-STEAL.- I should have replied to this aaages ago, I sorry. <3
It was a rather blustery sort of day; the silver-furred werewolf was quite ready for the plunge into winter the lands had seemed to take some weeks ago, and now the cold season was in full swing. Rurik was raised practically on top of the world; the winters were long and harsh, the summers short and very beautiful. It was an understatement to say he was used to cold temperatures. He was made for them—his winter coat was quite thick and extravagant, though he'd never been one to take notice. Perhaps it was the husky's blood that gave him this extra padding, but it seemed everyone in Sobirat'sya was this way, and not just their family. Then again, perhaps it might be said that the local dogs had integrated very, very well with the wolf populations of Arkhangel'sk.
The tawny werewolf meandered along the narrow strip of beach, enjoying the afternoon's walk. There was a lightness to his step today; the recent return of Anatoliy and the arrival of Raskolnikov and his lovely mate had set his spirits high, and there was nothing serving to inflict quietus on his good spirits. He was singing as he walked, and though it was not beautiful singing, it was passable. He wasn't tinny or completely out of key, and his songs were simple tunes. His brothers had sang them very often when they worked the ships, and they had stuck with the cloud-furred werewolf these long years. Up ahead of him, there was a figure of another canine, and immediately his singing stopped, though it was no indication of a changing mood. Instead, he offered a smile and a wave to the stranger, completely ignorant of his own relation to the canine—after all, how could he know? Zaets was practically a mystery to him. “Hello there!” he said as he drew nearer, friendly smile on his muzzle as always.
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