The front door had been left slightly ajar, as was her habit to do, for she loved the feeling of the breeze dancing through the house, fluttering the curtains and carrying the scents of the countryside, whether it be the floral sweetness of spring or the pungent damp of an approaching summer storm. A reckless habit, some might say, but the pair of wiry-haired grey hounds that lived in the house were the best sort of alarm, as well as a deterrent to thieves and troublemakers who might hear of the girl who was alone in the cottage since the untimely passing of her father and mother.

She had scarcely put the kettle over the hearth, preparing to make herself a cup of tea, when the larger of the two dogs, a stocky male beast, let out a soft chuff; not quite a bark, more of a curious, questioning sound. Emmy turned and looked back along the length of the hallway from the kitchen. She could see the front door standing open, and two grey rumps in the gap, as both dogs stood looking out into the yard. 

Turning away from the fire, she moved back along the short corridor, brushing her hands over the apron covering her front. 

"What is it, you two?" she asked softly, leaning to peer out over their heads. The approaching figure coming along the path towards the house drew a sudden squinting of her eyes as she tried to quickly determined who it might be. That bright blue tunic was familiar, certainly, and the closer the man walked, the more keenly she strove to recall his name. The male hound, Coby, gave another soft grunt, and padded out across the stoop, down the steps and into the grass with his ears perked and tail stiff, ready to meet the visitor.

(Location: Eastern farmlands near Kettlebrook)