The planks beneath Yuki’s feet gave way to the rough stone of the old breakwater, its surface crusted with lichen and salt. Here the wind struck unhindered, roaring in from the open sea. Spray leapt over the rocks in sudden bursts, dotting her cheeks with cold kisses. The cat sat at the far end, precisely where the stone narrowed into a single, wave‑washed point.133Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7AkDCI6x1R
She paused, keeping a respectful distance. In the amber light of the lowering sun, the animal’s silhouette gleamed at the edges, as if rimmed in fire. Its fur lifted in the gusts, yet it seemed utterly unafraid. Those pale eyes locked on hers again — unreadable, but intent.
A memory flickered: her grandmother’s voice, telling of a wind‑born spirit that sometimes took the shape of a cat. It came only when the northeaster blew hard enough to rattle shutters and churn the tide. That was when it chose someone to follow.
The cat rose with fluid grace, paws silent on the damp stone. It approached her slowly, as if each step were a question. Yuki crouched, letting her fingers brush the surface of the breakwater. The air between them vibrated with a quiet expectancy, the smell of brine and seaweed thick around them.
When the cat stopped, barely an arm’s length away, the wind slackened for the briefest moment — a pause so sudden it made the hairs on her arms lift. Then a fresh gust surged, tugging at her clothes and carrying with it the faint scent of blossoms, impossibly out of place amid the salt and spray.
Yuki drew in a breath, heart pounding. She felt, rather than understood, that she had just crossed an invisible threshold. Whatever path lay ahead, she would not be walking it alone.
and then Add to home screen.