The length of the days and nights always shifted depending on the season regardless of one’s position on the planet, but Kian knew what Rurik had meant by his words. Russia had parts far north, where it was always colder, and where the seasons knew dramatic weather and lighting compared to the rest of the world. “Green, yeah, bu’ lo’s o’ rain,” he replied, snorting softly. As the Russian missed his dark, perpetual nights Kian missed his rain—simply for the familiarity more than anything else. “Qui’e a few,” he said, searching his memory. He’d traveled a lot, though Dublin and London were where he’d spent the most of his time thus far. “Dublin, Liverpool, London—though nae a por’, bu’ large enough o’ a ci’y t’ma’er, yeah? Lisbon, Barbados,” he listed, knowing he wasn’t including every single city he’d ever visited. But Rurik had specified ports, and thus Kian had obliged.
He didn’t need to rattle off every single place he’d ever been, after all—that would bore the poor bastard to death within minutes. This was nothing more than light conversation to pass away the time. He’d long since grown accustomed to any interest in his unique appearance and choose to ignore it. Other than his body he was nothing special, and he knew this well enough. He’d prefer humility over showiness anytime, and he’d prefer a nice, comfortable conversation on the beach with a friend to being the center of attention in the city before a curious crowd of strangers. It was the wilderness that held his adoration, and the solitude there, despite his affinity for company. “I can,” he murmured, once the wolf had taken his drink of the rum. Swiftly, he repositioned himself into a crouch where he began to shift.
His body grew even larger, taking on more muscle and bulk and his hair grew even longer and wilder. Always, he was svelte, but now his body held a different kind of weight, redistributed across his bone structure. He was a beast, towering over many other wolves regardless of the form they took, though his features remained soft and puppyish. “There!” he said, plopping his rear back onto the ground. He took the offered bottle, grinning sheepishly as he did so. “Sláinte mhaith!” he toasted, before taking a quick drink of the rum. He grimaced from the burn, feeling it creep steadily down the inside of his chest as he returned the drink to its rightful owner. It’d been a while, as he truly preferred to drink only in the presence of others—never alone.
<style>
.kian-001 p {padding:0px 30px; text-indent:25px; margin:0px;}
.kian-001 b {color:#D8FAB2; letter-spacing:-.2px; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:11px; }
.kian-001 {margin:0 auto; width:400px; background-color:#69923B; background-image:url(http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/2010apr/kian1.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding:225px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px; color:#3B561C; word-spacing:.4px; line-height:13px; letter-spacing:.2px; text-align:justify; border:1px solid #000000;}
</style>
[/html]