Heritage (Emma)

[Finley]

22.11
4^th of Unumber
Year LVI

There was a lonely wail in the woods. Wind-like, it filtered through the trees with the moonlight and fell upon the grass and died there, gracefully, gentle as a butterfly. From far away, the notes indistinct, the sound might have come from a bird. Yet deep into the dark depths of the Gewin's territory, among fallen pillars and creeping vines, was the perpetrator: a violin, singing out long, anguished notes that trembled as if from a tightening throat. It's player was a tall man with dark, oddly striped hair that fell in messy waves to his broad shoulders and a jagged scar across one eye, perched effortlessly upon a still-standing stone arch with one foot upon the knot of an adjudicate, spiny tree.

Despite the passion of the music that he produced, Finley himself bore a hard expression of detachment, his eyes closed as if he were merely resting. His lips formed a tight line and his jaw was slightly clenched; aside from this, no effort registered for either the balance or the music. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and the music ceased -- a broken set of twigs, under the foot of something much heavier than the common forest animal, alerted him to another presence several feet off. He immediately removed his bow from the string of his violin, slipping soundlessly backward and leaping onto a tree branch to crouch in the dark, waiting. The wind was not in his favour -- he couldn't tell if it was a Gewin or one of his own kind, or a hapless traveller who did not know of the legends. With keen attentiveness he waited, staring down into the moonlit ruins below him.

[Emmaline Rosenthal]

"Love sees not with the eyes but with the mind, therefore is winged cupid painted blind.".

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The gentle warning bestowed by her father waned into the past as her steps moved her onward into the dark forest deep. She glanced back, a faint glimmer of golden firelight marking home, and then, with a heavy navy cloak about her shoulders, moved forward once again. Her feet, unused to the treacherous terrain, often caught on roots and ground brush. Several times twigs from low-hanging branches tangled within her curls, weaving themselves there as if they were an intentional fashion statement. Mud caked upon her leather boots as she stepped into puddle after puddle of muck. The bark upon the trees were slimed with moss and sap, sticking to her left hand as a small red lantern was grasped tightly in the opposite.

And yet she was not frightened, nor were her eyes upon her path. No, eyes of blue remained fixed upon the foliage of the inbetween. Her well-trained vision searched for a hint of moonlit incandescence. Moonflowers, soft and white with a spherical petal pattern, seemed to glow the moon's reflection in their appearance. They were beautiful, difficult to find, and used for all sorts of lovely things. And with their rarity came money. However, a note, long and melancholy, caught her ear. She turned and followed the music, curious and intrigued as to who would be playing in the middle of woods at night.

There it was. Or.. he, rather. The source of the bewitching tune. It was the back of a man, tall and lean in proportion, with hair dark and ragged. His skin was pale, almost luminous, and under his chin rested an exquisitely crafted fiddle. She felt the breath leave her body as she allowed all her weight to rest on the trunk of the nearest tree, merely listening with fascination as the man made music with no effort at all.

But then he stopped. His head seemed cocked to the wind, as if to hear something, and then he disappeared. It was only after that with sickening disappointment that Emma realized it was her own foot that had made the sound that frightened off her nighttime fiddler. She walked cautiously to the tree where he had stood, squinting into the inky shadows cast by the pool of dim light from her lantern.

"Hello? Please, I meant no harm, I just.. I only wanted to listen for a bit." She paused, listening to the echoing silence, then boldly continued with a lighthearted laugh, "I hope I didn't frighten you. I am only a girl, as you see. I cannot be all that menacing." She smiled, perhaps awaiting a laugh in return, but was soon disappointed by the continual quiet.
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[Finley]

Finley leaned against the trunk of a tree, edging soundlessly around to leap just as quietly onto a lower nearby branch, using the wood as a staircase to creep nearer to the intruder. The pupils of his mismatched eyes were rounded slits, opened to make more use of the little light than human eyes could manage. He was careful as he approached, watching his steps as he neared her back so that a snapped twig would not alert her to his presence as one had alerted him to hers. The black leather of his knee-high boots was soft and supple, which made the task considerably more achievable. A long black coat of similarly well-worn material hung from his shoulders, though his marble-white chest seemed illuminated in its bare state. Black trousers completed the ensemble, slightly too tight around his muscular thighs but bunched about his trim waist with a leather belt. The former owner of those pants did not quite have his build.

