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There were few things in Rurik's life that affected him so deeply as what he had done over the summer months of 2005. It was mind-blowing to Rurik that it had been five years ago that Kiska had given birth to these children. They were already five years old—already well on their way to being old men, and had they spoken so much as a friendly sentence with their father? Rurik could not say for certain. Rikka's words drew his attention, and a warm smile drew across his muzzle, the silver-shaded werewolf's features growing softer and brighter all at once with the mention of the ocean. “I could not leev away from zhe ocean if I try,” he explained, rolling his shoulders in a helpless shrug. He had grown up no more than hundred yards from Sobirat'sya's docks; they had been his favorite hangout throughout his youth and adolesence. He considered her question, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. Truth be told, he hadn't seen anything even remotely resembling a horse when he'd been there with Niro—but their scent was peculiar and unique, and he was sure he'd smelled a horse or two in the area. “I vill be honest, I do not know,” he admitted carefully, shrugging his shoulders gently. “I did not see many, but I zhinks zhere are a few. Veesh I vas better vith horses,” he said softly. “I ride a few times, but I am no horse-man,” the werewolf added truthfully. His pace was leisurely and slow; there was no hurry to his step today. This was a stroll to be enjoyed, not a walk with a purpose—they may have had a destination in mind, but Rurik was in no hurry to get there.
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