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Dusk was falling in Elwynn Forest, and Khadgar was hungry. The hollow, gnawing feeling had settled into his stomach a few days after leaving the Violet Citadel, and had been his constant companion ever since. He’d conjured food for a while, things like pudding and brownies and pie, but it wasn’t the same as real food. You wouldn’t die of starvation eating conjured food, but you couldn’t say that it left you feeling well-fed by any stretch of the imagination. Goldshire lay somewhere ahead, with all the unbroken promise of a new beginning.
There was a small house ahead on what must be the outskirts of town, and he approached it warily, lingering in the trees. Smoke rose from the chimney, so someone was home. All he had to do was approach and knock on the door. Perhaps he could do an odd job for a meal, maybe sleep in a shed for the night.
Yeah, right. Khadgar mused bitterly that despite his months of wandering, optimism continued rise foolishly in his chest. At first he’d had more success, picking up odd jobs here and there. Earning a few coins, or a place to curl up for the night. But as the weeks passed, he became dirtier and more ragged. His body slimmed out until he was bordering gauntness and a scraggly beard appearing on his cheeks. Fewer and fewer people had work for a filthy, vagabond teenager.
Oh, fuck. What’s that smell? Roast mutton? Khadgar shifted from foot to foot. His mouth was watering until he almost couldn’t bear it. Resolutely, he quickly dropped his pack onto the ground. Stuffing everything under a bush with a foot, he stepped back into the trees and whispered an incantation. Blueish-green light flared around him momentarily, and then…
A smallish, black cat crouched low on the ground, tail flicking from side to side. The transformation from human to cat was always startling. Most mages were unable to perform such a transformation, but Khadgar was no ordinary mage. He’d dabbled in any and every kind of magic possible. Spells such as this one were exactly the reason he’d decided to leave his training with the mages of the Kirin Tor – risky, dangerous magic that he’d absolutely known would come in useful someday.
Like today. He’d learned that while many people wouldn’t feed a hungry human, lots of people liked cats. If he were lucky, he’d get a scrap of meat or even a bowl of milk.
His senses were heightened, his body gracefully lean and strong. He rested for a moment, listening acutely to the sounds that he hadn’t even known existed moments before. Insects were moving quietly through the grass, bird wings whispering above through the trees. Soft human voices, floating from the open window of the house.
When fully adjusted, he trotted quickly towards the house. He was limping slightly from an injury on his left forearm, a large patch that was raw and angry from an arcane burn. Unfortunately, that carried forward with the transformation, and he favored the leg carefully. When he was a few yards away, he slowed, slinking along the path, making sure there weren’t any dogs or other unpleasant surprises. Nothing prickled at his senses, and he moved in slowly.
Padding on quiet paws toward the side of the house where the window was open, he leaped effortlessly onto a garden railing. He settled down to assess the situation, busily cleaning one of his paws while sneaking a look into the room. Licking his own hands was not something he would ever do as a human, but as a cat, the feeling was irresistible. So clean, so sharp, lovely nice paws, he thought, aware of how ridiculous it was but unable to help himself.
Inside the house sat an older and younger man, possibly a family, he thought. Near the end of their dinner, talking quietly. Laughing. The scene kind of tugged at his chest uncomfortably, and he shook his head to focus.
Sitting up straight on the fence, Khadgar unconsciously licked his lips.
“Mreow,” he said softly. Neither man looked up, so he tried again, a little louder. “Mreeeeow. Meeeooowr.”
Now the younger one looked out the window. “Did you get a cat, Dad?” he asked.
“Nope. Not mine,” the older man replied, pushing back in his chair and drinking from a flagon.
“I always wished we had a cat, growing up,” the boy said wistfully. “Why didn’t we?”
“Never liked ‘em,” shrugged the father. “Your mother did, though. Cally the cat-lover.” He was smiling.
Khadgar lashed his tail. Who couldn’t like cats? Especially one as handsome and sleek as he was? “Mreow?” he changed his meow to a question, staring hungrily into the room with large, brown eyes.
The boy pulled a chunk of meat from his plate and approached the window slowly. Khadgar could see that he was older than his first guess, a young man well into adulthood. Visiting his father, then, perhaps.
“Callan. Don’t feed that beggar,” the father warned. “You feed them once, then they never leave.”
Ignoring his father's advice, Callan leaned on the window. “Hey kitty, kitty. Hey little guy. Are you hungry?”
