Greetings from The Lady Mage.

This story has been in my head- and in a rather tattered old notebook- for the better part of six years now. I had it written out and posted here some three years ago, but life sort of got in the way and I never finished it. LOL- I got married and had a baby girl that took up most of my time! (That I named Zosia but call Zoe- LOL) Well, Zoe's daddy ran out on us, so now I'm going to finish this story come hell or high water!

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There are so few fictions out there with Sabretooth in them, and even fewer that paint a picture of him as being anything more than someone to either punch, or be punched by. He's probably going to be just a little bit OOC, but hey, this is fanfiction.

Also, the first time that I wrote these chappies out, I had much help from my buddy, Leonaria Dragonbane, and my Brit-buddy, Pookalife. They both helped me LOTS, and without them, this fic would have never made the internetz. Even now, after three years, they have both been helpful and supporting, and I thank them both VERY much!

And of the legalities: I do not, nor do I claim to, own XMen, the Brotherhood, or my beloved Sabretooth. This is all for fun- my fun and your fun- and I accept no payment for it outside of pats on the head and so on.

Please read and review!

The Lady Mage

FERITY: (fehr-ih-tee) - (noun) - 1.) The state of being wild or untamed. 2.) Savagery; Ferocity.

Cycle of life and death supposedly goes 'round and 'round

Yet it stops with me

Glorious hunter of my faith I have sinned

Killers are quiet like the the breath of the wind

Killers Are Quiet- Slipknot

He hadn't come to the woods to hunt, really- more to relax than anything else. He thought that perhaps he would find himself a nice, tall tree, and take himself a nice, long nap in it like he used to have time to do. Perhaps he could catch a couple squirrels- hell, maybe even a deer- for his dinner. He might even build himself a campfire and cook them, too. Afterward, he could continue to scout around the area to reacquaint himself with this particular part of his territory before returning to the aforementioned tree to sleep the night off. Work wasn't hard- in fact, he greatly enjoyed his work- but everyone has their limits. Sabretooth, finally, had reached his. He needed a break, and this little scouting trip, hopefully, would do the trick.

In the woods, it was a lovely spring day that soon would fade off into a lovely, cool night. The last of the winter's frosts had come and gone, and the woods were beginning to fill with green again. Grass grew up from the forest floor where the light could touch the ground, trees were becoming lush with foliage, animals were beginning to venture from their winter dens to hunt and explore. Had the feral man been a sentimental person, he very well could have said to himself that this day- this area- was actually quite beautiful. Luckily enough for him, he was just about rid of all sentimental tendencies. What few hadn't been either starved or beaten from him as a child, had slowly shrank to little more than several bad memories in the dark black of his mind.

Unconcerned with how pretty things objectively were or were not, the lion-became-man wandered his way through the trees, flehming the air as he went, and pausing now and then as any new smells passed through his sinuses. A fox to the east chased a squirrel to the west; a pack of wolves roused from their den south of them. He could smell water, and remembered that there was a little stream about two miles ahead of him, winding its way through the trees and boulders that made up the terrain farther ahead. Knowing instinctively that he would catch better prey at a water source, he changed his course to head that way.

The feral man had only taken another few steps when a new, and decidedly interesting, scent captured his senses. He stopped, breathing deep. This scent was light, almost flowery, with a hint of spice, and laced with something undoubtably feminine. Beneath the delicate smell was the heady scent of blood, but he couldn't tell what specie the blood belonged to.

Perhaps some stupid human woman had gotten herself lost out here?

No. Highly unlikely. Why would anyone- man or woman- be this far into the wilderness? The closest camping grounds were a good fifty-five miles away due West; the nearest town was at least twice that. The old hiking trails were about thirty-two miles South, Southeast depending, but the last time he had been on them had shown him that they were used perhaps once or twice a year, tops. Where the hell did thie woman come from? What was she doing in HIS woods?

He inhaled deep again. The scent was coming from the East- due East. Without realizing it, he drew in another lungful or the piquant smell. It stuck to the back of his throat, coating it, and he could taste it on his tongue as though he'd drank it in. It was unlike anything or anyone he'd come across before, and yet it held a haunting familiarity about it- as though he should know that scent.

'Hmmm. Interesting.'

With a curious scowl- an expression entirely his own- he set off East to locate the owner of this new, unusual scent.

The terrain was progressively rougher the closer he walked to the stream. Trees grew in thick patches, scattered. Some were birch, some oak, most were fir. Boulders seemed to sprout from the ground, and he had to climb over them as he followed the scent to his prey. Though the female scent grew stronger in his nostrils, the smell of any forest animals grew faint. That was strange- they should be flocking to the water source- not staying away. It took him about fifteen minutes to walk the two miles to the stream, and he crouched beside the water's edge when he reached it. The water was clean and clear, and he could see the silt and pebbles glittering through it. Fish, small but tasty, swam with the gentle current, making homes beneath the rocks along the banks. Cupping his hands together, he dipped them beneath the water's surface, and took a drink of cool water before crossing on the few rocks that stuck out above the water's surface.

Standing on the other side, his attention was drawn to a little sapling a few feet from the bank. Hanging on a low branch was a little, cone-shaped basket. Wet, it still smelled of fish. He pulled it into his hands, turning it over to examine the craftsmanship. Glancing back to the small brook, he could see where someone had tied a line across the water, using the basket to catch fish in the current. It almost looked as though whoever put it there knew what they were doing- he'd never thought to use a basket to catch fish. Said basket was put back on its branch, and he continued his way through the woods. The hauntingly familiar scent was stronger on this side of the water.

