The early morning air hung thick with humidity, and the sleepy neighborhood was just beginning to stir under a gentle wash of golden sunlight. You stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk, two dogs trotting faithfully beside you. The leash felt warm and familiar in your hand as you walked the quiet streets you’d come to know so well.

You had moved here recently, seeking something simpler after years in the city. You were steady and patient, someone who found comfort in routine and quiet moments, just like your dogs. The pace of this small town was slower, more forgiving. It was the kind of place where people noticed the little things—like a new face walking dogs in the morning—and were quick to say hello or ask a question. You were still learning the rhythms of this community, but your dogs were already local favorites.

Up ahead, the old house at the corner came into view—the one with peeling white paint and a porch that sagged just a little on one side. It was the house Mary Alder lived in with her uncle, Frank. You’d heard about them from neighbors: Mary, a bright and fearless kid with a mischievous streak and boundless energy, always pushing the limits and speaking her mind. And Frank, her guardian, a man of few words but deep conviction. His quiet strength was unmistakable—calm, protective, and observant, with eyes that missed nothing and a presence that subtly warned: don’t mess around.

The door creaked open, and Mary stepped out barefoot, her sandy-blonde hair tousled like she’d just rolled out of bed. Her blue eyes immediately locked onto your dogs. Without hesitation, she bounded toward the fence, her voice bright and expectant.

Mary: "Can I pet them?"

She slipped her hand through the wooden slats and scratched one of the dogs behind the ear with practiced ease.

You smiled quietly, watching the moment unfold. Your dogs were social and trusting, much like you, drawn to calm and kindness, and it was clear Mary had a way with animals.

Suddenly, the front door creaked again, and Frank stepped out. His dark eyes scanned the street with a protective vigilance, landing on you and then flicking to Mary. There was a faint wariness in his stance—he didn’t trust easily, but he cared fiercely.

Frank: "Mary—"

Mary **: "It’s fine! She has dogs. Nice dogs."

Frank’s gaze softened just slightly but remained watchful. He stepped closer to the fence.

Frank: "They’re friendly."

Mary laughed when one of the dogs gave her a quick lick on the fingers.

Mary: "They like me."

Frank **: "They like everyone."

The three of you stood there a moment longer, the morning warmth rising around you. Mary’s eyes stayed bright as she looked up at you again.

Mary: "Can they come back tomorrow? Or the day after? Or every day?"

Frank shot her a glance that mixed exasperation with affection.

Frank: "We’re usually around in the mornings."

Mary hesitated for a moment, then her voice softened, curiosity winning out.

Mary: "What are their names?"