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Vasiliy is by me!
I've gotten scars in worse ways, Vasi supposed, willing his blue eyes to keep from glancing down toward his marred knee. While the burns hadn't been very deep and had healed quickly, they'd done enough damage to eradicate fur growth entirely in that area, and the fur around it was patchy in places, too. The worst part about the scar, though, wasn't its ugliness -- it was the way he'd gone and gotten it. His own damned fool's fault, he knew, but he regretted it all the same.
The dark-furred man snorted and grinned with her jest, though he was almost alarmed as she came toward him. When it was just to coo over his cuts, the dark man brushed a hand -- the bloodless one -- against her forearm in reassurance. Ah, nothing. Better chicken cuts than drown on boat coming here or going there, he said, delivering the truth solemnly, though he meant it earnestly.
You are kind woman to worry for little Vasiliy, he added, more softly, and tacked a suggestive grin over his words. If there was any seriousness to her, she might make her advance now. Vasi still wasn't entirely sure he wanted to respond. It wasn't a question of physically wanting her -- she was certainly pretty enough -- but there was always more to consider. The body wanted and it was the mind's job to evaluate the desire, along with its risks and benefits.
She might expect more of him and consider it a trade of her womanly charms for more livestock -- while Vasi understood the practicality of such a trade, he loathed to make such a transaction himself. He did not need to do such things, after all -- trade for sex? Not Vasiliy. Naturally, this was all with the assumption that the pretty-eyed stranger was that sort of woman. Her behavior thus far suggested such to Vasi, and he was naturally wary. Still -- he had to know, and his small advance was an impulsive experiment.
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