WYLAND, cintia emerie

[cintia wyland]

The thick and constant silence that shrouded the forests of Terrinth was momentarily perturbed by the whizzing of an arrow. Immediately followed the definitive "shick" sound as the arrow pierced the flesh of a young gazelle prancing pompously amongst the trees. In one fell swoop, the creature crashed to the ground, incapacitated by the tether protruding from its eye socket. Incarnadine liquid pooled at the wound. Across the clearing, the young woman responsible for killing the creature lowered her bow to her side, pursed her full, pillow lips, and listened. Nary a twig or leaf shifted from its present position, cluing the hunter in to the extent of her solitude. Not a soul lay in wait to ambush her and steal her kill. Tentatively, the young woman stepped into the clearing. She crossed over to the gazelle in a series of cautious movements, feeling the grounds with her toes before she stepped.

Tiny footsteps padded alongside her, and when she'd reached the gazelle, a "mew" echoed from the ground. A warm, furry body pressed against her leg, criss-crossing between her legs and mewing incessantly. The young woman dropped to a crouch, her long brunette curls ending around mid-waist jostling about her shoulders. Following the sound, she ran her hand along the cat's back. It nuzzled her hand in response. "Shhh," she cooed, silencing the creature. "You must stay quiet, Milo. We're not safe here." "Here" of course being Terrinth. Not the best place to be caught after hours by a normal person, much less one such as Cintia. She'd assumed, since it was broad daylight when she set out, that she had a few good hours to hunt before the wolves came out to play, but in the perpetual dark of the forest, it became difficult to determine the hour. Cintia no longer had the faintest clue the time was, or how long until twilight. Fortunately, though, she'd shot a nice, fat doe -- enough to sustain her for a week. All that remained was to tear the arrow from its eye, gather the carcass, and head home.

Reaching out, Cintia extended her arm until her fingertips brushed the coarse gazelle hide. Her hand then traveled upward along the creature's neck, until she found it's head, and subsequently, it's eye socket. Making a "V" with her left forefinger and thumb, Cintia placed her thumb beneath the gazelle's eye and the rest of her fingers above it. Then, with her free hand, she gripped the tether of her arrow and drew it from the body. There came a popping sound, accompanied by the sloshing of freshly-spurted blood, and Cintia knew she'd taken the eyeball with her. Pinching it, she plucked it from arrowhead and flicked it away. She then balled up a fistful of her skirt and slid the arrowhead through it, wiping off the blood and whatever other bodily fluids had coalesced. She had just reached behind her to return the arrow to the quiver strapped to her back when Milo began to mew, this time at a higher octave. More urgently. His "Warning: We've Got Company" mew. Before she had a chance to react, a hand clasped her throat, flooding her nostrils with the familiar scent of wolf.

As a strong pair of arms yanked her to her feet, clasping her wrists together and pinning her arms behind her, Cintia's mind was transported to that night nine years ago. It was two years before the end of the war, when the conflict had been at its worst. A rag-tag militia of humans were caught up in heated conflict with the Lycanthropes, and at the time, it looked as though they stood a fair fighting chance. Since they were closing in, the humans thought it would be a good idea to bring their families. They set up a base along the Terrinthian and Enythian border (without the consent of the vampyrs, but as the other race had been locked in a stalemate with the wolves at the time, they welcomed the aid). Cintia's father Wilhelm had been a member of said militia, so she, her mother Agnes, and her little brother of eight years, Eckhart, moved into a hastily-built log cabin. It was a welcome change from Wynth, while it lasted. Then one night, a handful of lycanthrope soldiers made it past the guards.

Cintia had woken to shouts, screams, the crackling of fire, and the stench of smoke. Her parents and brother had deserted the cabin. Confused, Cintia had run out into the street - all the while shaking the sleep from her bones - and scanned the burning landscape for any sign of her family. She called for them. Then, unbeknownst to her, a wolf crept up on her rear. Her father materialized just in time to swing his weapon of a choice - a bulbous club of redwood - at the wolf. Unfortunately, with its enhanced reflexes, the wolf had had time to duck, and Wilhelm ended up striking Cintia in the back of the head. She crumpled, suddenly enveloped in blackness. She'd been fourteen at the time.

