Vasiliy is by Raze!

Vasiliy trotted north, humming to himself as he went. There was a particular tune stuck in his head today, and it did not seem keen on leaving anytime soon. The dark-furred male figured he ought to enjoy it while it was there, and so this was why he was murmuring beneath his breath as he went. His dark tail swished behind him as he walked. The day was fresh and beautiful, and blessedly sunny. Vasi had grown used to the overcast and foggy skies of this place, of course, but it was a refreshing thing to see the blazing sun high in the sky.

As he was headed toward the ship, however, a scent caught in his nose. It choked the song from him and gave him pause. He considered a long moment, inhaling the familiar scent of his leader, and thinking it over. Though he'd only met Skye once, he thought it might be good to go and speak with her. Vasiliy felt at home within the pack, but he did not know his leader so well as he'd known Malenkij in Sobirat'sya. Still, he did not wish to be an intrusive presence. He dallied a moment, and then decided it was best to make himself known. If she did not want him around, she'd let him know, surely.

He found her seated on the ground, knife in hand. Allo, Skye, he said, more reserved than he usually was. I join you? he inquired, ready to beat it to the coast if she hinted he was unwelcome. Authority was somewhat frightening to Vasiliy -- even his own blood, Malenkij, had been viewed more as a leader than an uncle.

Vasiliy is by me!

Vasiliy had experienced only a few sorts of authority prior to Cercatori d'Arte. His uncle was a kindly sort, but neither did he tolerate any interference with the family's business. His iron-clad methods were part of the reason for Vasi's departure, even if the granite-furred hybrid himself was not consciously aware of this. The captain of the seafaring vessel had been intimidating, too -- he'd barely spoken a word to Vasi after the dusky Russian bartered passage with him. Then again -- perhaps being ignored by that man was a sign of good will, for he, too, screamed and stomped and yelled when the crew slacked. He'd even whipped an especially bad slacker.

Skye did not seem the sort to whip her packmembers, however -- she invited his company with a smile. Vasi returned it broadly, his tail sweeping a few times in thanks. He settled on the ground a few feet away and studied her with bright blue eyes. She seemed bigger than when he'd last met her, but it had been a brief meeting and he'd seen little of her since then. It was not something he would comment on, in any case. Her question was received with a mirrored grin, and he looked down, plucking at the grass absently. He separated the blades rather than plucking them, almost combing them with his fingers.

I think Cercatori great when I first join, he said. But now I find boat, and boat crew? He made a half-bark noise, unable to find the words of approval and happiness in English or Russian to describe it. You make good pack, good place for Vasiliy.

Vasiliy is by me!

Vasiliy beamed and visibly brightened at the praise. He thought he'd done a decent job over their sailing expedition, but it was better to have such a notion reinforced by the leader of the pack, all the same. His dark tail wagged behind him, and even the grass-combing was paused for a moment as he soaked that in. His moment of pride over, the dark-furred hybrid decided modesty and humility were the best course of speech. Vasi did not need to brag or receive praise, but it was nice all the same, and he appreciated it.

Thank you, he said. Mine family teach me all I know. I am good, but uncles sail ice seas years and years. Vasiliy have one summer as apprentice, he admitted. Still -- watching his family members and helping just a little bit had imparted quite a lot of knowledge to the granite-furred canine. I am ship captain if Cercatori need, oarsman if need, sheep man if need. Anything if need, he declared. He would be happiest working where his skills were best, but he could not refuse duties if the pack deemed them necessary.

Vasiliy is by me!

Vasiliy was beyond glad to hear he'd done something worthwhile for the pack. He had come here not possessing any skills but those he'd learned in his homeland, and his lack of knowledge and ability with arts had left him feeling inadequate. It was more comforting than he could put to words to hear the woman say he'd done something of merit for her and Cercatori both.

Her question was considered for a moment. He lifted one hand and scratched at his chin, claws running through the thicker, darker hair there. I meet X'yrin, alpha of Nomads Sangi'lak, he said. Even as he said her name and title, he knew he'd gotten it wrong -- there was part missing, and part of it was possibly backwards. But he could not remember precisely how the golden-hued wolf had spoken her titles, and it was the best he could do. They trade for sheep. Maybe get more trade from them, he suggested. She had seemed interested in the various livestock especially. Get big, big antlers -- moose. And pelts -- bear, cougar. Good pelts, he explained. And little carving rocks -- soft rocks, pretty.

