Vasiliy is by me!

The granite-furred Russian was enjoying his time in Cercatori thus far. He had browsed over much of the territory, spending a few hours appraising the beaches, the forests, and all else within the pack's lands. He had yet to add any decoration to the pack's border tree, but he was trying to think of something. Vasi was not much of an artist, but creation was something he was capable of. He had helped to build boats in Sobirat'sya and sailed them too, and perhaps he would be able to put this skill to use here.

Vasiliy enjoyed the forests of this place -- they were not so vast and tall as the ones in his homeland, but they were wonderful nonetheless. There were many of them arching overhead, pressing close together and blocking much of the sky. The occasional beam of golden, deep afternoon light filtered through this thick canopy, and the Russian listened to the cries of various sorts of birds, along with the rustle and scramble of small animals. There was another sound, too -- a peculiar scraping sound. His ears perked, and he followed it as it grew louder, happening across the small youth. She was old enough to shift, but her figure was still childish, perhaps half Vasiliy's own age.

Allo, he greeted, hesitating to make himself comfortable without her permission. Perhaps she wished to keep on carving and would wave him along; there was no sense sitting down only to have to get up a moment later.

Vasiliy is by me!

While she greeted Vasiliy simply, neither did she make an indication she wished him to leave. The silver wolf smiled a small grin and hunkered down closer to the ground, peering curiously toward the wood she held in her hand. Her small hands seemed deft; Vasiliy could not remember having such dexterity at an age as this youth. He had been clumsy, long-limbed, and utterly perplexed by the world. I'm no better now, he thought to himself, still smiling. He still felt very much a boy himself, and perhaps he was -- not even two years old yet, some old men in Sobirat'sya would have laughed at the notion of Vasiliy calling himself an adult.

I'm Vasiliy, he said, not sticking out his hand to shake -- she was busy, after all. I just join Cercatori. You are carving, he observed, nodding toward the small piece of wood. Maybe I see, when you have a minute? he asked, thickly accented voice almost shy. He remembered being around his younger cousins and how he had enjoyed teaching them things, as the older child. Children did not like to be bossed around, though -- Vasi much preferred treating them as small adults. And anyway, she could shift -- she wasn't technically a child anymore, though she was quite clearly young.

Vasiliy is by me!

She was quiet, that was certain. Vasiliy might have felt discomforted by her relative quiet if he hadn't been watching her hands at work over the piece of wood. Something was slowly taking shape out of it, rising from what had certainly once been a brick of raw wood. He was almost afraid to speak, as if it would interrupt her concentration too greatly, as if she might get up and run away at the slightest indication of an unkind word. He would not have been surprised at that. She introduced herself quietly, having turned the piece of wood around in her hands, and he strained to pick up the name, ears pricked forward.

The Russian nodded and smiled toward her, the tips of his pearly white teeth showing against the dark of his lips. Is good to meet you, he said. He wanted to meet everyone of Cercatori d'Arte, after all, and she was one of their many members. Ah, he exclaimed softly, pleasantly surprised by the extension of the carving. Vasiliy held the item gently in his large hands, looking over it with his pale blue eyes. This is... the sun, he said, looking at one side. The other was still too murky for him to make out entirely, but with half of the carving deduced, it wasn't such a stretch to assume the other. And the moon? he asked, handing it back gingerly, afraid to cause any harm to her hard work. Is very fine work. Your hands small, they can make pretty things. He held up his big hands and grinned. Meat-paws no good for anything but big work.

Vasiliy is by me!

Pandora? the Russian inquired, having little idea if this was simply some word he did not know or some new concept entirely. He knew he'd been awfully sheltered from the rest of the wide world within Sobirat'sya -- the Russians he'd grown up around had their own set of beliefs, and outsiders quickly assimilated or at least pretended to. Vasi had never put much stock into the gods of storm and sea worshiped -- if it could be called worship, that is -- by his family, but he was not so soured on spirituality as to default to negativity.

More than try, you did, the wolf pointed out, albeit gently and with a soft voice. Dalgina seemed soft and shy and sweet, and though he was not a particularly cautious man, even Vasiliy realized he ran the risk of dominating the conversation unintentionally. Her compliment was received with a smile, though Vasiliy took a moment to respond. His pale blue eyes were engrossed with watching the dark she-wolf's hands, and it was a long moment before he spoke. Good things, yes -- boats, maybe houses even, other things in... simple shape, the Venditore said. But not pretty things. Good and pretty were distinctly different; some canines of a practical nature would call the pretty carvings Dalgina made useless, for they had no application in the world. Vasiliy vehemently disagreed -- though he lacked a strong aesthetic inclination himself, he recognized the beauty in the world and respected it well.

Vasiliy is by me!

The dark-furred wolf's ears pricked upward with this, and he nodded, excitement twinkling in widened blue eyes. I did not know there was word for this! he said, tail thumping a rhythm against the ground. In mine homeland, winters are long and the sun hides for many months. This first sun is very important, Vasiliy explained. For a strange moment, he wished he was home again so he might share this new word and concept with those of Sobirat'sya. He felt it was something they would all innately understand -- following the months of darkness, the first kiss of sunlight against one's fur truly was magical. Pandora, he repeated, so the word might stick in his brain. He was more south now, and the winters were not like those in Sobirat'sya, without a doubt -- he did not want to forget the significance of the dark months and that first golden light.

