#ara just wants a wild shape cat nap in a sunbeam but gale says pspsps

[word-ghost]

The desire overwhelms her before the conscious thought has fully bloomed. It’s in the air itself, mild as a whisper on Ara’s skin as she slips away from the others in camp. 

A little grin curls her lips as her fingers start to tingle. The feeling spreads, bubbling like laughter. Her eyes close. She lets out all her breath and welcomes the change. The air she pulls back in is rich and aromatic. Moss, grass and flowers and mud, and the little creatures who scamper through it all. 

Ara’s feline form stretches from nose to tail, an indulgence after a morning spent scouting rough terrain—and making little progress. She slinks through the tall grass along what remains of the toppled stone wall. The ground is warm beneath her paws, and her chest rumbles with delight at the prospect of solitude and a sunny patch to bask and listen to the stream. 

She clears from her thoughts her companions’ constant bickering, complaints, and criticisms. Not a bit of it matters with the sun spilling over her like a blanket. When every breeze brings her the scent of the season’s final bloom. If, in spite of everything, there could still be afternoons like this, perhaps she isn’t daft to think they have a shot at survival. 

No sooner has she fully decompressed than her spine tenses, ears twitching then angling toward the rustling that’s started up behind her. Maybe she is too optimistic. Opening her eyes a sliver, she watches the cautious approach of a pair of soft leather boots. 

The wizard doesn’t take more than a few steps further, quiet as he can, and unfurls the robe draped over his arm. The day’s heat has reduced him to his linen undershirt and trousers. More suitable than his usual velvet and silk, in this climate, anyhow.

His eyes flicker over as he settles at the base of a tree, getting as comfortable as he can amidst the roots and rocky soil. His book remains unopened in his lap. A glimmer of interest lights his eyes as he watches her watch him.

She wonders first if he means to chase her away, steal her much more comfortable place to rest. But he does not move, or throw something or shout. He only watches, and after a while, opens his book. 

He doesn’t know it’s who he calls Ysara, behind the whiskers and slitted eyes. At least, she doesn’t think he does. She hasn’t needed the benefit of claws and teeth in a fight since before the nautiloid.

Surely that will change, the way things have been going. He will know eventually. But for now, there is opportunity; it’s hardly as if she can relax anymore, feeling his gaze drift to her every now and again.

Ara indulges in another satisfying stretch, and a wide yawn before she sits straight, tail curling around her feet. It’s too far to see the title in Gale’s hands as it closes around a finger. His other hand, slow and deliberate, reaches toward her. With a wispy sound on his lips, he beckons.

She blinks.

“Come on,” he says. “I mean you no harm.”

Ara doesn’t move so much as a whisker, watching his face instead of his offered fingertips. His smile is small but bright. Hopeful.

“I suppose I can’t speak for all of us, but I’m sure Astarion would profess to have a more ah— refined palate. I mean no offense to you of course, little friend.”

A twitch shoots through the tip of Ara’s tail at the note of fondness in his tone. The wizard of Waterdeep had been nothing but politely condescending since the moment of their meeting, but now— 

“Otherwise, I’d say you’ve found yourself in fine company among the rest of us strays.” He leans against the trunk of his tree, letting his hand fall to his side. “You sense it, don’t you?” he murmurs, losing his smile to his thoughts.

He must mean the worm. Ara can’t get used to her mind’s sudden prickling with the others’ strongest thoughts and emotions. But sometimes, it’s so still that she can almost forget it’s there. It scares her more when it’s silent.

Gale doesn’t notice she’s moved at first, stalking closer bit by bit, just to settle out of arms’ reach. There’s a sense of what she felt when they met, when she first touched his hand to pull him free, and when he clasped it again in thanks. A nauseous uneasiness surrounds him. Unbalance. 

When he blinks up from the open page, the furrows in his brow soften. He holds out his hand again, unoffended when Ara moves to neither sniff nor swat at his fingers.

“You have every right to be wary,” he chuckles. “But you are most welcome to keep me company. I’ll keep my hands on my book.”

It’s an old thing with a faded cover, bloated with notes and scraps of paper tucked between the pages. Ara tucks her paws beneath her and keeps watch as he reads, until Nature’s song and the warm sun coax her eyes to close again, for a little while.

The wizard keeps his word, hands never moving but to flip the pages. Occasionally he mumbles questions she couldn’t hope to answer even in a body that speaks. 

He muses what someone called Tara might tell him, if she were her. An odd thing to say to a cat, perhaps. But wizards befriend all manner of creatures; Belri, for a time, had a skunk for a familiar. 

A wistfulness shadows Gale’s eyes as he falls silent. Whoever Tara is, she’s dearly missed. 

Ara rises slowly. She gives her aching muscles another stretch, then moves forward at almost a trot, butting into Gale’s arm with her furry little head. His look of pleased surprise starts an immediate purr rattling in her chest. 

She drags her whiskers along the edge of his book. It’s old—the fabric cover frayed at the corners, and the title faded—but certainly of this lifetime.

“An interest in magical theory, have you?” Gale chuckles, a rich warm sound that startles Ara as much as starts her purring louder. 

He holds out a hand for her inspection, ink stained fingers that smell of old books and salt and cooking herbs. She gives his knuckles a friendly nuzzle, enjoys the warm weight of his hand when he holds it open to run the length of her body through it.