(--) Bawww thread over? ;_;
Vasiliy is by me!
The granite-furred wolf shifted on his feet and looked down, lifting his shoulders in an awkward, scrunching sort of gesture. Mine fault too. Stupid words from my mouth, he said, wanting to blame it on the language barrier but knowing better. Perhaps she would have the blessed courtesy to allow the mishap to be chalked up to that language barrier, as he attempted to suggest, but maybe not, too. If she thought of him as strange, she might never come to Cercatori to trade. While this might be good for Vasi's pride, it was not good for Cercatori d'Arte, especially if this woman had pitch and other such goods.
Have good travel, he added, again shifting his weight. Abruptly, the dark-hued man turned back toward the jars of pitch and other goodies he'd obtained, bending down to sort through them and shift them around. They didn't need much shifting or rearranging, but he was eager to have an excuse to look somewhere other than the body he would have willingly embraced, were it not for his mind's sorry objections. She seemed perfectly innocent, and he'd gone and offended her by suggesting she might trade her honor for material good. His ears were pressed back into his mane as he worked, and though he wanted to glance behind and see if she was gone, he dared not.
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