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It was always a compliment to hear his accent hadn't faded any—Rurik often spent time away from home, but he always went back to Sobirat'sya eventually. It was simply that he didn't seem to remain in any place for too long, and he had given up trying—he knew this Cour des Miracles thing was only temporary, though he was not absolutely certain on when he would leave. It wasn't anytime soon, of course, and he was willing to dedicate himself entirely to the pack in the meantime, but he knew the wide world would come calling again, and he would see the vast expanses of the water in front of him once more, with the rocking of the ship beneath his feet and the wind in his hair.
“I am glad mine homeland is not totally out of mine voice,” he admitted, his grizzled muzzle splitting into a smile. “I have only been here since the fall of last year, but prior to zis I spend time here twice before. It was up a way nort' from here, in pack called Syemv. Second time I vas with Aremys,” he explained, though he added very quickly to his thoughts. “I am not one of those who don't like Inferni, though,” he said. Rurik knew there were tensions between the coyotes and the other canines of this world; he was not one who held prejudices, not at all. “Nothing against coyotes,” he said cheerily. “Vhere in old world did you see?” the werewolf asked, curious.
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