the days they come but the years they go.
#17
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313~


The werewolf knew that living his life as Kansas had would have been impossible; by the time Rurik was two years old, he was already living in London, waiting for his ship to be built so he might sail around the world. He had gotten the traveling itch even younger than that, and maybe he'd even had it all his life. Though he would never have traded his experiences with the world, he did wonder how different his life would be if he had just stayed at home. Maybe he'd still have Kiska and his sons; maybe Anatman and Barskii would have even been alive. The silver-shaded werewolf could not say for sure, and he smiled. “Most of mine family still leeves in Russia. Mine parents, siblings, cousins, nieces, nephews... beeg family,” the werewolf said, clearly taking pride in his blood.


“But here I have mine children Liliya and Anatoliy with me in Cour des Miracles. Silas live in Inferni,” the werewolf explained. Now he leaned back, taking a long swig of the bottle. He lit a cigarette afterward, and sighed his smoky breath outward. “Mine oldest sons, zhey were born in Syemv. But... I vas not good father. I did not even zhink zhey were mine children at first,” he said, shaking his head. He struck the ground with a fist suddenly; for once in his life, anger showed through in Rurik. “Stupid! So stupid,” the man said, sighing heavily. The anger had evaporated and gone as quickly as it had come, and he dragged his cigarette again. “I search for zhem, but I do not find them.” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, and looked away. This was his darkest secret, though it certainly was not secret—the silver-shaded werewolf would publicize his search for Zorish, Zaets, and Vladimir wherever he could in the hopes that it would help him.



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