The damp sand clung to her white foot paws as the delicate optime wandered down the coast. She would need to find a suitable, preferably dry, place to stand so that she could enjoy her visit to the ocean without her feet freezing solid. A gust of ocean wind brought with it the scent of another individual, a pack member, this she was sure of. Quickly accompanying the scent was the nearby sound of singing. No words could be detected by the blind Border collie's keen ears, but she could easily distinguish the voice's feminine quality. The tone of voice was sweet, wonderful to hear. Before she knew it, Ruri found herself following along and echoing the stranger's melodic trills, even adding some improvisations of her own. One such improvisation brought forth a familiar tune that quickly travelled from her memory to her lips."What do ya do with a drunken sailor? What do ya do with a drunken sailor? What do ya do with a drunken sailor, early in the mornin'?" She began, though her version of the old sea shanty was far more drawn out and melodic than the version she had first learned as a young pup following the Pirate King of Cour des Miracles around from place to place. She used to sing it on the rare occasions when she found him drunk, passed out somewhere late in the day with the smell of alcohol on his breathe. It had always managed to irritate him enough to awaken and tuck her into bed or care for her in some other fashion. However, he had always been one to offer some sort of apology for behaving in such a fashion around a little girl like herself. Jac had always been funny that way. Everything unsavory he did was alright to him, so long as he did not do it around Ruri. She admired that about him, and always would.
Ruri continued to sing, now completely absorbed in her song as her nightingales voice rang out over the frigid water. For the moment she forgot that she had initially been mimicking the stranger who had an obvious taste for singing. Her favorite pass-time had completely enthralled her and she was now intent on singing as sweetly as possible, perhaps as a friendly gesture to the great being that was the sea. Pale blue, pupil-less eyes wandered aimlessly as the wind whipped her long, silver mane leading her to vaguely resemble a siren, though clad in warm winter clothing. It would certainly be an interesting sight to whoever happened upon the lautari of Cour des Miracles.