Beyond the next line of trees lay a little path that was beginning to become worn. As he stepped onto it, the smell of smoke wafted past his nose. Pausing, he wondered if someone had built a cabin out here. He'd not been in this part of the woods for a good six- maybe eight- months. Was that long enough for someone to build more than a meager shanty? Was it maybe some poachers out here after wolf's hide? Perhaps it was a group of campers wanting to really rough it? Well, that couldn't be- he'd have smelled more than just the one female.

"Hrmmm."

Where there is smoke, there is people, so he continued along the pathway. A couple dozen yards in, he came to a clearing fifteen feet across. Growing in the middle of the clearing was a tall, old tree- its trunk so big around that he probably wouldn't be able to touch his hands around it. Either dead or dying, is grew no leaves on its branches, and its only source of green came from several vines of ivy growing up its trunk.

Of course, it was not the ivy itself, nor its big, purple blossoms, that caught and held his attention.

Halfway up the tree, a female lay outstretched on a thick branch. She lounged on her stomach, with her hands curled up beneath her head for a pillow, and her legs hanging limply down on either side of the branch as she slept. He raised one eyebrow, walking closer.

She was young, definitely- perhaps not yet a woman- with pale cream-coloured skin. Her hair was thick and long, hanging down in big, loose auburn curls, swaying in the breeze. Her face was turned from him. A pair of dark green pants covered her legs, a black a-shirt covered her torso, and a pair of dark brown boots covered her feet. No jewelry he could see, no sparkly shit in her hair, no perfume or scented soaps. She smelled wild- like he knew he did- like earth and rain and wind.

At the base of the tree lay a little leather satchel next to a length of homemade vine rope, and another little cone basket. There was a little round campfire, surrounded by a circle of stones, but the fire was dying from lack of wood to burn. Beside it was a pile of kindling and sticks to feed it, and two flint stones used to light it. He stalked up to the satchel, jerking it up from the ground to turn it over in his hands. It was buckskin, homemade with skills to rival his own. The buckskin was soft like velvet, and held together with straight, even stitches of leather lacing. Who was this female?

The bag was dropped as he turned his attention to the branch above him. Scaling the tree was no problem. Lucky for him- now, but not as a helpless little-

He shook the thought from his head, ridding the memory. He'd been born with the instincts, balance, and claws to make scaling the tree as easy as climbing a ladder. Trees made very good places to hide in the summer and fall, and if you were being chased with- oh, say a pack of police hounds- it made it harder to be tracked. Oh, and they were very nice to sleep in, stretched out as this girl was. Within seconds, he was perched on the branch beneath her, her hair tickling his nose in the breeze.

With a smirk, he reached out and gave her pant's leg a good, strong jerk. Almost instantly, the legs were pulled up away from him, the force of their momentum carrying them up over the girl's head. Her hands pushed off the branch, and she did a fluid backwards somersault, twisting midair so that she faced him. She landed gracefully- the branch not even bothered enough to shake- just outside of his reach. She dropped into a fighter's stance, glaring down at him with a low, warning growl.

He almost dropped his jaw.

'She's a feral?'

Framed by thick lashes, the eyes she stared down at him with reflected the dying sunlight in their dark blue depths. The pupils, almost hidden in the darkness, were feline like his own, like a cat were looking down upon him. He could see her nose twitch just the tiniest bit, taking in his scent as he had taken in her own. When she brought her lips- full and pink- back in a snarl, he could see the sharp fang teeth as they sprouted down from her gums to touch her bottom lip.

Screw the hell out of being unsentimental- she was beautiful.

'This is going to be interesting.'

She observed him for any sign of attack, and he moved back a few inches to let her know that he wasn't on the attack. Yet. Her growl slowly died in her throat, her hands coming down to hold her balance as she shifted her weight, bending her knees to crouch as he did. She placed one hand on her branch to steady her, studying him.

He studied her like a lion watched its prey, taking in every movement the girl made. He'd never seen a female feral cat before. He'd come across a few other species- a dog, lizard, and what looked like a snake feral- but never another cat. She was like the female version of himself, only with red hair.

His eyes fell to her hands, taking in the claws that tipped them- delicate and feline- so like his own and yet so unlike them. Her nails seemed fairly human retracted but for the little raised ridge running down each one- ending in sharp points just beyond her nail-bed. He didn't doubt they were as razor-sharp as his own were, but his claws had more weight to them, taking over the ends of his fingers when he drew them out.

Her fang-teeth were not as pronounced, but they looked like his own. Her eyes were reflecting the dying sunlight, the elongated pupils dilating to see. He wanted to examine her closer- much closer- but he didn't want to scare this rare mutant off.

She must have noticed his stare, and she drew her knees up to her chest. A very light blush coloured the pale skin across her cheekbones. Other than the blush, she showed no outward signs of discomfort. Apparently, she didn't mind so terribly that he studied her. In fact, she watched him right back, though her eyes didn't seem as intense as his were. She quietly took in his hands, then his hair- the hair on his jaw, then to the skin of his neck. She lingered at the skin of his chest where it showed from his leather shirt.

He smirked. She would be his.

To be continued . . .

Please review!

The Lady Mage