Vasiliy is by me!
Aylu, Cercatori d'Arte -- both were strange names to Vasiliy, and he gawked at the other canine for a moment, still grinning, but less certainly. Pack -- yes! he yelped, starting up after the other canine. He trotted quickly to catch up and meandered along at the wolf's side, pale blue eyes glancing toward him furtively. Nova Scotia -- that is -- this place, yes? And Cercatori d'Arte is your pack? Sobirat'sya wasn't really a pack, but his family functioned like one. The Russos were their own pack, the Chekovs their own -- that they lived in the same general area and were not so territorial as their wild brothers was no thing to Vasiliy.
I am looking for new home, yes, the wolf said, glancing toward Aylu once more. He shifted his pack on his back, uncertain. Mine father was member of pack called Miracles. I do not want to go there, he said, declaring this openly. Rurik hadn't given him a good or bad impression of the pack he'd belonged to, but if Vasi knew one thing, it was that he did not wish to walk in his father's footsteps. He would therefore seek a new home, and seek it immediately -- he would not dawdle and linger as his father had. What is your Cercatori like? he inquired, bold as he pleased.
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