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Cook hurried along, the heavy iron poker grasped firmly in her hand. It was not long before she neared the smokehouse, its door hanging a little ajar. She stopped, casting her gaze about the area. She could see nothing or no one lurking nearby, nor hear any movement in the smokehouse itself.
With as quiet a step as she could muster, Cook crept up to the door, the poker held bravely before her. She got just close enough to swing open the door with the tip of her erstwhile weapon, then stepped closer, peering into the smoky interior.
A loud voice from behind startled her. And she rounded on what she thought might be the thief-returned, the poker held high.
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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