Montrose lit the lamp in his workshop. It was uncommonly quiet. Mara usually called him to supper before now. She must have stayed picking berries later than she had planned. He was hungry. Perhaps he should go and see how long it would be.
The cottage was dark as he left his workshop. It should have been alive with lights. Was Mara sick in bed?
Montrose opened the door of the house and called out for his wife. "Mara! Mara?" He lit two lamps in the kitchen and carried one with him to the bedroom. It was empty.
Montrose sighed as his stomach rumbled. He might as well get a bite to eat while he decided what to do next.
By the time he had consumed his thick slice of well-buttered bread, Montrose was concerned. Something must have happened to Mara. There was no option but to go search for her.
Montrose was stowing essential gear and supplies into his knapsack when he heard a noise outside the door. He rushed over and jerked it open. He was greeted with a soft warble from Warbret.
"Oh. It's you," said Montrose in an irritated tone.
Warbret tried to look around him into the room beyond.