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by It was far too hot. Despite the light fabric of her clothes, Lakisha was on the verge of sweating.
She almost never sweated. The cold shell of her skin stopped the physical reaction most of the time, but on days like this, she could feel her icy derma starting to dampen. It felt wrong. The tall daughter of Khione daydreamed of mountains and snow tempests and icicles even though her sharp mismatched eyes stayed focused on her surroundings. She was stalking in the forest with her ranger boots as if she was walking on a red carpet with every eye on her, her pointed chin held high, her gaze up, showing the line of her slim neck.
She was wearing a pair of white denim shorts and a blue Valentino draped blouse. Exceptionally, she wore no jewels except for a Buccelati bracelet that hugged her wrist and matching earrings. A slim cappuccino-colored belt retraced her narrow hips, and Chrymos, her weapon, was sheathed at her side. She drew the dagger out in a swift motion before turning it into a bow, the quiver materializing on her back. Salomo, her pet lynx, who was pacing next to her, hissed and flattened his ears against his skull at the sight. Lakisha hushed him and continued walking like a queen through the forest.
Sol, one of her friends, was out of Camp, he had left two days ago, so now, she had to hunt on her own, without the son of Polydeuces. The eighteen-years-old felt his absence but ignored the small emptiness in her cold ribcage. She was not meant for balmy emotions. She was not evil or cruel, she just didn't like the warmth of affection or the rush of love. Lakisha had friends, of course, and she had even dated one or two boys -- but she had never fallen in love with anybody. And probably never would.
Her thick auburn hair fell down her back in a fair, heavy mass of velvet, framing her thin face and emphasizing her too high cheekbones, drawing out the icy color of her skin. Her mismatched eyes (one eye blue, one eye green) were defined by a line of silver and black eyeliner which spread into an artistic pattern on the right side of her face. It was discrete, but detailed. Lakisha scanned the forest, biting on her too thin lips. She was close to the secret brook, that river Sol and her had once discovered while hunting... perhaps she could go there and wait for a prey to come.
But was she really in the mood to hunt? She wanted to relax a bit, go to the river and refresh herself. The monsters could come, if they wanted, she awaited them. Her bow and arrows were not her only weapons.
The counselor of the Khione cabin reached the brook by a hidden way through the bushes and down a small, natural stone wall. It was a small torrent that whispered its way to the Zephyros creek, chirping lightly like a young bird, and Lakisha sat down on a rock, enjoying the revitalizing shadow and the proximity of the cold water. She hadn't let go of her bow, though, and had already notched one arrow. She was about to dip one hand into the river when she heard cracking noises in the bushes. She spun around, jumped silently into cover and aimed her arrow at the noise. Her arrow tips were peculiar: they were not pointed, but more rectangular, with flat threads and hooks, that way, if her victim tried to take the arrow out, it would tear as much flesh out with it as possible.
She almost never sweated. The cold shell of her skin stopped the physical reaction most of the time, but on days like this, she could feel her icy derma starting to dampen. It felt wrong. The tall daughter of Khione daydreamed of mountains and snow tempests and icicles even though her sharp mismatched eyes stayed focused on her surroundings. She was stalking in the forest with her ranger boots as if she was walking on a red carpet with every eye on her, her pointed chin held high, her gaze up, showing the line of her slim neck.
She was wearing a pair of white denim shorts and a blue Valentino draped blouse. Exceptionally, she wore no jewels except for a Buccelati bracelet that hugged her wrist and matching earrings. A slim cappuccino-colored belt retraced her narrow hips, and Chrymos, her weapon, was sheathed at her side. She drew the dagger out in a swift motion before turning it into a bow, the quiver materializing on her back. Salomo, her pet lynx, who was pacing next to her, hissed and flattened his ears against his skull at the sight. Lakisha hushed him and continued walking like a queen through the forest.
Sol, one of her friends, was out of Camp, he had left two days ago, so now, she had to hunt on her own, without the son of Polydeuces. The eighteen-years-old felt his absence but ignored the small emptiness in her cold ribcage. She was not meant for balmy emotions. She was not evil or cruel, she just didn't like the warmth of affection or the rush of love. Lakisha had friends, of course, and she had even dated one or two boys -- but she had never fallen in love with anybody. And probably never would.
Her thick auburn hair fell down her back in a fair, heavy mass of velvet, framing her thin face and emphasizing her too high cheekbones, drawing out the icy color of her skin. Her mismatched eyes (one eye blue, one eye green) were defined by a line of silver and black eyeliner which spread into an artistic pattern on the right side of her face. It was discrete, but detailed. Lakisha scanned the forest, biting on her too thin lips. She was close to the secret brook, that river Sol and her had once discovered while hunting... perhaps she could go there and wait for a prey to come.
But was she really in the mood to hunt? She wanted to relax a bit, go to the river and refresh herself. The monsters could come, if they wanted, she awaited them. Her bow and arrows were not her only weapons.
The counselor of the Khione cabin reached the brook by a hidden way through the bushes and down a small, natural stone wall. It was a small torrent that whispered its way to the Zephyros creek, chirping lightly like a young bird, and Lakisha sat down on a rock, enjoying the revitalizing shadow and the proximity of the cold water. She hadn't let go of her bow, though, and had already notched one arrow. She was about to dip one hand into the river when she heard cracking noises in the bushes. She spun around, jumped silently into cover and aimed her arrow at the noise. Her arrow tips were peculiar: they were not pointed, but more rectangular, with flat threads and hooks, that way, if her victim tried to take the arrow out, it would tear as much flesh out with it as possible.
