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"It's strange that a wizard's mouth can't speak."
The black cat jumped onto the tabletop.
"What do you think they should say?"
Leta laughed.
"Say what hasn't been finished."
The black cat disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Leta watched it pass through the wooden door and leap towards the fireplace, feeling inexplicably flustered.
When she stopped in the kitchen, when she was standing blankly by the cupboard holding a steaming pumpkin pie, the black cat appeared.
The snow outside the house had fallen silently, and a pale pink halo blurred the dreamscape.
The black cat was like a messenger of the night, returning with the dusk.
The black cat's tail was swaying, and at this moment she realized that the ground beneath her feet was actually shifting.
This was the black cat's magic, but she also knew that magic was a precious and rare thing in the Borderland.
Few wizards still carried magic in the Borderland.
She was sent out. In this dusk, she seemed to have walked into the night sea, and someone asked her to salvage the lost stars.
"I have never hated you, Leta."
Newt was speaking. Saying these few words seemed to exhaust all his strength.
"I did it willingly. No matter what concerns you have, I forgive you. You should know that I have always forgiven you unreservedly."
Reality may be a dream that requires constant caution, while dreams are a reality where one can be bold everywhere.
The black cat merely elaborated on Leta's state of mind for Newt, and the silent Mr. Newt dazedly realized what he should say.
"Why, Newt? You don't hate me, yet you still comfort me?"
Leta became at a loss for the first time.
"Because there is nothing that makes me sadder than your unhappiness."
Newt said.
The two spoke no more. The black cat could only hear the rustling sound of snow falling outside the house.
"I miss you very much, Leta."
Newt said finally.
These were the last words of the inarticulate man.
The mist outside the house became thick, and the black cat knew the Borderland was about to expel them.
Newt and Leta realized it too.
Newt began to get flustered and uneasy; he was always panic-stricken at such times.
Winter in the Borderland was too slow. Some words would only fall into the deep sea like shattering glaciers, taking a century for their muffled sound of hitting the bottom to be heard.
The mist was too thick, so thick that Newt couldn't see the other person's face clearly, so thick that Newt had to look straight at her.
He couldn't hide anymore.
Newt heard the floor creaking, as if something was running;
Newt heard the sound becoming more and more frequent, getting closer and closer;
Newt froze.
Something pressed against him, carrying a warm body temperature and a rich, rose-like fragrance.
Something cold dripped onto his neck, ticklish, inexplicably reminding him of the never-thawing ice outside.
"Thank you."
He heard someone saying.
He tried hard to listen clearly, wanting to remember the perception of this moment forever.
But it was a bit late; the Borderland didn't welcome an outsider like him very much.
Newt lowered his head. In the final moment, he could only let some deposited things turn into water droplets and fall to the ground.
He suddenly opened his eyes. The wooden house was still that wooden house. The three Kneazles turned into one. Its black fur was stained with white snow, and a stone slab-like object on its chest emitted a faint fluorescent light.
The mist was forcibly suppressed by it.
The two people in the wooden house embraced again after nearly a century. When they separated, they knew nothing could ever separate them again.
The Borderland had dusk and dawn, but it was never dark. It was always white here, with mist surging.
"We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness."
Leta said.
So the world turned upside down again, and the wizard immersed in the dream eventually had to return to reality.
Dorset.
The elderly Newt stared blankly at the faintly brightening horizon.
Something popped out from the depths of his heart, sometimes like a curled-up small snake casting magic in the deep snow, sometimes like a docile pigeon cooing on the white window.
He picked up a notebook on the table. The pages were filled with writing about a black cat. He decided to name this book Dreams and Gods and inevitably, involuntarily regarded perfecting it as the last important task of his life.
"The black cat shuttling between the boundary of life and death, the Dream Ruler appearing and disappearing in the mist...
"I always believe it is secretly peeping at wizards' wishes. Perhaps it doesn't know, but it always brings good luck to wizards...
"The ancient wizard legends are not completely false, and the source of dream stories ultimately points to a talking black cat.
"And what is closed by the day will eventually be brought to us by the dream black cat."
Newt was writing the preface for the book. He turned his head and could see a light rain falling in Scotland.
From sparse to vigorous, it fell to the ground, contacting the earth until the morning sun rose and it returned to the sky.
It eloped briefly with the earth.
Although the sky will always brighten, the night is long enough.
...
The Borderland.
Only a black cat and a beautiful witch remained here.
The mist would expel guests, but it wouldn't expel the host so quickly.
The black cat could always stay a while longer than the guests it invited.
Just as it said, this was its dream.
But the black cat couldn't control when the dream closed.
Just like now, a mist thread suddenly thickened, and it stayed unpredictably.
Leta didn't feel a sense of loss. She organized the broken display cabinet to the sound of snow outside.
She repaired the wooden door and discarded the broken bowls.
Occasionally looking at the wooden table, she could see the cat fighting with a pumpkin pie under the illumination of the fireplace flame.
Its white whiskers were stained with sweet pumpkin juice, waving its paws to direct the knife and fork.
She smiled brilliantly, just like the pure Gabriel's Trumpet outside.
She brushed the crumbs off the black cat and let it stay on her shoulder.
On this bright day, she unloaded everything.
She burned her remorse, so her dream became transparent; she threw away those yesterdays, so her steps became light.
She shuttled through the garden, busily pruning branches among the blooming Gabriel's Trumpet flowers.
Hummingbirds stopped on the honeysuckle.
There was nothing in this world she wanted to possess.
She knew no one was worth her envy.
Any misfortune she had suffered, she had forgotten.
Thinking that the person she used to be and the person she was now were the same person didn't embarrass her.
In her, pain rarely disappeared for the most part.
Straightening up, she saw the blue sea and sails.
On her shoulder, the cat seemed to have fallen asleep. After eating the pumpkin pie, it seemed very sleepy.
Leta knew suppressing the mist took a lot of effort from the messenger of good luck.
So in this trivial daily life, she suddenly touched fragments of eternal happiness.
She slept exceptionally peacefully that night.
After all, tomorrow is another new day.