Blackfeather Woods step or stone, breath or bone

@Cicero B)

His chosen path home was a far more pleasant one.  Though the way was far longer, it allowed him to see the sights and protected him from the biting winds of the sea.  The weather improved, no longer bearing down on him, though he would have appreciated the change prior to his arrival at his destination.  But alas, it was only as he turned his sights towards home that he was granted fairer weather to ease his way.

The journey took him far to the south, passing beneath the shadows of a sharp mountain range.  Its jagged teeth cut into the grey skies.  Nonsensically, Aesop feared that the rough tips will cut into the sheet of clouds, ripping them open and dumping yet more rain upon him.

Aesop came upon a vaguely familiar scent border at the edge of a forest.  He wrinkled his nose at the smell and the memory of the intruder and his docked tail.  The pink lines of his healing wounds ached sympathetically, remembering the fight.  Aesop doubled his speed, hoping to pass through the neutral lands before the border unnoticed.

Cicero had only visited the borders a few times before, and it was always with someone; with Burke when he'd been taken on a spy mission towards The Sunspire, and with Meldresi when Kove had howled to say good-bye. This was the first time that he had come to Blackfeather's borders alone. Cicero was growing rapidly, now a little over three months of age, but he did not leave Blackfeather's territory alone yet, for his mother forbade it and she was one of few wolves that Cicero attached value and respect to.


The patchwork pup did not do much more than shuffle along the borders in the safe shadows of Blackfeather's woods, until the scent of another wolf approached him on the wind. Cicero kept to the shadows, allowing the wolf to draw nearer, before he stepped out of the shades. There was a wide smile on Cicero's face -- perhaps a little too wide to seem amicable -- while he giggled under his breath. "What does funny brown wolf does on Cicero's borders?" the child asked, the wide grin on his face all the while. He had only ever seen white, black and grey wolves, but never yet brown ones (whereas he was used to scars, so the wounds did not bother him in any way), so he watched the wolf with curiosity, from the corners of his eyes, while he turned his head to the ground and whispered to himself, under his breath, "All Cicero's trees."

thanks for starting :D

It was my pleasure!

So absorbed in his efforts to get past the forest was he that Aesop did not even notice that he had company until the puppy spoke.  The youthful voice came seemingly from thin air, causing Aesop to start and curse under his breath.  He was jumpy, having hoped that he would be able to skirt the territory undetected.  It was not meant to be, though, so Aesop sighed and turned to face the child.

He was skinny, the thin lines of his ribs clear through his mottled fur.  Most noticeable were his eyes, mismatched orange and silver.  Together with his patchwork of white and black fur, he gave the impression of a wolf composed of leftover parts, extra pieces patched together so as not to waste them.  Aesop opened his mouth to reply, then shut it as the child dropped his gaze and muttered to himself.

Rather than stop and converse, he decided to keep walking.  "Just passin' through," he muttered, turning back around.  If the child really wanted something from him, he would have to do more to catch Aesop's attention.

The brown wolf stopped to look at him and said that he was only passing along. Cicero tilted his head and watched as the wolf turned and started to leave. Cicero darted after him through the shades of the woods, trying to be sneaky, though the white patches along his shoulders and other parts of his body easily betrayed Cicero's presence to the alert passerby.

His duo-toned eyes stared out from the frays of the dark forest while he moved alongside where the brown wolf moved. All of a sudden he voiced his thoughts: "Is brown wolf uses a herb to be brown?" Cicero knew that herbs did all sorts of things -- some good, some bad -- and sometimes he put them in his mouth just to see what they would do. He knew there were herbs for ouchies and herbs that made ouchies; it intrigued him, and so he wondered if a herb existed that would make a wolf -- this wolf, any other wolf, or maybe even Cicero (he imagined it would enhance his sneaking!) -- brown.

The youth's presence was disconcerting.  Packs were defensive of their children, and with good reason.  Already, he feared that he might run into Burke.  He was not trespassing, but he did not want to get into another fight so soon, not when he was so tired.  If the child was there, that would give Burke ample reason to fight him, a chance that Aesop did not want to take.  He hated how cowardly the fight made him feel, but he had been so close to losing, so close to letting down his pack and endangering his packmates.

So he was hyperaware of the child as he walked, steps quickening in hopes of losing him.  When the same, creaky voice began to speak again, Aesop slowed.  "Herbs don't do that," said Aesop, searching the trees until he found the eyes- orange and silver.  "Nothin' turns you brown but mud, and I ain't that dirty," he sniffed.

Cicero was amused when the brown wolf didn't instantly find him among the shadows; his sneaking was going well, it seemed. The brown wolf's answer was disappointing, though, for Cicero had hoped that it was a herb that changed the colouration of fur so that he could use it for being even better at sneaking and spying on others. Mud turned you brown, though; while it was a sorry second, Cicero remembered this, in case he ever needed a drastic change of person.

