Malcolm turned the fish. “How about you, Ethan? Are ye planning to use this afternoon as fodder for your burgeoning poetic career?” His tone was entirely that of a pesky brother. “‘Ode to a River Soaking,’ an epic poem in rhyming couplets by Ethan Penn-Leith.” Snickering, Ethan threw a pine cone at his brother. “More like ‘Ode to Why Malcolm Penn-Leith Is a Horse’s Arse.’” “I’m fair certain ye wrote that already. I seem tae remember ye reading it tae me once. Something scathing which rhymed arse with farce and left Aileen in fits of laughter.” Ethan grinned, entirely unrepentant. “That sounds
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