My name is Rhiannon (pronounced Ryanon) Yu. I’m Chinese, and almost thirteen. I’ve been to seven schools in Cambridge, England, China, and three towns in Massachusetts. I love to read and I’d do something to my homepage except my computer keeps malfunctioning (actually, I have a feeling it was always this crappy) so I can’t. I have an account (damandav) on fanfiction, which I think is great!(Fanfiction, not the account, even though I like that, too!) This is my first original story. See what you think.

Jaguar cursed. He had to go pick a fight with a werewolf. On a full moon and barely armed. At midnight. Not to mention without his familiar. It was as if all of the rules and regulations of survival drilled into his head since birth had deserted him, vanished without a trace. It didn’t help that the werewolf just happened to be Acharius. Where did they come up with names like that?

“Tut, tut.” He bared his teeth and leered. “A clan leader caught off his guard. I’ve seen Xiophaerans fair better.”

“That’s a lie!” Jaguar spat, moving away stealthily as he could. “Xiophaerans are nothing.” He supposed he should consider himself lucky Acharius hadn’t transformed yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Sure enough, he gave Jaguar one hard shove and he was knocked off balance. His head hit the earth with a thud. A bolt of power sent him reeling, clutching his middle, and cursing in the most colorful language. “That makes you even less,” Acharius hissed. Then, in the blink of an eye, he morphed into the beast he truly was, and hit the ground on all fours. If Jaguar had been fast enough, he would have fumbled with the dagger in his belt and thrust it into Acharius’ heart. Or rather, where his heart should have been. But he wasn’t.

The wolf was on him before he could react. For the first time in his eighteen years of life he felt powerless. He prided himself as a hunter, among other things, and hunters never became prey to what they hunted. The mere thought of it was despicable. He would die right then and there, Leila not knowing what happened to him, just because of his idiotic decision to take a walk in the middle of the night. But he knew that wasn’t how Acharius liked to work. Both of them knew that any Daquanor would rather eat their familiars, in this case, Leila, than become…one of them.

Though Jaguar was never one for prayers, he prayed he would live through this catastrophe, and not be - altered - in any way. He then thought he heard the sound of rustling wings, which, to his kind, was always a bad omen. His muscles tensed. He definitely heard something in the trees. A Xiophaeran, he knew. This was what he always wanted. To be bitten by a wolf and have it witnessed by the enemy. One of the enemies, at any rate. The world was too treacherous to consider merely one species as enemy.

Acharius must have heard it too. His ears pricked up and he bared his teeth in what Jaguar took as a very unpleasant grin. It couldn’t have been worse if he had planned it. Then, something, or rather, someone, leapt from the branches of the night almost directly above the pair, and pounced on Acharius. The weight of them both was a little too much and Jaguar thought he was more than likely to suffocate from lack of oxygen, but Acharius pulled himself into a standing position (for a wolf) and extended his claws. Jaguar caught one glimpse of the Xiophaeran who dared to interfere with his business before she pulled out a long knife and stabbed Acharius with great vigor, nonstop until his blood splattered across the ground. She was relentless until his lifeless form was completely riddled with rips and holes as though he was nothing but a tattered piece of fabric.

Jaguar Jaguar spat out the blood that had entered his mouth and wiped a few droplets from his face, scrutinizing the panting girl who had just murdered. He wondered what Acharius ever did to her. Werewolves usually left Xiophaerans alone unless they were very hungry during the cold moons. Xiophaerans had their own, lower classed adversaries to worry about.

The Xiophaeran cleaned her blade on the grass and started away without a backwards glance, as if Jaguar wasn't there. It was then that the truth sank in. If it wasn’t for a Xiophaeran, he wouldn’t be alive. He owed his life to a foul nothing who had hated his species for as long as he hated hers. He couldn’t imagine what Leila would say. And as for his father, clan leader or not, he’d be disowned for sure. Perhaps it wasn’t quite as appalling as that, but if it ever got out, he’d be a dead man. Every Daquanor far and wide looking for a chance at glory would come rushing to him. He had his pride, for the moment.

The cry of a bird awoke him from his panic. It paused to survey him. This must be the Xiophaeran’s familiar. Quickly, he took a mental picture of it and stored it safely in his mind's memory. It was golden-brown mottled, medium sized with sharp, vicious claws and amber eyes. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was a hawk.

Ever since he was an infant, he had been taught that of all the species they needed to be aware of: witches, werewolves, ghouls, and primavera, the weakest was always the Xiophaerans. Not much was mentioned about them, but they were said to be easily distracted, mundane, frivolous, uncivilized creatures and it was common knowledge that they were useless and couldn’t accomplish anything. When he grew older, he realized it wasn’t true. They were quite capable, despite the lies he had been fed in his youth. But a dozen years of hatred cannot be removed all that easily, so it remained.

The Inner Circle knew, of course, why the two species abhorred each other so, but none of the common people, including clan leaders, had the slightest clue. Some said it was simply lost in history, that there was perhaps a clandestine event by a small band of them that ultimately resulted in chaos and separation. There were distinct differences between the two.

In Jaguar's murky mind, he knew that he had to find this particular Xiophaeran and set things straight. He knew her familiar, which would help track her in their archive library. No doubt she found the idea of him slipping up entertaining. He couldn’t have that. He scrambled to his feet and walked towards the citadel, with his back to the moon. If he turned he would have seen a curious girl clutching a bow and a quiver of arrows, staring at him from a few high branches on an old birch tree.