(--)
Vasiliy is by me!
The dark-furred Russian did not know what a Mahn was, but it sounded a little like mother -- perhaps that was its definition? He dismissed it as unimportant enough to wait until later -- no need to pelt her with questions. He was much more interested in the subjects of the arctic, travel, and their respective homelands. It was difficult for him to focus on quite so many things at once -- his eyes were still following the careful movements of her hands and the shape emerging from the wood. She was wickedly fast with the little carving tool, and the Russian only looked away when he answered her, grinning.
You should see arctic and Sobirat'sya both. Well -- no, not Sobirat'sya, the Russian said, wrinkling his nose. Better places than that. Before I come here, I live in Dublin -- is coast place, on the water. There was many boats, many many boats. I work on some. Maybe you see that city someday. But -- arctic is much closer, I think. Just go north, the dark wolf said, smiling once again. It certainly wasn't any kind of weekender trip, but one could almost surely see the tundra and come back within the span of a few months. Overland travel was most probable -- sailing in northern waters was treacherous business, with ice and other dangers with which to contend.
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