Iraldia the Huntress's page

About Iraldia the Huntress

There was a hush before the attack. It was an eerie calm that made Iraldia's fur prickle with anxiety. The little kitsune girl stopped in the middle of the dirt road, peering around at the small village she called home.

"Mom?"she called out meekly. That's when it came. It started low like the roar of a wave rushing up toward land. But by the time it crashed, it was a crescendo of rage. The humans rushed in from all sides, swallowing the village in a single swoop. Fire rained from their bows and lit the wooden homes a blaze. Just barely, the screams of her neighbors could be heard over the war cries. Frozen for a moment, she watched as the soldiers stormed toward her. With a dash, she dove under the nearest porch and scrambled toward the other side in hopes of escape. The wood above her began to sag and splinter under the weight of armored boots. She stopped short as her name was cried out. Her mother. The cry was full of such terror.

"Mom?!"The kitsune reversed direction. Then Iraldia froze again. Only a few yards from the porch, her mother lay in the dirt. Her eyes were wide and full of tears. A mortal wound was cut into her chest. The older kitsune, with her last bit of energy, motioned for the girl to stay. So Iraldia lay, staring out as the life faded from her mother's face. Neither moving, neither looking away.

Come morning, the girl crawled out from under the collapsed porch. Slowly, she approached her mother's body and gingerly closed those violet eyes. Turning to survey the carnage, she took in the grave that was now her village. Only one human soldier had fallen. She was propped against a fence and clung to life by a mere thread. Iraldia approached the woman with a numb curiosity. The soldier's eyes lifted to the girl and they turned from pain to clear hatred. The woman's breath quickened and she tired to move, her hand twitching toward the shortsword at her side. The kitsune tilted her head letting something draw her to the human. As she closed, a power rippled between them. Iraldia's fur melted away and took on the pink hue of flesh. Her violet eyes dulled and her paws elongated into hands. Hair cascaded down her shoulders. The human's eyes widened as she recognized the small girl, as if she were looking at her younger self. But as the transformation completed, the last spark of life was drawn from the soldier and she fell still. Iraldia looked over her new form with a mix of disgust and relief. It sickened her to resemble her family's murders...but it would be a useful disguise to get close...

Years later...
The kitsune's ears perked as she heard the yelp. She dodged through the trees and moved closer to the small human camp. Her human form slipped over her without effort as she stood only a few yards from camp. The two men hadn't noticed her yet. They were too busy abusing a poor dog.
"Hail good sirs," she called out. Their cruel laughter died out as they sought out the voice.
"Whats you want?" one responded between swigs from a tankard.
"I was hoping you'd seen any catch today. I've had no luck," Ira lied.
"Nah. This mutt ain't helping nuffin' and her pups too damn scrawny to be anything good," the other chuckled, "guess we'll have to eat them instead."
They both laughed. The kitsune joined in to put them ease as she closed the distance. A female dog, broken and beaten whimpered softly at their feet. A twitch of her paw drew Ira's attention to a small cage at the edge of the fire circle. A small puppy echoed his mother's whimpers, pawing at the ground in an effort to get to her. A cold rage drew up in Ira's heart. Before she, or the men for that matter, knew what was happening, the kitsune's sword slid from its scabbard and found a new home in one man's gullet. The second cried out as her guise dropped and she became a kitsune once more. He fumbled to grab his weapon but felt Ira's sword cut across his arm. Dropping the sword, he limped away, trying to run for safety. She let him gain distance as she set her sword down and drew her bow. The arrow would find its target between his shoulder blades. He was still alive...but she would provide no aid. Instead, she aided the ailing dog to her eternal rest before scooping the pup out of the cage and headed back to her home.

Ira reflected on that day as she sat upon the roof of a burnt out village house a year later. She picked up a ball fashioned out of hay and clay dirt. The hunter tossed it out into the graveyard below her. Now a grown dog, Gommie darted between the hand made head stones to find the doughy ball. Beyond, a caravan shambled across the horizon.
"Come on, Gommie. Time to hunt," She called as she hopped down from her perch.