11-15-2009, 07:55 PM
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| http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_tropic.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:230px; padding-left:25px; padding-right:25px; padding-bottom:25px;"> -- The silvery wolf was raised in high civilization. His family owned a small block of houses, though they'd hollowed out the center and planted trees to create a sort of garden courtyard. Their homes surrounded this central garden, and by the time Rurik had returned last, the trees had begun to grow into saplings. It would be some years and some generations before thick trunks grew in their block of city, but it was inspiring nonetheless. Even with this, the Russo family had lived in the area of Arkhangel'sk, surrounded by wilderness and expansive forests. Rurik had taken the land trip to Moscow more times than he could remember, and getting there was anything but easy. The old human roads served them well, but without maintenance they were beginning to deteriorate, overgrown with weeds and plant life. This and the wilderness surrounding his home had kept him from becoming too civilized. Though he'd never met one, he'd heard of canines who had completely lost their ability to survive in the wild, living pampered lives in city penthouses. That sort of lifestyle confused the hell out of him; though he liked living in houses he could not imagine never leaving them. He could not imagine feeling uncomfortable and unfamiliar in the woods and the forest. His coal-dipped ears flicked to catch the woman's words, listening with an expression that grew progressively sadder as the story continued. The Russian thought that sounded way too familiar—sure, his reasons for disowning his kids were different, but this Serge had acted much the same as Rurik had to Zaets, Zorish, and Vladimir when they were young. "He does not sound like a good man, but maybe his heart will change," the Russian offered quietly, hesitant to admit his own shoddy parenting outright. Still, it was far too relevant to the conversation. "Sometimes... we make mistakes, and we only realize it when it's too late," he added, cryptic in his phrasing. Tilting his head back and angling his muzzle slightly skyward, his bright blue eyes regarded the expansive sky around him for a moment, leveling his gaze with the deck in front of him. "I loved a woman once, and I thought she had cheated and bore someone else's children... I found her with another man, but later it turns out she was faithful to me alone," the Russian said, not wishing to delve into the deepest, confusing details of what had happened. Yeah, she'd been hugging Segodi—but it was a purely platonic, friendly hug, and Kiska had never cheated on him, not once. He knew that the moment he'd seen his sons. "This was first time I come over here, with six of mine friends—I left, wandered this continent, returned here, and left again for Russia. This was almost two years ago? I feel guilty about mine children the whole time I am there, my grandmother, Zinoviya—she never forgeef me for abandoning mine sons," the wolf said. He was a storyteller, and used to speaking so much, but here he paused, allowing some of this to sink into her head before he continued to the more important part. "Now, I come here to search for them and make things right. I know it will never be all good, but... I have to try," he said. Maybe his story would make her feel better, maybe it would give her hope that someday her father might put forth effort, no matter how unlikely it seemed. As despicable as it seemed that the man had abandoned his children, Rurik had done the very same thing, and he could not help but feel that effort was still important. Even if the sable woman could never truly accept her father, if he tried to be a part of her life, it would still be good to give him at least one chance. Smiling and shaking his head at the woman's story, he let out an appreciative whistle. "Whew, you are lucky to have survived such a thing," the silvery wolf rumbled, marveling at the woman's tenacity. The open ocean was a terrible, difficult place. He knew this from traveling the Atlantic three times round-trip; one simply did not want to be caught in the middle of it without a ship. |