A cold, metallic pressure against her jugular startled Cintia from her memories. "Well well well," a hoarse, masculine voice purred in her ear, "what've we got here?" The wolf pulled Cintia toward him, pressing her against his chest. His hot breath tickled her neck, sending shivers of fear down her spine. She could feel the man's eyes raking over her -- almost picture the wry grin slowly working its way across his features in satisfaction at what he saw. Cintia was what you might call an exotic beauty, with her shallow cheeks, her high cheekbones, her pillow lips, her fair skin, and most importantly, her slender frame. The fact that the wolf could easily clasp both his hands around her waist combined with her height - a meager five feet, four inches - marked her as vulnerable. Easy prey. When he spoke, the smile was audible in his voice. "You smell a little too sweet to be a dog, love." Crazily enough, the term of endearment did little to quell the anxiety crushing Cintia's chest. "What's a pretty thing like you doing so far away from your mountain top?"

"I was-" Cintia strained her neck against the blade, putting on a show of attempting to shake the wolf's hold. Of course, he only squeezed her tighter, trapping her breath at the top of her windpipe and, for all intensive purposes, choking her. Somehow, she managed to continue. "Hunting," she gasped. "For game. That's all, I swear." She felt something trickling down the small of her back and realized the wolf was stroking her.

Chuckling, he gingerly shifted the knife upward so as not to slice her as he brushed a loose curl away from her eyes. Cintia heard his lips part, but before he could say his piece, she felt his leg twitch and heard Milo yowl. "What the.." the wolf barked. He sidestepped as Milio charged again. Cintia heard a "thud" and Milo's yowling digress to a whimper and knew the wolf had bunted him a few feet across the clearing. Her heart ached at the thought of her familiar's pain. Milo had been her kitty, slash best friend, for nine consecutive years now. He was her eyes in the forest... her companion. When there were birds to be chased, he lead her on the case until they landed and she could take over. Most importantly, he was her guardian, warning her when enemies were about, or she was dangerously close to tripping to her death up on the mountains. It took everything in her not to rail against the wolf, which would mean his certain overpowering of her, and ultimately, death. And rape. Which, yes, violated the forced peace, but there was no one around to witness, and no one left alive to avenge her. Instead, she let the ruffian off with a cry of, "Please, not my cat!"

"Don't worry, love," the wolf's laughter pulsated against her neck. "Your pet's not in nearly as much trouble as you." He adjusted his hold on her, crushing himself against her back. "'e's not the one hunting where he ought not be hunting. This is not your territory, poppet. You have no claim to this meat. Besides, what if I needed that gazelle to feed myself? Hm?" When he spoke next, Cintia felt his lips part against her ear. His stench permeated the air around them. "Someone's gotta pay for that doe."

Gathering her reserve, Cintia swallowed and raised her chin. "If you don't kill me, I can make it worth your while."

The wolf chortled. "I bet you would." He spun her so quickly within the circle of his arms that for the briefest of seconds, Cintia's brain grew muddled. She blinked, dazed, and then her thoughts cleared. She could tell she'd been turned around since the heat radiating from the wolf struck her head-on, rather than from behind. The wolf leaned his feverishly hot forehead against hers. One hand he knotted into the curls on the back of Cintia's head, the other fell to her chest, grazing the first button of her blouse. "I'm definitely getting my money's worth outta y-- SHIT."

As he'd spoken, Cintia had flicked her gaze up to what she presumed to be his face. The wolf could now clearly see the truth in her light green eyes.

"But..." he stammered at length. "But you can't be!" Cupping her face in both hands, the wolf scraped her hair back with panicked urgency. "How is that possible?" he cried. "How can you be--" His final words were lost as blood pooled in the back of his throat. The wolf fell away from her, clutching at his breast. A pungent mix of disbelief and terror rolled off him in waves. "Bffshurgle.." he tried to speak again, but the thick maroon liquid dribbled down his front, staining his chin, neck, and shirt. His fingers wound in a loose hold around the hilt of the knife embedded in his chest. Right where his heart should be. He'd been so caught up in his own sexual desires he'd scarcely noticed that when he released his hold on Cintia's wrists, she'd reached straight for the weapon strapped to the inside of her left arm. He hadn't even noticed when she'd placed a hand on his chest, feeling for a heartbeat, and then plunged the blade into him. He sank to the ground, writhing and spitting out mouthfuls of blood.

