InsaneJournal

Millie was taking the train home. She had told herself that it was because it was the last time. Four years of accumulated memories took more time to move even than physical possessions. The train ride was a chance to settle her mind - not nerves, as there was nothing about which to be nervous - while she prepared for the future. Everyone at the Institute seemed to assume she would be going on to marry 'that dashing young gentleman.' Millie had firmly quashed that notion, of course, after which three separate young ladies had expressed the hope of visiting Chrestomanci Castle during the holidays. Thankfully, Christopher hadn't been there to hear the giggling over him. How he would strut!

Anyway, Proudfoot liked the rattle of the train. She was a stately white cat of ten now, still in the prime of life for a Temple cat, and far from the undersized kitten she had been upon their first arrival in Series Twelve. They had both come a long way. Proudfoot stood and turned in Millie's lap, wrinkling the traveling dress with twenty-seven delicate claws before settling down again. Millie scratched her ears fondly. Proudfoot, at least, was sure of herself.

Millie had brought a book for the journey, but she hadn't been able to concentrate on the story. She closed it, marking the place with Henrietta's last letter (full of commentary on Elizabeth's 'handsome Italian' and Jason's latest find), and closed her eyes.

She opened them a moment later as she found herself sprawled on a cement slab with a jolt, her book open and pages down in the dirt while Proudfoot yowled protests. Millie gathered up the indignant cat in two arms, picked up the book and tucked it under her third arm, and stood. A letter floated down to her, and she reached instinctively to grab it with her free hand.

Reading it, she frowned with annoyance. "Oh, really!"