Once, not long after Kian had learned to read and after he’d already begun to find sanctuary within the pages of a book he’d discovered a tome detailing the different species of dogs that’d once existed. He himself was a rarity, for most dogs had bred into the local canine population and could no longer be distinguished individually any longer, but he remained pure and doggish as if the humans had continued selectively breeding his ancestors even after their disappearance. He’d long believed it’d been intentional on their part—perhaps some elitist group that wished to remain as the dogs they were and carefully selected their mates on this ideal alone. He could never be sure though, as he’d never met them. Perhaps he was even a product of incest across the generations, for within a single breed the gene pool quickly diminished, and how many dogs honestly cared about genetics to care this long? The idea revolted him, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He’d never chosen his parents, and obviously they’d never chosen him.
As a child he’d had a perfect Dublin accent, but as he grow and began to travel and met new people his accent began to diminish and evolve, becoming the random mish-mash of different dialects that it was today. His voice was impressionable, and the longer he’d spent in London and on the road, the more it’d taken on the nuances of others around him. Underneath it all, the Irish could still be found, but it was overlain with more than enough to cause the untrained ear to have not a clue where he’d originated from—even if they were familiar with his original accent. It was no surprise that Rurik Russo couldn’t immediately ascertain his nationality—if Kian even considered himself a citizen of Ireland any longer, as it’d been so long since he’d been there. He seated himself on the sand near where the Russian gestured for him to, leaning over and slipping his back off from around his neck.
He yet felt no need to shift despite the other’s two-legged form as he didn’t particularly feel dwarfed by the luperci’s unnatural size. He himself was an abnormality, and so he remained on all four paws like the dog he was. “Always be’er wi’h company, indeed,” he concurred, lips curved into a friendly expression. Kian was a social creature by nature, adoring companionship even if he didn’t immediately seek it out on his own. Yet this wolf had fallen right into his lap and he wasn’t about to push him away with any sort of awkwardness. He was a friendly sort, Kian could tell, and it allowed natural comfort on his part. “’Fraid nae,” he replied, voice taking on the appropriate mournful tone. “I’ve been around on ships and t’like, bu’ I’ve never been t’Russia in this life. I was born in Ireland. Dublin, ac’ually. Is i’ nice where ye come from?” Occasionally, the wolfhound did long for his once home, but there was nothing there for him any longer. It’d been a while since he’d felt that there was.
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