaps that was why he told Potema. Because — "He is ashamed, for he feels it is not normal and he will be condemned for it." Cicero did not care what others thought of him, his actions free of such bounds. But Damien was different. "Love is never wrong, is it? Would it be different if others knew? Would it take away Damien's shame to replace it with something better?" These were all questions no one could answer, yet from the manner that the philosopher spoke it was clear that he was toying with this idea — the thought of telling everyone that knew Damien — so that Damien may feel rid of the burden of shame. From there on, things might blossom or they might wither entirely; or they might stay the same. One never quite knew.

Cicero's mask of philosophy and reason was hard to pierce through, even by his family, those who loved him. She knew that internally this was a constantly troubling thought; why else would he speak of it, to her of all people? She felt helpless for the moment; she had no experience in relationships, romantic ones least of all. What could she say?

This isn't wrong for me; to Mephala it isn't wrong, but... Incest was a strange taboo to overcome; to most it was a natural deterrant, an abomination. Theirs was different; no corrupted children could come out of it, but the disgust was still there. She thought for a moment. She had no experience to base this on, only stories from others and even legends. They might condemn you, demand your demotion, or both of you, or maybe all three of us for allowing "such a thing" to happen. That, I think, is what Damien is afraid of most of all. If that danger is removed...if it can be removed...perhaps...

Cicero did not believe that others would condemn them for such a love. There were not even many wolves in the pack of presently, and if they would rebel against them, they would chase them out. Would they not succeed in such things then they would relocate and they would build the brotherhood somewhere else. It was, in Cicero's eyes, not as difficult as Potema and, likely, Damien were making it out to be. "We are the brotherhood," he said. He did not think Nemesis' moral compass would truly care much about such a thing, and the others, well, he did not care much for them. It was not that Cicero wanted to push through his own will: but he wanted Damien's to be free of but's and if's, and make the decision for himself, not for the sake of others.

Yet it showed what must be done. He had much to consider, and much to do. "Potema is a good sister," he said, a somewhat surprisingly soft undertone to his voice. He might not voice these things often, but apart from Damien, Potema was one of the closest things he had to attachment in this world.

I can talk to Damien about it, perhaps, She suggested, wondering how such a conversation would go. Would he be as defensive and apprehensive about it as Cicero said? Would he avoid the conversation at all costs? She looked at her present brother; was it even something he wanted? It was better than wantonly announcing it in front of the others, especially if Damien rejected the prospect of having any kind of romantic relationship with Cicero. She doubted the pack would utterly reject them, but she had no clue as to the others' feelings on the matter, especially those who had been with them for the least amount of time.

She smiled at his words, moving forward and nuzzling Cicero's cheek softly. And you're a good brother, Cic'. No matter how he truly felt about Damien, he did, at the very least, consider his feeling before all else.

The thought to have Potema talk to Damien about it was an intriguing one. Perhaps talking to someone else who accepted it without much question after the initial shock might cure him of the thought everyone would be ashamed for this and look down upon him. They would not even have to tell anyone they were brothers, if those were the requirements Damien held onto. He said: "Yes, it is a good idea. That might help." Another might be ashamed to have their sister talk about such a thing, but Cicero did not have much shame and he felt it might help.

He leaned into the nuzzle briefly and smiled as Potema returned the compliments. Cicero truly felt fortunate with his siblings, as it felt they could take the world were they all three together. He might not feel the same love for Potema that he did for Damien, but he would always be there for her, too.

She would talk to Damien, though the conversation would be strange. But, no matter how awkward it would be, she would do it. She wanted her them to be happy, not because they were a part of the Dark Council, but because they were her brothers.

Anything else? She asked as she pulled away, a small smirk on her face. She still felt a disconnect between them, but she was glad that at the very least they could talk to one another.

He shook his head to signify that there was nothing else. The time to depart was drawing near and Cicero placed one last touch of the nose on his sister's cheek before he turned away from her. He was glad for their conversation and felt no more words were needed, now. With no more than a chuff of departure Cicero turned away and started to head off, away, satisfied with their talk. Satisfied that the ball was rolling.