“Ah,” Howell echoed, just as shortly. Of course her brother just owned a vineyard in France.

“It’s the best quality fertiliser you’ll find in the British Isles,” he blurted out, in defence of his dragon dung. She could tell her brother that. Really, her sons might as well have been doing the family a service. But Howell cleared his throat instead, and said, “Well. We’ll get it out of your hair.”

Not literally. Hopefully none of the dung had actually gotten in her hair.

---