Sorry that I haven't been updating as much as I liked, but I was really concentrating on my artwork. Also I hit a dry spell in writing, and totally losing focus I just slacked off. Terribly sorry all. Please enjoy this.

Chapter One

Come around a weary stranger

Songs of love to him she sang

Among the forests murmur danger

To their child that they hang

Perhaps it was the time that I had scraped my knee when I fell at the age of three that I had realized that I was different from any of the other children. I was substantially more clumsy than the rest, for they had already mastered the art of running without bruising themselves. We had been playing some kind of chasing game, and as usual I was chosen as the pursuer, because not only was I the youngest but also the most ungainly. I had sat there clutching my knee while staring at the torn skin that was starting to well up with blood. The skin was dark around the edges, mixed in with the gravel, and the blood would be kept back by the lifted skin. It was painful, but the thick bright redness captivated me. I dipped my finger into the growing pool and then brought my finger to my lips. The metallic and tangy taste filled my mouth even as I tried to wipe the taste off my tongue with my clothes. One of the children, who was also one of my 'brothers' that belonged to one of the other women in the household pointed at me laughed and said disdainfully, "Yer a mongrel, you are because both my ma and da said so…And that means yer dirty." I ended up punching him because I thought he had done me a great disservice by calling me a mongrel; which at the time I had no idea what it meant, so it must have been something extremely odious. I received a lashing from my father, even though he was not my true father. Leigh, the boy, should have received a lashing too in my opinion, but my father loved him because he was from his own and I was not.

My real father was a kind man, from what I could remember of him. I had not seen him in years, and what I can remember was a faded silhouette of an extremely large man that visited me until I was almost five summers old. All he had ever brought me was a large woolen blanket and a leather strap with a medallion on the end. The metal was engraved with a rather enraged feline with a crown. My mother hid all this away as well, afraid that her husband would destroy it, only showing me my heritage once every year to silently commemorate my birth. It was this year that reached my seventeenth full season.

Unlike all the other children, I was the only one born in the winter. Some of the elders of the community commented on the devil's blood running through me as the reason for the strange color my eyes and the untimely entrance of my birth. It was hard not to think that there was something wrong with myself when everyone that I encountered was set in their ways against what I was. They were cold to my existence, but I bore no ill will toward them, for there was something about myself that was outside of what they accepted.

There was always a celebration whenever one reached of age. After one's seventeenth season one would be showered in gifts and introduced as a man or woman. Mother had long told me that none of such things should accompany my coming of age. Instead, from the start I understood that on the eve of my first day as a woman I would have to leave or die. It was the law of my kind that none should ever murder a child, but upon the sunset of adulthood it would no longer hold any sort of amnesty.

"Aine, my love," whispered a woman that still had the young face of a girl, "my child, wake up." The young woman, still sprawled in her bed, showed that she had heard her voice but not her words by the slight twitching of her nose. " I wish you did not have to leave me." She stroked the sleeping girl's wavy raven tresses.

The girl gave a sleepy sigh, " Why is it so cold?"

"Because it's snowing." Aine's mother turned away, because she knew that the rest of the household, even though it was snowing, that they had nice fires to warm them in their rooms. It was not an accident that the servants had missed Aine's room.

"Ah, snowing? I'm glad." A delighted smile lighted on her face but soon turned to a darker emotion. "Then… is today the day that…"

"That you are to leave." A determined light grew in her mother's eyes. "You are to leave before sunset. I will not have you slaughtered before my eyes."

"Mother, I will do what you have always made sure that I knew to do." Aine turned around so that her mother would not see that she was frightened. "I will find my father but…. Why can you not join me?"

"You do know, that for some reason, the first snowfall is always on the day that you were born… and for many years…I have not ventured out into the outside world. I do not even know if I can find Him, and my animal form will not support me in this snowfall."

"I can carry you, you are only a falcon, mother. I shall carry you there to my father's house." Her voice pleaded.

"Foolish girl! How are you to carry me when you cannot withstand the snow unless you are in your animal form as well? I want you to go safely without having to worry about your old mother." Her voice became softer, "come here, you will take this with you."

It was the last glimpse you could catch of her mother as she started walking into the woods. She headed straight, as her mother had instructed for her to, and realized that slowly the woods became more and more quiet and empty. Sometimes there would be the occasional strange creature scampering across her path, but as she walked they became nonexistent. It was then that she realized that there was no going back to familiar territory.

She had bundled herself as thickly as possible but the harsh winds and cold penetrated the layers. There were some dried meats packed along with her as well as her father's plaid and crest engraved medallion. The only thing that seemed to keep her warm was her father's plaid, but it soon became too cold for her to trudge on. She sat down and tried to gnaw on some of the dried meat, but she just didn't seem to have the strength to do so. It was no use for her to keep on going as a human, she realized.