Khadgar stifled a nod. Shit! If he started nodding and pointing and shrugging like a human, that would never do. “Mraow,” he said softly instead, continuing to perch on the fence. As Callan moved, leaning partway out of the window, his muscles and sinews tensed instinctively. Is he going to throw something at me?
“C’mere little kitty. Come here.” Callan seemed to be a nice fellow, so with another flick of his tail, he jumped down from the railing hopefully. He walked forward with dignity and poise, knowing that he could leap away in a heartbeat if necessary. Stopped a few feet away from the window, he sat down gracefully and wrapped his tail around his feet.
Callen tossed a chunk of meat towards him, landing a little bit away. Khadgar’s mouth was watering, and he slunk forward near to the ground to pick it up with his teeth. Oh fuck, this is going to taste so good. He dragged the food backwards a ways, then choked it down in one gulp. Khadgar looked up at Callan, pleading with his eyes. More?
“He’s so skinny, Dad,” commented Callan. The father had joined his son in the window, staring out with a bemused look on his face.
“Mraow,” Khadgar begged for more, impatiently. “Mreow?”
“There’s a thousand hungry cats in Goldshire, Callan. You can’t feed them all,” replied the father, sighing. “Chatty little guy, isn’t he?”
Callan moved back into the house. Khadgar hoped he was getting more food. He wasn’t sure he liked the looks of Dad. Middle-aged, with the build of a warrior, the father had light brown hair fell loosely about his face, and his eyes stared watchfully at the small, black cat crouching in his yard. Somehow, Khadgar felt exposed before him, with his bright blue eyes. Khadgar blinked, slanting his gaze away from the window, but keeping his ears trained towards Callan’s movements.
Callan came out from the side of the house, carrying two small bowls. Khadgar could smell something delicious wafting downwards, and he gave the youth his full attention. Callan slowed, not wanting to startle him away.
“Hey kitty, look what I got for you. Here,” he said, placing the dishes on the ground. “C’mon little cat. I know you’re hungry.” He sat down on the ground, a few inches away from the food.
Damn it, thought Khadgar. He didn’t want to get that close to the human. Even though Callan seemed friendly, when you were a fraction the size of another person, you had to be extremely careful. He edged closer, licking his lips nervously before he could stop himself. Do cats lick their lips when they’re nervous? He wondered. Oh well, too late.
He crouched close to Callan’s leg, scarfing down more chunks of meat. Callan sat quietly beside him, exuding a stillness that put Khadgar at ease, although he kept a wary eye trained in his general direction while he ate.
“I know I can’t feed them all, Dad,” Callan said softly towards the window. “But I can feed this one.”
“Softy,” teased the father.
Khadgar tensed again as Callan’s hand stretched out towards him, then brushed lightly against the fur on his shoulder blades. Instinctively, he paused and hissed, warning, don’t touch me without permission, but then he turned to the bowl of cream that Callan had brought, and momentarily lost himself in pure bliss.
Oh fuck, this is so good, I didn’t know I was so fucking hungry, hnnhhhhghghg, he thought, aware that Callan was now stroking down his neck and back but the cream was so good and his belly was starting to fill and he didn’t care. Khadgar lapped and lapped until everything was gone, and he licked the empty bowl to be sure. He wet his paw, and used it to clean his face.
Callan's hand continued to move carefully across his body, rubbing at his sensitive cheeks and behind his ears, and before he knew it a rusty, contented purr was coming out of him. He was embarrassed by how loud the purr was, but he’d never been able to control it anyway. Fuck, that feels so good, he thought. Humans have no idea what that feels like. It's amazing. He almost forgot about the ache in his injured arm, his lack of money or anyplace to call home. He butted his head gratefully against Callan’s hand, thanking him for the meal. “Mrow,” he said softly, with feeling. Thank you, Callan.
Standing, Khadgar hesitated for a moment. He should leave now, slip away into the forest and change back into his human form. It was getting dark, and he still needed to find somewhere to sleep. Still, it was always warmer sleeping like a cat. And his belly was full, and Callan was a very good petter…carefully, he stepped one foot, then another, into Callan’s lap. When there was no reaction, he hopped up lightly and settled down, curling into a tiny ball.
His ears twitched, and he realized that Dad was joining them, walking lithely through the yard. Khadgar realized he was barefoot. Good information, in case Khadgar needed to make a sudden dash for the woods. “Don’t scare him, Dad,” Callen called in a stage whisper.
