The wheezing, gasping breath was heard long before the fellow entered the open door, where the Constables and Guards had decided in the heat of the day, with dreary rain and gentle wind, it would be nice for fresh air to enter the gaol house, to clean out the stagnant smells of cells and musty corners. The man was frail-looking, his sandy hair dripping water and swear, shoulders hunched under the tunic and vest; a farmer, perhaps. A poor, sick tenant. He coughed, held up his hand, and put his head down between his knees, wheezing and heaving. After several moments, it was evident that he was no a sick soul, but a worn-out one. Someone had been running.
"Me fairther sent me up eya. We liv' ert north west on the towns-edge fields. 'ee said-he said ee saw a dragon."
The Guard behind the counter slowly lowered his quill to stare at the exhausted man. He had ran quite a way, if he came from the fields. But his words are more...incredulous. "A dragon. He saw a dragon."
"Arr, a lickle 'un. Black as noight. Sin it mower than once, ee 'as. It 'as not done anythen yet, but me fairther is worroid abart the livestock guin missen. An' if it is just a lickle 'un, where the bigger ones am..."
"Riiight," the Guard says slowly before dropping the quill completely, coming around to pull a chair out from the nearest desk, offering the clearly spent man a seat to rest in. "Of course, we do not want anything to happen to livestock anywhere. So we will put in a complaint with one of the Constables, eh? They can investigate and take care of it as is necessary."
"That sounds loike a roight bostin idae." He slowly lowers himself into the seat, mopping sweat and rain off his brow, fanning himself lightly even as a gentle wind wafts through the open door. "Ta bab well much. Me fairther wull be chuffed ter hear that summat is guin ter get done abart the kait an' daisy."