He froze as her voice rang out into the stillness of the night, mingling with the crickets and the rustle of far-off brush. On reflex he adjusted his pupils, his sight dimming to frustrating blurs and shadows as they took human form, and his long claws slid painfully back into what the humans called "finger nails", though he could hardly understand why: blunt and frail as they were, they resembled nails not one bit. Self-flattery, maybe? Human claws were, sadly, quite pitiful. He narrowed his dim human vision upon the girl's back as she stepped forward with her lantern, doubtless searching for him. Her voice was so... familiar. Why did he feel that he knew it, intimately, but... who? What village girl had hair like that? Miss Millie, though... that Miss was quite a bit more robust than this petite figure of a girl. He could look down on the top of her head, so small was she.

He caught her scent before he could properly recognise her voice. It was with not a little surprise that he realised who it was. He could not forget that scent. The smoke was not so prominent now, aside from little traces in her hair, and the sweet perfume intoxicating him. He let his eyes close and a lopsided, pleased smile came to his lips as he breathed it in, loving the way in which it mingled with the wild aroma of the forest. Before he knew it he had moved behind her, his hands tingling to touch her hair, his breath stirring wisps of it lightly. With considerable effort he suppressed the purr rising in his throat, though his hand drifted up to gently stroke the hair behind her right ear.

[Emmaline Rosenthal]

"Love sees not with the eyes but with the mind, therefore is winged cupid painted blind.".

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[/i] him. She knew he was there. The fact that he had disappeared so quickly into the darkness intrigued her, yes, but it also left a bitter after taste of fear in her mouth. If the being had been a friendly one, he would have made a sound, made himself known. She swallowed, the little gulp it made in her throat and her soft breathing the only sound in all the clearing. At least, that she could her. Then again, not much could be heard above the incessant beating of her own heart that seemed to pound in her ears. You're being silly, Emma. She told herself, wrapping her wool cloak tighter about her shivering figure. It is only forest. You like the forest. Perhaps there wasn't anyone there at all, perhaps it was merely your imagina-

She gasped as gentle fingers stroked her ear and whirled around to face a large shadow, causing her lantern to crash down upon the tree's roots and instantly blanket the clearing in an inky darkness. She had felt his breath on her ear, the strange sensation it created shooting daggers of warning through her body. Blue eyes, wide with alarm and astonishment, fixed on where his own must be, as her eyes had not adjusted yet, she felt completely blind. Her breathing had quickened, her chest heaving up and down in quick motions, yet she remained stock still, so close to another body she could feel his heat. She was torn between what to do; speak or flee. His looming figure decided for her. Flee.

Just as her mind decided her legs attempted to make a break for it. As she backed away however, her feet entwined themselves within the roots beneath her, tangling into bark, mud, and cloak. She felt herself falling backward, down, down, and by instinct reached behind her break her fall. She was successful even, only where her hands took the brunt force of the motion also happened to be where glass had shattered when her lantern had been crushed. Glass sunk deep into her palms, the pain shooting mercilessly up her arms. It all happened so quickly. Half a moment of decision and misstep, and suddenly she was in the dirt cradling an appendage in pain. Her doe-eyes peered up, looking for the man before she could stop herself.
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[Finley]

Finley jerked his hand away as she whirled about, straightening. Could she see him? Would she recall the tom with the mismatched eyes, and make the connection? As obvious as it seemed to him, maybe it would seem rediculous to her. After all, in her world, Guardians did not exist -- merely cats and humans, and nothing in between. He bent his head toward hers as if to nudge her, but halted. That wasn't a human thing to do, was it? Startled, he made a certainly inhuman leap upward onto a low branch as she turned abruptly, stumbling in a heap of roots and skirts and then falling with a thump, a crash and a hiss of pain.

He was back down by then, his boots crunching on broken glass as he rushed to her. The smell of her blood permeated the air, striking it like a bolt of lightning. If it had been unsafe for her before, it certainly was now. With astonishing quickness he slipped from the darkness and wedged his arms beneath her back and her knees, lifting her from the ground and beginning to run. He bound her tightly to himself with his arms as he went, one hand occasionally cradling her head against his bare chest as he made large leaps over fallen logs and up boulders, ignoring the silky feel of her hair on his skin in favour of listening for the sound of Gewin.