It appeared the wolf was 'just' brown; something that intrigued Cicero, for he thought it to be a rair trait, knowing very few brown wolves thus far in his short life. "Brown wolftoy tells Cicero about what herbs do?" queried Cicero from the shadows, for it sounded like he knew his stuff; if he knew that there was no such herb to make a wolf brown, then surely he knew a lot about them.

Finally, he stopped entirely, wheeling to face the shadows beneath the trees.  This was a child he reminded himself, and he had nothing to be afraid of.  A child showing healthy curiosity for one of Aesop's burgeoning interests, at that.  He wouldn't be afraid, he wouldn't make mountains out of mole hills.

He puffed a breath of air through his nose, amused.  "Wolftoy?" he asked, equal parts amused and offended.  "I'm no toy, Cicero."  His name, presumably.  The youth was as strange in speech as he looked, calling Aesop "wolftoy" and speaking in third person.  He wouldn't begrudge the boy a lesson, though, so he simply said, "herbs can do a lot.  Ease pain, cause it; give life, take it.  Just as dangerous as teeth if you know what you're doing."

The brown wolf stopped his retreat at last, and Cicero stopped in his tracks too. He stepped from the shadows slightly to display his duo-toned face and sat down as he watched the wolf. The wolf seemed offended or amused -- Cicero could not quite tell -- by being dubbed 'wolftoy', and Cicero looked at him with tilted head, though he did not seem sorry at all. He did not know this wolf's name, and the world, to Cicero, was a playground. It was unclear whether Cicero would decide to refrain from calling the wolf 'toy' in the future, for he did not address this issue at all.

It interested Cicero that herbs could not only give life -- he had seen his mother use herbs for healing -- but also take it. Cicero knew there were herbs that made you vomit easier, though he knew it was often used to give life, too, if you had eaten something awful; but there were more uses to be considered there. He looked at the wolf with a somewhat eerie smirk on his face. "Wolf knows about killing herbs?" Cicero asked the brown wolf, curiosity clear on his face, but lacking a child's innocence as he posed the question. He was perhaps not as dark as his brother, who would seize any opportunity to destroy a life, but Cicero was interested in dark matters all the same.

Aesop raised a brow, frowning as he considered whether this kid's parents would appreciate him teaching the kid about poison.  Then again, Aesop didn't think anyone would be dumb enough to go and try and poison themselves deliberately.  Teaching the kid what was poisonous and what wasn't might keep him from accidentally eating something he shouldn't and dying some terrible death.  And besides, despite his unsettling nature, the kid was just a kid, and a curious one at that.  Aesop was weak to anyone showing interest in his skills.

"A bit," he said.  "Depends on what you want to know."  Carefully, and perhaps a bit rashly, he took a few steps towards the forest, peering into its depths.  He studied it for a moment, squinting in a show of intense focus.  "A place like this probably has good mushrooms," he declared, not entirely certain of this, but close enough.

Cicero was glad to hear that the brown wolf did know about killing herbs. Cicero knew about herbs that made you vomit and various other things, but he didn't know much about other negative qualities. He would enjoy being taught.

The wolf asked him about mushrooms, and Cicero nodded. Potema liked to collect mushrooms, and there were lots of different types of mushrooms. "Yes, mushrooms in Woods," Cicero confirmed, and he waited curiously to hear from the brown wolf about mushrooms, whilst Cicero looked around briefly to see if he could find any mushrooms in their vicinity to show.

Standing beside the youth, Aesop peered into the forest as well.  Despite the promise of mercy, he would not step foot in it.  So when he saw a splash of mottled red, he jerked his nose at it.  "That one," said he, "beneath that tree.  The red and white one?  Toadstool.  Pretty mild, won't kill you all the time, but it can make things go weird for a bit.  Not always a fun trip."  Sometimes, in the midst of a journey, food runs short and options shorter, and you eat what you can find.  And, sometimes, you eat the inadvisable.  Aesop had made that mistake once, but never again.

"Lemme know if you see more," he said, scanning the underbrush.

Cicero followed the brown wolf's gaze when he mentioned seeing a good mushroom. Cicero watched the poisonously coloured mushroom, and it came as no surprise that it was indeed poisonous; bright colours usually indicated a warning. Cicero had never tasted any of these, knowing better than to eat from bright-looking food. Cicero nodded at the brown wolf to indicate that he understood, and upon commanded started to scan the underbrush for more mushrooms.

Cicero found some bland-coloured light-brown mushrooms attached to a tree, almost like tiny flat roofs. "Brown wolf look!" Cicero called out to the brown wolf, and he waited by the tree to show his find and find out if it were good for anything at all.

Cicero and the brown wolf looked around for different mushrooms for a bit, and it was interesting to learn from him: he had different information than some of his family did, and so the youngster learned things from the brown wolf he did not from others. Eventually the brown wolf departed, and Cicero had never learned his name, although he remembered that the wolf smelled like salt.