Arthur apparated from his South Bartonburg garden to the walkway of Emrys' house. His palms were sweaty in his coat pockets. He'd never woken up to an owl on his windowsill from Emrys before; it was lucky that he'd woken up before the sun, and found the letter before Desdemona could see it. He'd spent most of the morning walking around the house until he received Emrys' reply, and left just after the owl, once he'd trimmed his beard to be appropriately roguish.

His knee twinged when he landed on the cobblestones. Art winced, then walked up to the door — he didn't bother knocking, because who else would visit Emrys like this?

"Emrys?" he called. He wiped his hands on his coat.