The father paused a few yards away, inching closer. Khadgar closed his eyes to slits, to show them he wasn’t afraid, and gently flexed his claws into Callen’s thighs. Mmmmm, keep petting me, human, he thought. Yes, just like that, now pet my other side, good, good human. He felt another hand on him, strong but gentle, and forced himself to stay calm. Rough fingers moved along his back, then rubbed at one ear.
“Good lookin’ cat,” said the father, sounding kind despite himself.
“Yeah,” said Callan. “Did you see the wound on his arm? Somebody hurt him.” Callan sounded angry at this.
“Could have been anything,” the father shrugged, continuing to scratch at Khadgar’s shoulder blades. “You don’t know anybody did it on purpose. Might have been an accident.”
“It doesn’t look well,” Callan said doubtfully. “It’s kind of white and shiny. Wonder if it’s got magic in it.”
“Maybe. Seems to be more reckless adventurers passing through Goldshire all the time,” said the father with a sigh. “Some careless bastard probably caught him by accident on some hair-brained quest. He’s lucky the spell-chucker wasn’t a better shot.”
“I think he likes you. You could keep him.”
“Not bloody likely,” the father snorted, startling Khadgar’s heightened senses momentarily. He was purring again, relaxing into the warmth of Callan’s lap and wishing for a moment that he could stay a cat forever. The father leaned to the side, staring at Khadgar’s face. “Have you ever seen a cat with brown eyes like that?”
Callan put his hands carefully on either side of Khadgar’s body, lifting him up to look into his face. Khadgar resolutely looked away, not wanting to make eye contact. In his cat form, it felt like a threat. “Wow,” said Callan. “They’re really brown, aren’t they? What are we going to call you, little guy?”
“We aren’t going to call him anything, Callan,” replied the father. “He can’t stay.”
“Aw Dad, c’mon. Look how skinny he is. Nobody’s feeding him. We should keep an eye on him for a while, until his leg heals.”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” Dad objected. “You’re living in the barracks almost full time, and I’m gone from home on the King’s business most days. We’re not around enough for a pet.”
“You’re probably worried that if the great Commander of the King’s Army gets a cat, people with think you’ve gone soft,” Callan teased.
“Gone daft, maybe,” replied the father, laughing quietly as his hand moved along Khadgar’s back. “Strange animal, don’t you think?”
I knew he was a warrior, Khadgar thought with satisfaction. He hadn’t realized that his eyes stayed brown when he took on the cat form. It wasn’t as though he was prancing around in front of mirrors, after all. Besides, although the world was a sharper place with cat vision, his view of colors was all muted and strange. He might not have known they were brown, even if he had thought to look in a mirror. He hoped that wouldn’t matter.
“What do you mean?” asked Callan.
“He’s listening to everything we say. Watch his ears twitch,” said the father. “See?”
Khadgar flinched. His ears, much like his tail, seemed to operate of their own volition. He wasn’t exactly in complete control of this form, after all. He never dared stay in it long enough to properly learn how to move, because he enjoyed being in the form a little too much. That was one of the dangers of transformation – sometimes, mages would stay in the animal form too long, and forget what they were. Then they’d never transform back. Khadgar was suddenly uncomfortable, and he shifted in Callan’s lap.
“He’s smart,” shrugged Callan. “Aren’t you, Gloomy?”
“Gloomy? Really?” Dad grunted.
Khadgar rather agreed with Dad. Gloomy? I’m not gloomy. Just tired of being hungry. And homeless. He looked up at Dad warily, blinking his eyes in a slow, heavy-lidded manner to let them know that he wasn’t a threat. Fortunately, the two began chatting quietly about other things. The father was preparing to take a trip to the dwarven kingdom of Ironforge, and Callan was looking forward to a fishing trip with his friends. Khadgar’s rusty, contented purr continued to harmonize the conversation, as he closed his eyes and slipped into a very light sleep while they spoke, managing to doze with his eyes opened just a fraction, the way that cats could.
In the distance, between slitted eyes Khadgar could see lights springing up further into what must be the town of Goldshire. He would probably go there tomorrow, looking for work. Tomorrow, he would become a dirty, homeless teenager again, getting cuffed on the ear and told to move along by unsympathetic guards.
Tonight, though, he was content. He was warm, and his belly was full.
He was a cat, and that was enough.
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