(--) SHH DON'T TELL RURIK
Vasiliy is by me!
Vasiliy had big hands and deep pockets, but even so, he was grateful for the piece of cloth the woman wrapped the last few things in. He nodded and grinned gratefully, shifting the jars with a little clink. Thank you, he said, tail swishing a few times with gratitude as he took this final small bundle from her, tucking it into his pocket. He nodded and stuck out his hand, sliding the trinkets down so they might dangle on his arm rather than need to be held like most everything else. Vasi did not want to risk having the pitch traded off by someone who didn't know its value to the ship.
Aye, he said, grinning with the mention of the cowardly bird -- chickens were more than just poultry, after all, and there was a reason for the name. At least there is food to be had if chicken dies, the man agreed. He tossed the end of his muzzle toward the chicken cages. All are strong, should be okay. The dark-furred Russian sidled over toward the rowboat and carefully -- very carefully -- set the various jars down, sticking them beneath the flipped-over boat. He'd take them out to the ship proper later, when there was time, but this would serve for now. The jewelry he kept on him to set it out with the remainder of their trinkets immediately; the rest was set aside for later inspection.
Now, we pick chickens? he suggested, wriggling both hands. I will help, if you need.
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