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Rand dragged himself out of the water grimly, left back leg dragging behind him. He wasn’t sure where he was, but wherever he’d ended up, he knew he shouldn't be here.
He'd seen the explosion of magic as the necrotic crystal his witch had fought towards was destroyed, seen her rendered into component atoms as she sacrificed herself, and he had been right up there with her, draped over her shoulders and throwing every ounce of magic he could into the bond. There had been a horrible snap and then coldness from the connection that had been there since he was a kitten, and in that moment he had been furiously glad that he would follow her wherever she had gone.
And then there was water, and pain, and cold. He hadn't died, he was washing up on a pebbly beach below a town, a storm brewing on the horizon. He was alone.
His leg was injured. He didn't recognize this place. There were lights on in the town.
Rand limped towards shelter. He'd see what he could find.
The people in the town were kind enough. They put out food in alleys and talked to him in soft voices. They didn't have magic. There was none of it in this world, there were no other witches, and Rand was by himself.
After a little bit of study he figured that without an influx of magic through the soul bond he would fade. Become a mundane tabby with a stiff back leg where it had healed wrong. No spells, no grief, just instincts and the need to chase prey. He couldn’t get too worked up about it. This was probably better than living without her. The fog would wash into this town, and one day when it left he would be gone.
There was an older man who left out food fairly consistently. Rand had developed a pattern of coming by at regular times, and the man always sat calmly with a steaming mug after he place down the plates, talking to the strays in low tones. Today the only plate left available was the one right next to his feet. Rand crept up carefully.
Chopped chicken. He lowered his head and started eating, trying to be tidy.
The old man reached out, moving towards him but so slowly that Rand just crouched with his ears back and didn’t move. The man very carefully scratched behind Rand's ears
It felt nice. Rand decided to allow it. He went back to eating.
"That's it," the old man said. His voice was accented and kind, and his hands were gentle. "You just have a meal there. I'm not gonna hurt you. You're gonna need a name, won't you? I'm thinking maybe Shadow, for how quiet you are."
The wrongness of the situation overcame Rand so strongly that he gagged. He didn't want a new name, he didn't want a new companion. He didn't want any of this. He wanted his witch back. His ears pinned so tight to his skull they hurt, and he hissed up at the person with their hand out.
The old man had stopped scratching. "Alright, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," he said, but Rand was already backing up, tail bushy, and then fleeing down the alley
The aloneness hurt. There was no one to keep company next to the fire, there was no one to to supervise while they did spells, there was no one to drape over their shoulders like a furry caplet. People in the town kept trying to lure him into their homes, and the care was like pressing broken glass against a wound. Rand waited for the day when his magic would finally run out and the ache would subside, but it kept not coming. He left the town, following the road, no destination but a need to get away from the grief chasing him.
The road wound along the top of the cliffs by the ocean, and it passed a lighthouse. There was another storm brewing on the horizon, lightning flashing against the clouds, but so far here the grey sky was calm. Rand tucked himself under the back porch and settled down to wait out the rain. He might be miserable, but adding a wet coat to that was just uncalled for.
The door opened above him, footsteps and the tap of a cane sounded on the porch. A figure in skirts sat down on the steps, placing a mug of something that smelled like chocolate next to them. "Oh great timing, Beth," a familiar voice said. "You can maybe eat half your lunch before you get soaked through with rain. Getting distracted was a great idea." Rand's witch—and it did, it sounded just like Rand's witch—laughed ruefully under her breath.
Had—had Rand's witch not died after all? Had she been thrown here, and they were apart, and Rand had finally found her again? He snuck forward, trying to move normally despite his stiff leg. For some reason he was ashamed to have been injured when his witch had always taken such good care of him.
A woman sat on the steps, long skirts tucked around their legs and a plate of food in her lap, cane propped next to them, reading glasses on a beaded strap around their neck. “Oh hello,” she said, with no recognition in her gaze. "Who are you?"
It wasn't his witch.
It sounded just like her, but this was—a different person. Her hair was longer, the scar on her cheek was missing, and she didn't know him. Rand and his witch would know each other in the dark, in the fog, torn apart by enemies.
