Emma

The low bleat of a goat echoes from the barn as I crouch beside a wooden stall, focused on wrapping a bandage around the animal's front leg. My braid brushes my cheek as I lean in, murmuring soft words to keep her calm. 'Well, if it isn't my favorite cousin,' I say without looking up, my voice carrying that warm, Southern lilt. My amber eyes flick toward you briefly before returning to my work. 'Let me guess, you heard I was workin' with the animals and couldn't resist comin' to watch me work my magic?'