And two other ladies -- but no pack. He frowned at the memory of both the dark-hued woman who'd given no name, and the mottled canine named Isabella. One other -- man, no pack. He say, pack up north -- no friends, no neighbors, stay away. Did not know pack's name, though, Vasi said, frowning as he remembered this. Maybe others have more time meet packs? he suggested brightly. He hadn't been the only one to take the voyage north -- perhaps still others would be able to provide her with more knowledge.

Vasiliy is by me!

Vasiliy's ears perked as Skye spoke of new packs. Cercatori d'Arte was the first pack he'd ever lived in -- Sobirat'sya was more a coalition of different groups than a true pack. Vasi owed no allegiance to any but his family, and he answered only to the Patriarch or Matriarch of the Russos. He wondered what might cause packs to rise and fall in such a manner, and realized he knew little of Cercatori's political situation. We are friendly with all packs? he inquired, cocking his head. I know only little bit about others, and nothing of what Cercatori and others do together. Or apart.

The question about his family was answered with a shake of his head. Not much. Mostly fish, he explained. On White Sea, sometimes little villages on coast. But most fishing villages, you know? No want Russo fish, catch own fish. So, we bring not-fish things to trade, always, but it was not why we sail seas. Sail for fish, not trade, he said, shrugging. Southlands better for trade. Less snow, less ice, less cold. Easier, he said, remembering the long, dusty trade routes through Europe, leading from city to city and finally to the lovely coast.

Vasiliy is by me!

Just the roster of names was enough to give Vasiliy over to furious blinking, though he squinted his eyes and nodded occasionally, trying to absorb all Skye was saying. If only he had a piece of paper and something to write with, he might be able to take notes and remember it all. Of course, his notes would be near useless to anyone else -- as it was, he could only write in Russian, and his lessons had only been half-complete upon leaving Sobirat'sya. Some things he made up as he wrote, in a phonetic sort of way even a Russian might have trouble comprehending.

Whew, he said, when she was finished. So many damn packs, he said, shaking his head. When he realized he'd cursed -- however mildly -- in front of the leader, he winced. Sorry, Vasiliy added, wagging his tail in appeasement. Mine mouth no good sometimes. But -- that is so many! And not even all, he marveled, shaking his head. Is much land like this? he inquired. Perhaps this was simply the way on this continent: cluster groups of packs together on good land, leave the bad lands in between for the Loners to scavenge over.

It had been similar in his homeland -- with a key difference or two. Sobirat'sya was more community and coalition than the packs here, and loners had an advantage or two. While the great northern forest was the hunting lands claimed by Sobirat'sya, their territory was unmarked and undefended. Loners were free to take what they would of the great forest, for there was so much and so few wolves, it never made any difference in the hunting done by Sobirat'sya canines. The life of a lone wolf so far north was no easy thing, and was therefore a rare choice.

Vasiliy is by me!

Vasiliy's coal-tipped ears perked at the mention of Freetown. Vasiliy had been to Lisbon, Barbados, and Freetown all in his journey to this land. All three of the previous reminded him -- in a vague way, anyway -- of the European cities. Barbados was the worst: there were a great number of European canines, sailors and captains and some imports who had settled on the island. To make things worse, there was little food on the island. Only fish was to be had by the locals, and all other meat was traded at a price Vasiliy found outrageous. Freetown was not a place he wanted to remain long, either, as it happened -- but the dusky-furred wolf would not have to stay there long, would he? The trip by boat would be much shorter than it had been on land, and even horseback would make the trek shorter.

Freetown, he repeated, stroking his chin. The subject of packs was altogether lost with this new contemplation, and Vasiliy shrugged. I go to Freetown, if want. I go there before, on way here. It was not place to live, but place to trade? Aye, good place to trade. Though he had only just returned from the northward voyage, Vasiliy enjoyed the boat and knew it was his calling and way to make himself useful amongst this pack. What else could he do? He could not create art and beautiful things -- but boating, trading? This was certainly something the Merchant could do -- and should do, as per his very title. There was an excitement about Vasiliy with mention of the trade place and thoughts of the boat, but he waited on launching into a soliloquy about his plans and hopes for such a trip. He must respect Skye's leadership; who knew when she would want to go to Freetown?