But she looked just like her. Sounded like her, too. It hurt, but in a good way. Rand trotted forward and rubbed against her sensible ankle boot.
"Alright, that's happening," the lighthouse keeper said, holding very still. "A cat has appeared, and likes me. I'll call that a new development." She broke a piece off her sandwich and held it out to him. "Hungry, sir?"
Rand accepted the food delicately and swallowed it down. Chicken with butter, just like his witch used to make, because she didn't like any of the sauces. There was a lump in his throat. He rubbed against her other boot, tail coming up to twine around her leg.
"Well aren't you a charmer. Are you trying to get something out of me? This sandwich is my lunch and you're not getting any more of it, alright."
Rand glanced up to give her a pleading look, their expected back and forth around food, and the lighthouse-keeper laughed, husky.
"I'm not doing it, alright? I need this food, I forgot to eat breakfast." She drank more of her cocoa. "Sleeping off a migraine will do that. Even though you know. Not having any migraine at all sounds fake. With the weather we've been having, I think a two is pretty standard."
This person had trouble with headaches too. Rand had used to curl up and purr next to her head when she rested. And he didn't smell any other people here, just like his witch had always found study and magic more interesting than romance. It wasn't his witch, it wasn't, she didn't talk exactly the same and she didn't smell quite right, but it was close enough to ache.
Maybe Rand could stick around while he faded. Maybe that could be a good way to go.
The lighthouse-keeper finished her food and glanced at the horizon. The darker clouds were quite close now, the first waves of rain visible on the water. "Better be getting inside, then." She stood up and went to the door, pausing as she held it open. She looked down at Rand, still loafing in the dirt by the bottom of the stairs. “Well? Coming?”
He would follow her in, he decided. He wanted this. Rand trotted up the stairs. The door shut just as the first wave of rain whispered against the ground. Inside, the lighthouse keeper went to light a lamp. “Got the big lamp lit when I saw the storm, but catch me totally forgetting to light one down here.” She struck a match and held the glass cover away. “I’m good at my job.”
A chair next to the fire, knitting in a basket, the chocolate for cocoa still left next to the bread on the little counter here in the small house. Rand went to sniff the knitting. Perhaps there would be some strings he could steal and kill later.
Hands came behind him and picked him up, and Rand froze as familiar arms tucked him into the crook of their elbow. “Let’s take a look at that leg of yours.” Fingers carefully investigated the joint. “How’d you get this messed up, anyways? Old injury, looks like.” She scratched at his head. “We match, then.”
Despite trying to hide it, she’d noticed his injury, Rand realized dimly. His witch had used to do this, pick him up and store him in her arms. She’d carry him around wherever they were staying, talking about her plans, and he’d nip carefully at her fingers and purr when she scratched him absently. He hadn’t wanted to purr for a good reason for months. Rand reached up with his paws and caught her hand, bringing it close enough to his mouth to nip harmlessly.
She laughed, that same familiar husky note, and pressed a finger to his nose. “My hand isn’t food, sir.”
Rand rubbed his face against her hand. He felt—okay. He felt alive for the first time he’d gotten here. Where his soulbond had been a constant bleeding note ever since he’d felt his witch break into light, the wound had scarred over.
Rain beat against the windows, thunder cracked, and the lighthouse-keeper carried him over to where she opened the stove one-armed to poke the logs in there. “Used to have a cat, you know,” she said. “My buddy. Passed last year. I see you’re an adventurer, but if you wanted to stay, I wouldn’t mind.”
He wasn’t losing magic any more, Rand realized. Maybe he could live like this. Maybe he wouldn’t come to pieces. Maybe he could stay, sit next to the fire, chase bits of string, limp forward next to a new person. Maybe it could work.
“I’m Beth, introductions are very important,” she said, scritching behind his ears again. “Pleasure to meet such a distinguished gentleman, though I’m not nearly that fancy. You’ll be needing a name, I suppose, so for that, I’m thinking, maybe—Rand? Could you answer to Rand, sir?”
Cradled in familiar arms, Rand let himself purr.