The Woman Clad in White Foxskin

From the base of Evernight Waterfalls an energetic stream coursed downward, skirting round boulders, flowing away in serpent-like twists and turns, wandering off across distant plains and over and beyond the horizon line.

The late evening sun flooded the mountainsides with its honey glow and turned the stream into a thread of gold. And the setting sun sharply outlined two men fiercely clanking swords at the foot of the mountains.

They were almost flying across the rocky terrain, never losing balance, bouncing off rocks, splashing waters, swirling, never stumbling. The battle raged with incredible finesse and vigour: first, one, then the other gaining the advantage; swords thrusting, colliding, slicing and arcing the air, then it became clear that they were in a bind, neither one willing to yield.

Such was the scene that spread out beneath the glassy eyes of the woman clad in a white foxskin cloak as she looked downward from the precipitous slope of the rocky waterfalls that towered above the swordsmen.

Even a casual glance at them would suffice to tell that they possessed that daring recklessness which is the most useful quality of a mighty opponent.

Perched high against the skies, her head moved in quick jerks to the right and left and her eyes carefully noted each detail of her surroundings as she searched for the best way down.

However, her gaze leaped suddenly to a tiny spot of colour that rose and dropped above a far distant tree, and rose again and dropped a second time.

"A bird..." she squinted her pupils, "an injured bird..."

She slunk away from the shelf of the rock and set toward the distant tree, not too slow, fast enough, bouncy and alert; with aroused curiosity, yet remote from everything around her.

With every step she exuded a graceful and brute strength. The soft "pat-pat" of her feet sent scurrying several mice hidden in the long grasses. Today she'd let them be—it was their lucky day.

When she finally approached the tree, the bird flapped its wings straight at her without warning, and plopped right at her feet.

She let out a sharp sibilant whisper.

She poked at the feathered lump with her long finger—the round eyes shifted slightly and the little feet twitched faintly.

The bird was still warm and the woman's tongue instinctively curled to hook onto her top lip. She took a sniff, her heart paced faster, before her hand unsheathed the dagger from the leather girdle round her waist.

.

.

.

Shufeng didn't hear the sound of steps at his back as he slid down his hips the last piece of clothing, ready to swim into the pellucid waters.

He only heard the scrapping sound of metal against the pebbles; and as he turned around with the expectation to see Jian, he found himself at the mercy of a woman, and before he could move she pointed the tip of his sword on his chest, poking mercilessly at his wound.

He wondered why he became so intent in watching her that he forgot, during that moment, he was naked.

She moved a little nearer to the edge of the stream, but not too much, or else her feet might touch the waters. The fishes startled, scattered and hid beneath the biggest stones in the riverbed.

Shufeng stood upright, eye to eye to the woman whose lustrous and soot-black hair shifted in an unfelt wind. There was no colour in her fierce and delicate face. And he couldn't tell the colour of her irises—gold, amber, maybe ochre, with more yellow than brown, bright yellow perhaps—always morphing into a new hue with each flicker of the eyelashes.

She appeared completely unholy with her vacant eyes glittering savage laughter, flashing a gleam that undressed his thoughts and proclaimed a dangerous mood that would most certainly lead to pain if she'd come any closer; but also that concentrated on him with an irresistible reassurance he'd find pleasures if he'd come closer.

Her burning and dizzy-making gaze choked him, haunted him, called out for him, made his body's flesh crawl and yearn.

She was blood-curdling… but divinely alluring, yes, abominably beguiling and sensual so that he'd cut out his heart while enfolding himself in her skin.

This frightful and hypnotic creature lifted a bony finger ending in a long, sharp and curved gilded nail which she trailed like a snail across his bottom lip.

Against reason, he didn't move and hardly seemed to be breathing. For a moment his body hardened and he stood still as a stone statue.

While her silky voice void of human feelings whispered in his ear, a strand of her hair stung his cheek with a nettle-like touch.

Afterwards, she glided a few steps back and smiled—it seemed like a smile. But it was something else.

He blinked and when he opened his eyelids, he saw the sword flew from her hand like a shooting star and dived into the river; she, who had felt the quick clutch of strong arms forcing her to turn round, now faced her attacker.

Jian held his blade against her throat. Shufeng's blood boiled within him and he cursed inwardly. How could he have been so careless as to make himself such an easy prey?

Jian feigned to cough, and regarded Shufeng with a puzzled questioning in his eyes.

Then the prince's face instantly became flushed for he could not find some reason to explain why he didn't make effectual resistance against this woman, and this mortifying thought occupied his mind more than his nudity.

Jian pretending to cough for a second time, in a deep croak that rumbled as if from a cave.

'Why was he still naked?!'

Shufeng hurriedly put on his clothes. His great shoulders towered above the woman as she let him securely bind her hands with the ropes Jian had thrown him.

She made no struggle when Jian grabbed at her, not because she could not. She could escape but it was out of the question. She came here for a reason so she would spare Jian's life—today was he lucky day too.

"Who are you? Who sent you to kill the prince?" Jian questioned, his eagle eyes scanning the surroundings for imperial troops.

Anxiety swallowed them up upon realisation they might have been tracked down. An intense tension enveloped them. However, wouldn't have the troops surrounded them by now? Was she a lone assassin dispatched by the Empress?

Her large eyes blazed out of a face that revealed unusual power, and looked at the two men with a lack of concern that was not forced. She paid no more attention to them than she would to the nagging mosquitoes swirling above the river.

Jian pushed his burnished blade a little harder on her throat. "Are you ready to answer with your life for the safety of the one who sent you?"

She made no movement, clearly unaffected by the pressure of the intimidation. She was idly clicking her tongue against her palate as if bored.

Her unusual eyes seemed to look straight through and beyond Jian as she spoke: "I came here alone to return what you have lost and visit an old friend. I mean no harm, really."

Then she pointed to the brown hessian sack leaned upon the boulder several steps away from them. Her face held an expression of unnatural calm with a tingle of amusement as she anticipated their reaction.

Jian opened the bag and looked inside. It immediately caused him to collapse onto the ground, pale and upset, gaping for air. He exclaimed swearing words under his breath, but loud enough for the words to reach Shufeng's ears. And not a second later he sprang to Jian's side.

Almost at the same moment, their ears caught the thin strains of a gentle flute music echoing between the rocky walls.

When they turned around to look at the odious woman, the thongs formerly about her wrists were presently on the ground. The woman clad in a white foxskin cloak was gone and the image of her seemed to have been but an illusion.

They stared at each other completely mystified by her disappearance.