Stepping over him, Cintia snapped her fingers. "Milo!" she shrilled. Mewing in response, Milo brushed her leg. Delaying only a moment longer, Cintia bent to retrieve her blade. The wolf let out a final sigh as the knife was drawn from him, then he slumped over. Straightening, Cintia clicked her tongue and jerked her head to the side, indicating the west. "C'mon Milo," she cooed. "We should return home before nightfall." They set off, Cintia cleaning and replacing her blade as she went.

- - - NINE YEARS PREVIOUS - - -

Three licks from a coarse, sand-papery tongue roused Cintia from slumber. Though she blinked thrice in rapid succession, the darkness did not subside from her field of vision. Her eyes were open wide, she could feel them, and the sandpaper tongue continued to caress her face, reminding her that she was, in fact, awake. Just to be certain, Cintia waved her arms over her head. She felt the effort it took to move her limbs, but she could not see them where she knew they must be. The creature licking her face stepped off her chest and gently prodded her side with one of its paws, mewing. A cat. Cintia sat up. The second she did so, all the blood rushed from her head and it began to throb. Every muscle in her small frame ached from a strain Cintia couldn't remember placing upon them. She raised one hand to cradle her smarting head. The other hung suspended in midair, unsure of its purpose. The cat mewed amicably and rounded its back against Cintia's free hand.

They stayed there, - the pair of them, human and cat -, until Cintia's headache dissipated. For the sake of clarification, of irrefutable evidence, Cintia lowered the hand from her head and traced her eyes with her fingertips. They were definitely open. She definitely could not see a thing but blackness. Up, down, all around her was only dark. The only sounds present were those of the cat's mews and the gentle breeze filtering through the land.

The land!

Memories crashed over her, starting with her childhood. Sitting on Daddy's lap whenever he came home, bearing a fresh scar each time. He would rock her on his knee and tell her stories, stories of the gods and goddesses up on Har ha-Elohim. Memories of folding laundry with her moth, and how she hated shivering in the mountain air as her pruned fingers drew shirts, tunics, pants, socks, skirts, and other odd clothing items from the wash bin and pinned them on the clothing line. Memories of Eckhart's birth, how the doctors said he wouldn't make it. He was premature and underweight, and came out blue in the face, nearly strangled to death by his own umbilical cord. But Wilhelm cut him free, and he'd been placed in Cintia's care. She remembered feeding him warm goat milk while Agnes remained bedridden in grief. She remembered his first steps, how she had held his hand and preached words of encouragement. How her name was the first coherent utterance to leave his lips.

She remembered trips to the city with Agnes. How she'd always been fascinated by the ropes holding the capital together. She could remember teaching herself to scurry over them. The rush of fear before a potential fall, and the sense of accomplishment when the fall was evaded. She remembered her father's leave when he'd broken his arm. How he spent the entirety of his visit teaching Cintia how fashion bows and arrows from the firewood the vampyrs allowed them to collect from Terrinth every winter. Vampyrs had always been kinder than the other races, despite the fact that humans warred with them and everyone else.

And she remembered the previous evening. Or the evening two days ago. She knew not the time at which the event occurred, but she could remember the scorched landscape, the bright ring of fire cutting through it. She could remember driving herself hoarse from screaming the names of family members who never answered, and then... she could remember a distinct blow to her skull delivering her into eternal darkness.

One final time, Cintia waved her hand before her eyes. Still, she could see nothing. The cat pawed at her legs, mewing anxiously. Cintia ruffled its fur. "Can I trust you?" she asked.

"Mew," said the cat.

Shakily, Cintia took to her feet. The cat remained glued to her side as she took her first wobbly steps.

FACE CLAIM :: Astrid Berges-Frisbey
ALIAS :: Zee
EXPERIENCE :: FOREVUH.
CHARACTERS :: Dimka & Vince
HOW YOU FOUND US :: This is my new home.
HOW ARE YOU DOING? ADMIN WINS AGAIN.

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HEAVEN IS WRAPPED IN CHAINS ©

[LADY EMMALINE ©]

Zee. This application is amazing. Seriously. I love Cintia so much. She and Lucas need to plot. >> Anyway, on to the serious business. The incorporation of the war into your exposition was brilliantly executed. Also, Cintia's a little ninja. I can't wait to see what sort of mischief she gets into. You've already posted in the face claim, so I'll leave you with the fact that if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, you're welcome to bring them up with the staff.