She'd left on a note she did not want to, but it was hard to do any different when she'd been mangled, bedraggled, and half-dead. Alysanne had thought herself relieved of her life, fettered to death as had her parents and her brothers and sisters; and yet she'd awoken, left alone in a dusty cave with scars and smarting wounds. But she could not help the burning feeling of grief, of the weight that bore on her slender shoulders as she traveled alone, again. She missed her mate, her friends, the family she'd built for herself because the family she'd been born to had failed her so hard.
Eventually, she met the sea. Alysanne had come from the sea, in a sense, when she'd first washed ashore bruised and bloodied and battered and begging for help. But both the insurmountable happiness and the struggle and ruination that followed in its wake had changed her, and the once-smiling, optimistic sandcat seemed much more sullen now. She'd grown skinny, and where once her abnormally plush fur would have stood proudly to attention, it was now unkempt, matted, and curled. And she was certain she'd long begun to see ghosts; visions of the past haunted her in those days she could not catch prey well, and felt the twinge of her stomach machinate with the tired blurriness in the corners of her eyes.
She saw one such ghost down the beach. Large, swampy, and handsome, as she'd always remembered him.
Alysanne had never entertained attempting to talk with her hallucinations before, but the more he seemed corporeal upon her approach, the more tempting it grew. But unlike her other hunger-induced delusions, his figure did not disappear like a mirage, he did not slip away into the recesses of the horizon as so many others had done. And as she approached, even his smell had begun to overcome the stinging salt of the sea. “Vermillion,” she cried out, desperate, hopeful, “Vermillion.”
He uttered the word softly, his legs began to find their usefulness below him as they carried him towards her. Ages of worry abandoned with each step he left it behind on the sand in his fading paw prints. "Alysanne." The weight of her name was heavy, it bogged down all of his voice and tone. It felt like lifetimes had been spent without her and every bit of her was still was familiar as the last day he saw her. Vermillion stopped just short of her with his body aching to close the gap entirely but held back by a doubt, a worry as he waited for permission and indication she wanted the hug and embrace he desperately needed from her.
He was no illusion; he was real, standing there, bracing against the salt and seawind and so very corporeal and real. Alysanne's breath hitched in her throat, and though she'd paused just to make sure he did not disappear into the grey sky, she was instead gifted with the sound of his voice—his voice, not some shattered, fragmented memory of it. Aly- he uttered, so softly she could barely hear it above the roar of the waves, but just barely could she see the mouthing of his lips enough to know what he was saying.
Where Alysanne was starstruck and fettered to her stance, half-wild and slackjawed, Vermillion began to move forth and close the distance left between them. Alysanne, he spoke again, this time far clearer as he approached closer and closer. And though she wanted nothing than for him to barrel straight into her, to tumble across the sands in a tangle of fur and laughter and uttered words of contentment and relief, Alysanne saw the way in which he stopped, as if these long months spent apart had given him pause. Alysanne, after all, could remember little of what happened in those final fleeting moments: she remembered only what was blindingly white, and startling painful, and then an empty darkness. From there, she'd been desperate to find him, to find anyone. Would he have held a resentment if it had been he in her paws?
Damn those thoughts, however, Alysanne had none—and as soon as he'd paused, she'd launched forward, barreling her far-smaller frame into his own. She wasn't quite able to topple him like he might've her, but she could no longer deny herself from pushing as deep into his mane along the crook of his neck, desperate to find his familiar scent underneath all the salt and sand tangled in his tangled ringlets. “Oh thank heavens it's actually you,” she breathed, and suddenly realized her voice was choked with a sob, “I missed you. I missed you so much.” She missed them all, in fact, but Alysanne would be thankful for this one surrender; Vermillion, above all the rest, perhaps she missed the most.
He exhaled, his breath hot and choking with sobs of emotion as every single one of his senses confirmed she was real. "I'm sorry- I'm so sorry Alysanne." For what? For it all? For not being there? He wasn't sure himself but there was a weight inside that consumed, a guilt large enough to crush him that he was desperate to let go of. Maybe he had no reason to feel it but it didn't make the destruction his soul was suffering any less real. His body trembled and softly he sobbed into her pale sandy fur.