[Undómë]

Rowan pulled the quilt up over her face, groaning at the bright, sharp light that flooded against her closed eye lids. ‘Prim!’ she growled from beneath her dark warm cave of covers. ‘Turn down that lantern! You want to blind me?!’

‘Oh, Rowan! ‘S’not me! Quick get up! Something’s happened!’ Prim’s voice had a disconcerted, nearly frightened tone to it.

With a groan, Rowan threw back her blankets and sat up in bed. What’s this? she thought, taking a quick look about her room. The sun was well up and the full morning’s light shown through her thin, cotton curtains. ‘Goblins take me!’ she muttered clambering quickly to her feet. ‘And they might as well as Cook’ll have my hide for laying abed so long.’

The late Spring air was still a bit brisk she thought as she reached for her robe to pull over her nightgown. She hurried toward the door intending to make her way to the kitchen when the strangeness of the whole situation made her pause. She listened carefully, cocking her ear toward where the kitchen was. No pots banging about, no chop-chop as knife struck cutting board, no scrape of spatula against iron skillet as potatoes or eggs or pancakes were turned. She raised her nose, sniffing the air. No bacon frying!!

‘What’s happened?’ she called out, running down the hall. Prim, she could see, had just gone into the kitchen a few steps ahead of her.

‘She’s just not here!’ Prim cried. ‘I’ve looked in the garden, the common room, and even her bedroom . . . just in case . . . you know, something “happened”.’

Rowan shook her head, trying to take in what Prim had said. ‘How about the pantry, or the root cellar,’ Rowan offered, grasping for some answer to this disturbing event.

‘No,’ Prim said shaking her head for emphasis. ‘Not there either.’ Her face had gone pale. ‘Cook’s gone . . . missing . . . maybe even . . . kidnapped . . .’ And with that pronouncement, Prim sank to the floor in a dead faint.