The Missing Stone

Preparation

Not very long, apparently, is two more days. Since Mildred is in direct proximity to Sylvain and Felix's bantering, it becomes increasingly difficult to hold in her amusement. The steady beat of the horse's hooves help her sleep to pass the time, and when everyone sleeps in their respective tents, Mildred escapes the saddlebag to care for herself.

When the soldiers rise again, she slips back in, out of sight, out of mind. The second day, the saddlebag is fastened to Ashe's horse, and Mildred salivates when she hears Mercedes, Annette and Ashe conversing about sweets and savory dishes.

"If only we had more supplies then we could make more sweets, Annie," she hears Mercie bemoan. Annette hugs Mercie's arm, frowning.

"But just imagine, your amazing cookies cheering everybody up!" Annie exclaims. "We'd all be well energized for the mission."

Felix leans in from the other side of the cart with a, "Until our bodies inevitably crashed."

"We're just trying to be nice, unlike a certain someone we know." She retorts, her features pinched in a small scowl. Felix's brows furrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sylvain laughs and tugs his friend by the arm back to their side of the group, ignoring his friend's frustration.

"How about you go check the convoy's weaponry again?" Sylvain releases Felix's arm, the latter turning on him with a scowl before marching off to the back of the convoy.

Mildred shifts subtly inside the saddlebag, rearranging her paws to sit properly beneath her. She hears wingbeats above her then Ingrid's voice, "Professor! Ailell lies just ahead!" She hears no response, so he must've nodded. The group is silent, the silence broken by footsteps from both mounts and soldiers, and the beating of wings from above. The sudden quiet has her tensing uncomfortably.

As the minutes pass, conversation starts up again, this time with Sylvain loudly lamenting about the heat, which confuses Mildred until a wave of said heat hits her like running into a tree. She sweats profusely inside the bag, the leather rubbing uncomfortably against her fur.

"Who repaired the weapons?" She freezes, hearing Felix hiss to a guardsman.

The guardsman shakes their head and replies in a low voice, "We don't know, sir." A muttered curse flies from his mouth as he runs his hand through his hair.

"Count the provisions," he picks out a group. "Immediately." They all rush to complete their task, not wanting to be on the receiving end of Felix's wrath.

Sylvain slows his horse to trot beside his friend, "What's up?" His usual tone is replaced with stern seriousness. The swordsman sighs in exasperation.

"Nothing," he waves the redhead off. "We'll deal with it later."

A different type of sweat seeps into Mildred's fur. It's a really good thing she switched hiding places, but she knows she's exaggerating. The leather is rubbing wrong against her leg, and the air inside the bag is hot and stifling. Being found out now doesn't seem as daunting, with the heat and the fact that a cat isn't going to stop a war.

Mildred lifts her head out of the bag enough for her mouth to gulp in precious fresh air. The flap of the bag covers her eyes, so she doesn't know whether anyone saw her. Cool air brushes against her face, cooling beads of sweat as she pants for air. She ducks her head back in, the flap falling back into place when she gets her fill.

She repeats the process as much as she dares, careful to move only the top half of her body. Mildred doesn't need to be discovered because a spare saddlebag is wiggling suspiciously. The heat only continues to get worse, to the point that even Ingrid is nodding in agreement to Sylvain's complaints. Felix has had enough, calling the redhead "pathetic".