The tree's here are beautiful. Nothing like New Orleans. A cool autumn breeze brushed through the golden-red silky long hair of an unfamiliar female Russian wolf, the crunching of soft coniferous needles and frosty soft dirt granting a fresh breath of life into her spirit. But, of course, that moment of peace was ever-so brief. The instant she heard the playful barking of her male pups, her head rose, and her gait went from a slow walk to a quick pace. Nikolai! Konstantin! Her accent was rather peculiar; a mix of Russian and American-Southern. What did I tell you about playing in the dirt! A small grunt-like sound came from her throat as she slowly came to a stop, adrenaline rising as the scent of her boys rose in the air. The boys are turning out like their Papa.... She watched the two month old pups roll around on the ground, nipping at each other and consistently running into tree trunks. This made her smile. Her boys.... Her strong strapping hellion hoodlums were true Russian warriors. Sabyne could see them years from now, ending up like their father and the rest of her Russian relatives - may they rest in peace - who gave the Somanov name a history and a representation worth being proud of. Papa would be pleased with this litter, she whispered, icy blue eyes twinkling with happy memories, the little that she had to hold onto.
Momma? Sharlotta spoke softly to her mother in that sweet innocent pure voice, one of the many characteristics that classified the small thing under "insanely adorable." The 10 week old pup looked up at her mother with a piercing yellow gaze from her spot upon the ground, where her mother looked down at her. She had laid down next to where her mother appeared to have settled and was chewing on a few coniferous needles as she talked. There was no trace of Russian in her tone. Why is Niko and Konny so rough?
The mother seemed to smile down to her daughter, leaning her long neck down to lick at the top of her head, cleaning her fur momentarily while spreading some affectionate love. Lottie’s tail wagged, her small pink tongue with a tiny black dot on the tip licking her mother’s muzzle in turn. The moment was cut short, however, when the boys slammed into a tall tree and rolled to their sides, seemingly dizzy. A short snort came from Sabyne. True Russian во́ин are aggressive and rough in battle; it is in their nature, милая. Your brothers are only preparing themselves to live up to the family name! The three year old made a low cackle sound, resonating from her throat and chest.