She made sure that there was no living soul near her before she slipped out of her layers one by one. For she remembered what he mother said as well, "do not go around showing everyone your true form, not all will understand." Shivering, she finally took off the last layer. It was not possible, she knew, for a leopard to carry her clothes with her if she was to take along her food and medallion in her plaid. Even though the icy winds was making her flesh an angry red, she slowly and carefully bundled up the medallion and food into the plaid then tied the plaid loosely around her neck. It was only a few seconds before a large white cat stood in her place. The leopard did not even glance backwards to see her clothing blowing away.

Several clans had been flying rumors of strange articles being found in the snow on their lands and sightings of a large white cat that lasted only seconds before it would vanish into the snow. These strange bits of information that came from trustworthy witnesses worried those who owned livestock, even though livestock rarely even ventured out during the winter.

The blizzard had stopped and everything was clear that morning. It was time to fill the cellars with excess food, or at least as much food as could be stored in there. It was not that they were running low, but it was best to stay full to last them to the end of winter. And while there was still some game around, it was best to eat the fresh meat before starting the stored up reserve.

Daman Sutherland was striding toward the stables, he had already decided that they would be leaving in the morning and returning in the afternoon. No one would dare oppose his orders. Before he entered the stall he made sure that the pouch hanging on his hip was full. He had to make sure that his horse would have enough tidbits so as not to nip him. He took a look behind him to see if any of his men had arrived yet, but not a person had come down yet. As his head turned away, he was startled to see something vividly green.

There were two green gilded gold orbs staring at him. He then focused more clearly and was astonished, even though his face showed no emotion, to see the strange creature in front of him. It had something around its neck it seemed a blanket or a tartan, did this animal belong to someone then? A witch's familiar, perhaps?

Slowly, he started toward the cat. The fresh clean snow crunching under the impact of each leather boot. It was a fine skin the feline had, a pristine white, and a wonderful fur and prize as well. As he got within an arms reach away, the cat snarled then disappeared. Daman swore under his breath. He was going to snare that animal as long as it was on his land, skin it's glorious fur and feast on its meat.

She had allowed a man to be so close to her that day, almost within arms reach. It was because in this form, she was nearsighted, and the colors were almost completely muted as well. As a feline, colors such as purple, blue, green and the yellow range were the most vibrant. When faced with red, orange, and brown colors appear they all looked the same, ending up as either purple or gray.

From when she was a child, she remembered a deep voice telling her that she could identify clan members by the types of plaids they wore. Because of this, she would allow herself to venture so close to that man, to look at his tartan. It was not her family, she realized, since she saw green, a gray tinted purple, white, and blue. She knew that her vision was faulty, but her tartan had no traces of blue in it.

It was not the simplest thing to do; she had already been wandering for almost three days and more than half of her rations was running out. It had been long since she had seen the last person, and the sun was soon to set. She would never let down her mother, though.

As she was making her way to find someone, she started to hear hoof beats and men's voices. She rushed her stride, trying to find an escape. Without warning she felt something bludgeon into her right shoulder and then another, hitting her in the left leg. They were coming from her right, so she dashed left. It was hard to hide when a brightly colored red and green tartan was tied around her neck.

The pain was masked by her adrenaline and cooperating with the instinct to stay alive; she clawed herself up a tree. There was a small trail of blood, since most of the blood had been blocked by the arrow and then soaked up by her fur. There were also two small pools growing under the limb she was on. She would have been daft to not know that the hunters would follow the trail, and their growing voices supported that. She was petrified.

More hoof beats seemed to come closer, and already the first pursuers were standing underneath the tree. Some of the men laughed, and pounded on the tree trunk. Aine could feel her vision becoming blurred so she closed her eyes, and listened. She could hear them tell their best archer to knock her out of the tree, and that the best way was to get one shot into the head so that no more of her skin would be damaged. Gruesome thoughts swam their way into her head and visions of her carcass…

"What are ye doing?" The frosty hushed tone silenced the group of six men huddled underneath the tree.

None answered but someone whispered, "'Tis the Sutherland Laird."

"'Tis Sutherland land ye are hunting on." The baritone voice seemed like an impending rockslide. "Leave, before I strip the flesh off of your backs and send them back to your wives."

The hunters instantly forgot their prize, and with their tails tucked in-between their legs ran off. There was no chance that the six of them were to battle against Laird Sutherland and seven of his best men. It would have been sure death. Feelings between the two opposing clans had already tensed up and the Sutherlands would not have hesitated to skin them alive.

"Damn MacKays. Cowards they all are." One of the men behind their Laird murmured.

They had already killed two young stags, yearlings only, but Daman was not thinking over their successes. Instead, he was calculating what the MacKay Clan was chasing. They were not so desperate to chase smaller game, and the only kinds of game that could scale a tree were small. He squinted upwards.

Suddenly, the animal in the trees fell with a sickening sound. He slung the animal over his shoulder, noticing that the cat was still alive, just unconscious. As he hefted the body onto his horse, and was ready to slit the cat's throat when the animal started to change. He halted his hand, and within a moment a naked woman was in its place.

"What the hell?"