In the kitchen, Marian was mixing together a cake.
In the last decade or so, Marian had abandoned all of her more feminine traits like baking, but without any computers here to keep her occupied - god, Marian wished she was playing Dark Souls right now - she had to find other time killing options.
And so baking it was.
Besides, the Sheriff always seemed delighted by her doing it. What a good little wife he had managed to make of her. What a good little wife, who came on command and served his dinner and made him treats and never complained. A most excellent wife.
She was measuring out baking powder when she heard a whistle outside, a whistle that was far too familiar to her. Her hand paused, measuring spoon hovering over the bowl.
No.
No, it couldn't be.
A bird. An unfamiliar bird, that was all. She didn't yet know the sounds of the wildlife here perfectly.
But then it came again, a second whistle that she couldn't ignore.
Oh fuck, oh shit. What should she do?
Silently Marian turned around, her back to the bench, and slid down to crouch behind it, still holding the measuring spoon (even if the contents were now on her clothes and the floor). He mind was racing, but settling on nothing of use.