[piosenniel]

26 Nárië – just before dawn

Rose smoothed the coverlet over her bed, and turned with an amused look on her face as the usual early morning thunk occurred. Gilly had left her last night’s cup of tea, now long gone cold, at the side of her bed, and once again she had tripped over it.

‘I’m sorry!’ The words flew out of Gilly’s mouth without thinking. How many times had she said that in the month she had known Rose. And how many times had Rose laughed, telling her not to worry, that a messy room was really of no importance to her. Still, Gilly noted the clothes neatly folded and stacked on the chest at the foot of her new friend’s bed.

She sighed and cast a critical eye at her side of the room. Her cape thrown over the hastily made bed. Piles of hurriedly cast off clothes where she had dropped them, casting little smudgy shadows in the soft lamplight. Mistress Piosenniel had given her a small, leather bound journal to keep for random thoughts and drawings, and it lay open beside her pillow. Gilly sighed again. Even the neat, clean, blank page that lay propped against the tousled pillow accused her with its well-ordered emptiness.

‘Hurry,’ urged Rose, pulling the door to their room open. ‘We promised Cook we would gather eggs for this morning’s breakfast.’

They slipped down the stairs quietly, small candle lanterns in hand, and went quickly through the kitchen, picking up the egg baskets on their way out the door. It was still dark as they crossed the yard to the hencoop, their quiet voices breaking the silence of the last edge of darkness. A few stars still twinkled overhead, and not even the birds had peaked from under wing.

Gilly slipped her hand beneath a briefly protesting hen. Cradling two warm eggs from the nest, she left one for the mama hen to nurture. Ten more hens, and she was done, finishing only a little before Rose.

‘It’s so peaceful, this time between night and day, isn’t it Rose?’ she said, hooking her arm in her friend’s as they hurried back to the waiting Cook. Rose nodded her head in agreement as they stepped through the kitchen’s door and gave their baskets to the expectant hands of Cook’s yawning helper.

Gilly, a cup of tea in her hand, sidled up to Cook who stood counting out the eggs for a morning scramble. ‘Let me take Mistress Piosenniel and her Mister their breakfast when it’s ready, will you?’

Cook smiled indulgently at the eager lass. According to Miz Pio the twins would be here on Mid-year’s Day, just five days from today. The poor mama had no room left for eating. The babies crowded her mightily as their time drew near.

‘Yes, Gilly, you can fix up a tray for them when they wake. Maybe he can get a few bites down her.’