“Why so dreach, Missus?”. It was Lang Wullie, one of the Pictsies that live in my pantry; a towering outlier at a full sixteen and a half centimeters tall.
“Big folk bein’ gobshites, Wullie.”
“Aye gobshites come and go, but ye ken what yon Kelda says?” There was a rattling sound from the pantry.
“No?”
“When ye gets gobshites,” Wully presented me with a star-shaped shortbread nearly as big as his torso “ye bakes extra kindness”.