They rushed through patches of darkness, sometimes flashing through the brightness of a moonlit clearing. He needed to get her out of the depths; while the fringe of the woods were safest, the closest haven that he could bring her to would be Elencastel. Alastair would be there, and there was no Guardian that Finley trusted more. Also, Alastair may be less likely to criticize him for his indiscretion. About a half mile off from said destination, he halted, his breathing long and deep. He relaxed his tight grip on her and let her feet fall to the ground, but his left arm remained anchored around her waist as he listened, sniffing the air. He had heard a pursuit, but it appeared that the creature had been discouraged.

[Emmaline Rosenthal]

"Love sees not with the eyes but with the mind, therefore is winged cupid painted blind.".

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[/i] she was and where she was supposed to be. She no longer knew the path back home, she was alone with a man in the middle of the wood. The dangers were just know creeping into her mind. Her eyes opened with a start and she wrestled her way out of his stern hold. Balmy moonlight filtered through the leaves overhead, casting delicate patterns upon both faces and surroundings. Emma held her hand gingerly to her chest, staring firmly at the man.. no, boy. She saw now that his face was barely creased and his person was youthful, despite his build of an adult. She felt the unpleasant grip of fear travel her spine, though amidst it skipped curiousity. She swallowed, unable to think of what else to do but stand her ground. She was not, after all, one to be whisked off without a fight.

Only half his face was visible now. Only two steps away, she could see his eye was a vivid blue. Scars crossed over the eye with such violent force it was as if the wound was still fresh, instead of a faded disfigurement. Yet, there was a kindness to it; to his features, a face she would very much like to trust. "Who are you?" The first three words to break loose. She really ought to remember to think before speaking. Her tone was bold and sounded too loud for the hushed night.
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[Finley]

Finley was still surveying their position, ears pricked for any indication of danger, when the formerly lax little figure held in her arm began to struggle. He turned his face to her in confusion, letting her push his arm away. Her eyes on his skin felt like pinpricks. He was so unused to being observed by human eyes in this form. It put him, if not on her level, than quite a bit closer to it than usual, if only because she thought that he was one of her kind. She felt that she could communicate with him. In a way that humans, especially outsiders to the village, did not grant to cats, she assumed a form of identification with him because they were alike on a fundamental level. Or so she thought. And the feeling of being that much closer to a human, something he was so unused to, sent a thrill through his veins. Or was it just her? Her sweet, heady scent still clung to his bare chest and arms, mingling with his own.

He smiled at her voice, at her confusion and her worry. She didn't seem positively frightened, merely disoriented. He understood. Humans had such a terrible sense of direction, especially in the woods, and they were not used to traveling so far so fast. His expression registered amusement, but also sympathy. At the same time he wondered if she had struggled while he carried her. He hadn't thought so, but was it possible that he had merely not noticed? She was feeble compared to him. Had he held her too tightly?

He bowed his head in what he hoped was a submissive posture, holding out his hand toward her wounded one. He wanted to assess the damage. It would probably need to be washed and bound, and in that case he would lead her toward the river. Her question went unanswered, but on his face was his lopsided, friendly smile. The vivid light of his eye seemed to gleam in the dark, crossed by his scar.

[Emmaline Rosenthal]

"Love sees not with the eyes but with the mind, therefore is winged cupid painted blind.".

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[/i] This boy in front of her was unknown; mysterious and therefore dangerous. She'd been a road girl long enough to know when to stay on her guard. So why was her hand, throbbing and stinging, suddenly cradled in his own? Why, if she was so smart; so very adept to the caution she must exercise when it comes to strangers, was she allowing herself to be a breath away? She kept her eyes for the moment on her injury, her hand looking so very fragile in his.

"So no-name then.." She tried again, feeling the silence turn uncomfortable on her end. It was her nature to speak and entertain. She did not like quiet. Not when there was another presence, at least. "You do not speak?" She asked, smiling hesitantly. He seemed friendly, despite being a mute. She peered up, her face towards his, and caught a glimpse of his other eye. A different shade completely from the blue, and no scar crossed it. But in a flash it was hidden back to the shadows. She stared, perhaps a beat too long to be the social normality.

A great caw sounded in the depths of the forest, shattering the newest silence that lay frozen between them and triggering Emma to jump, causing a searing pain to shoot up her arm. She retracted her hand again, thought a moment, then laid it back in his open palm.
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