This is backdated to February 6, pleaseandOK? :3 This is at the Trenches. <3
Winter rarely deterred the silver-furred werewolf from his explorations. He was still a newcomer to these lands; he had arrived at the very end of September, after all, and that was just over four months now. The grizzled werewolf had his hands full often with Liliya and Silas, but now that her other brother was here, Liliya and Anatoliy were nearly inseparable—they spent quite a lot of their time catching up with one another, and the silver-furred werewolf was glad for that. Liliy was growing more sure of herself and less dependent every day; she would end up being a lovely woman someday, he was sure of that. Rurik was especially protective of his daughter, but he didn't believe she ought to be reigned in simply for the fact that she was a woman. Kiska might not have been her mother, but that was a damn good example of a lady who could take care of herself—Rurik had no doubt Liliy would do the same.
The Russian wolf meandered along the landscape, climbing his way along the hills. His four-legged form made this difficult on occasion, but he was able to navigate thanks to many of the derelict pathways among the rocky hillsides, perhaps carved by humans once upon a time. quietus had fallen over them many years ago, however, and the silver-furred werewolf could just barely make out the remnants of their pathways. Before long, one of these took him to a tiny fishing village—in reality, it was little more than three shacks huddled together. The remnants of the shacks were in poor condition at best; two had not survived at all, and could be accurately described as "piles of timber" rather than shacks. The third was still standing, however. Some human had the foresight to board up the windows, and its construction seemed slightly more permanent than the other two ruins.
The cold did not drive Rurik inside, but curiosity did, and he jiggled open the door after a moment. The locking mechanism had failed years ago, though it had done its job as far as keeping the door in place. The air inside was musty, and Rurik left the door open behind him, peering about the dark innards of the apparently deserted cabin. It was a single room, barren of any sort of decor. There was a small cot in the corner, the softer materials of it already destroyed by some kind of parasite. The fishing rods hung near the door might be usable, but as Rurik disliked the taste of fish, he personally could not find them useful. Prying open the single cupboard did nothing but assault his nose with the stale odor of food that had gone rancid years earlier, and he quickly shut it. Rurik began to doubt he'd find anything of use here, until a familiar thing caught his eye—a cellar door handle.
He knew what humans sometimes stashed in cellars, and he fearlessly pried the door open, leaning on the floor to peer around inside, giving a shout of joy when he saw it was well-stocked with several sorts of alcoholic beverages. Most seemed intact and unopened, though Rurik did not doubt some might have been damaged in some way over the course of time. It was rare to find a stockpile that wasn't. Still, this was an awesome find—except he had no way to get all of this home at once, and it was a very, very long trip back home. Glancing from left to right almost comically, the silvery werewolf reached down to grab a bottle of what appeared to be rum—confirmed by a quick sniff—and got to work, figuring there was no harm in having a sample now. It splashed down his throat hot, and sent his tail thumping mechanically against the floor, quite happy with his good fortune.
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