The slave boy

Rurik Russo · 01-05-2010, 07:58 AM

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Word Count: 462.

There was something perfectly pleasant about floating down the stream in the afternoon, some far cry back to the best times in Rurik's life. He recalled the Solovetsky Islands and sailing to the ancient monastery there with his brothers, playing and running and drinking to utter and complete stupidity amongst the rubble of humanity. The silver-furred werewolf would never play with Schastlivyj again, but at least he would rest peacefully in their childhood mecca. There was a bittersweet revelation to Rurik at that moment, thinking about his dead brother—with Thorn missing in action, whereabouts completely unknown to his family, Rurik was the eldest son of his parents. That thought struck him with a certain amount of weight; as the eldest son of his father he was due to inherit what his family had in Sobirat'sya, when his father passed on. By that time, Rurik himself would be an old man, but hopefully by then they would have learned something about Thorn.

The silver-furred werewolf often thought of his pale brother, with his strange hat and stranger habits. Though a litter and near two years separated them, the pair were virtually inseparable, and it was for that reason that the elder of the Russos had trailed the younger. Though the rest of their siblings had lamented their departure, the pair of brothers and Kiska had to set out to see the world. The wanderlust was in their blood and in their bones, and it was a part of the greater canine instinct and drive to see more of the world. Unfortunately for Rurik, that wanderlust had never ceased, and to this day it still had him in its grips. The wanderlust was the reason why he was navigating this little boat down the stream—it was all about exploration. Behind family, that was just about the most important thing in the world.

Though their pace had increased, the silver-furred werewolf was quite at home on the water, dodging and dipping around the curves of the riverbank. Rurik looked rather excited; he leaned forward, his coal-tipped ears pricked upright and his brilliant blue eyes glittering. His companion at the moment, however, did not seem to have that same joy of exploration that Rurik had, and he began to freak out a little bit, falling to the floor to peer at the fast-moving water at the sides of the boat. Conor spoke, his words sounding more than a little anxious at their present situation. "No worries! We land in Halifax, in the city. You know where that is and how to get home, yes?" the wolf asked, holding out a hand to help the wolf back up to the seat, thinking perhaps the Dahlian male had fallen rather than crawled willingly to the floor.

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