Cicero could not fight. She wouldn't be able to defend herself or the forge against the Hive, or any other threat, life her life-giver could and had. She could barely hunt for herself. But what she could do, was cook and clean.

And so she'd done a lot of cooking and cleaning.

It'd given them room to think - so much room that it'd been all they really could do. Stewing while stewing. Fermenting alongside the wine. The result of which had been less than delectable, we'll say.

So much energy, no where to put it. He was beginning to strain against the inside of his own head, pressure building. He'd started to hate it in there. He felt like he was eating himself alive. Ironic, given his recent activities.

Desperate times, desperate measures. They were not alone - they'd heard of The Ruby, and the sighs and winces that followed it. The shattered earth it left in its wake... It was everything the Opal was not. It broke the world around it to fit its shape.

So she began to follow it.

It'd returned from an outing recently, and Cicero had slipped behind its Oily trail, her curiosity finally overpowering any common sense she had left. An unnatural shadow cloaked her hide, a gesture at protection - but she would be noticed soon. The game still excited her, despite it's foregone conclusion.