The Russian leaned forward to inspect the charm. This one was smaller and he hesitated to touch it, fearful his big meat-paws might crush it. He did not think he was so strong, but the carving -- though made of wood -- simply looked too delicate for a creature such as himself to hold. Yes -- that is it, he said, simply, astounded at the ease with which Dalgina crafted things pretty as nature itself made them. He listened with pricked ears as she spoke of the boat, and he grimaced, though it was not an expression of extreme displeasure. Aye, maybe I can make -- but I would not sail this boat, he confessed. The ocean... ah, he shrugged, pausing and considering a moment. It was most beautiful thing first, but it takes long time when cross some waters. These many weeks you are looking at same thing, over and over again, sky and water dancing.

He leaned back, hesitating again. But... I do not cross ocean, I do not end up here. So... maybe worth it, in the end?

Vasiliy is by me!

Aye, he said, nodding solemnly. Much, much far north -- almost on top of world, he added, the solemnity disappearing from his face quickly enough, replaced by a grin. He hadn't imagined the arctic touched this side of the world -- Vasiliy had seen maps before, but he hardly understood them. There were so many shapes, so many different names written in painstaking, tiny handwriting. He supposed it made sense -- if the world was round, the place from whence he'd come would share similarities to the northernmost parts of this continent. You are arctic, too? he asked, surprised.

Her question was considered with a tilt of his head, and Vasi leaned back a moment, uncertain where to start. He hadn't seen all the lands across the sea -- there were many cities he did not even know the name of, let alone villages and smaller places. But -- by and large, he knew where he had come from was distinctly different from this place. Surely, there were tiny villages tucked away into the forest somewhere in Europe or Asia, mirroring Thornbury, but... they certainly weren't the norm. He straightened up and looked on her carving a moment before answering.

Well -- it is place, much like any other, he started, speaking slowly as he pieced his thoughts together. Some wolves, they live very close together, in thing called city. Sobirat'sya, where I come from, is not city, but much smaller. Still -- lots bigger than Cercatori d'Arte. It was city, but only in times of people. Many buildings, but short, squat, he said, making a scaled approximation of the average building size with his hands. Many falling to pieces, but some still solid. Cold is no good for old things, but better than wet and damp, I think. He looked at her with a touch of apprehension, wondering if this was an adequate explanation. He didn't feel like it was, but perhaps Dalgina would take a different view.

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.

Vasiliy is by me!

The dark-furred Russian thought he was speaking to a young explorer -- the wanderlust was something Vasi was vaguely familiar with, though he was not so drowned in it as his father had been in youth. On the contrary, the dark-furred Russian thought he would be at home for some time within this Cercatori d'Arte pack -- perhaps even years, perhaps the rest of his life. Still, he understood the need to see things well enough -- it was this instinct which had driven him out of Sobirat'sya and slowly westward, toward the fabled lands his father spoke of. The world is big place, he said, grinning. Don't get lost. Or do -- lost is fun, too.

Aye... but larger, he said, thinking of Halifax. He'd seen its outline against the skies; the city was not so very large as some he'd seen, but some of the tallest buildings and oldest structures he'd seen overseas were beginning to show severe decay. Vasi did not want to be around when they collapsed. Many buildings, very tall. Many Luperci, too -- I think maybe they have little problem for wanting to stay in such a place, he said, tapping his forehead to indicate where he thought their problem might be. Wolf needs country, open land, forest, space, sky, he proclaimed. It was not natural to live on top of one another as the city canines seemed to, in Vasi's opinion. Perhaps this was what had bothered him so much about Sobirat'sya? He thought it might be, but it was also family, too.

Vasiliy is by me!

Yes, Vasiliy said, pleased to find one so like-minded here. Instead of all hunting, only some hunt. These, they hunt much, much food -- almost food to feed most of city. But, he paused, thinking on whether he'd seen livestock about. Yes -- Cercatori d'Arte canines knew of livestock. Others keep things like chicken, pig, cow. Like human. These they eat, too, he explained. No one is hungry in cities, but many do not even know how to hunt, the Russian said, almost scoffing as he thought of those canines living within city limits. He'd spent little time there for a reason. They would not have survived in the wild arctic for a moment, Vasiliy knew, and he could not succumb to their weaknesses and vices by remaining too long around them.

He hesitated, pondering a moment before deciding to speak again. I have talked lots about city, ocean, mine home, and Vasiliy -- you talk now? Tell me about you, he prompted, hoping it might encourage the dark-furred girl to speak more freely -- having "permission" was a powerful thing to the young. I know you are Dalgina, I know you carve wood good, you like sky and water and life, and are arctic. What else? he asked, smiling to encourage her further, if necessary.

Vasiliy is by me!

The cloud-furred male listened in earnest as she spoke, glad to hear her voice and thoughts about herself. One part of it made him tilt his head just slightly to the left, though he remained politely silent. Vasi knew his manners and he was not the sort to interrupt -- only when absolutely necessary, or perhaps when he forgot himself a moment. As he was paying careful attention to the conversation and Dalgina herself -- tiptoing, as she seemed shy and quiet -- this latter was less likely to happen.

You say you go nowhere, he said, slowly, grinning. But you were in north -- north is somewhere! And a different pack? You are young to live in two packs already, I am thinking. I am two years on birthday this year, Cercatori mine first pack. Sobirat'sya -- not pack, not really, he suggested. Give yourself -- ah, what is word? he tilted his head, frowning. Glory, he finished, uncertain if this was the proper word. Give yourself glory, he said, and shook his head. That is not word I want, but close enough. You know what I mean? Vrubatsa -- understand? he asked, flickering his dark tail back and forth as encouragement. Your sky-friends should tell you this, he said, pointing upward and smiling.