(--)
Vasiliy is by me!
The bustle of the camp was a short distance behind him, but the happiness he heard there rang in his ears still. Many of his fellow pack-mates were pleased, although Vasiliy suspected some were most pleased about being on dry land again. The granite-furred wolf had never met a greener bunch of sailors, though he couldn't complain too much -- the bay's tides were powerfully fierce, stronger than anything even Vasiliy was used to. The White Sea was full of ice and other treachery, but these Fundy tides were not to be underestimated.
Despite the difficulty, the dark-furred Russian itched to try again. He knew he could master these seas: the boat was a powerful, sleek thing, capable of moving by wind and oar both, and he was a capable wolf. The voyage home was therefore both dreaded and desired; as much as he wanted to try the bay's tides again, Vasi also did not wish to leave their little camp. Thus far, trade had been good. He stood, puffing happily on his cigarette while he surveyed the traders, turning away as he heard the distinctive noise of a horse.
The woman was dismounting, and Vasi stood off to the side a moment, finishing the last bit of his tobacco and stubbing it out. He placed the little butt into a small pocket on the outside of his tobacco pouch. Though the cigarette was leaf and earthen materials, he did not believe in flicking them willy-nilly: he buried them behind his house. The stranger was gawking as the slim wolf stepped forward, grinning with pearly teeth and offering a wave of his hand. Hello, he said. You are come to trade?
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