"Why are you takin’ that whetstone to yer whistle? I asked?
"W-e-l-l-, you never know when a well honed whistle will come in handy…he drawled, and then suddenly lept to his feet and flung the whistle over my head in one swift movement.
I ducked instinctively, and when I felt it was safe to look around, I spotted the red fipple of a 1970’s Generation Bb still quivering at the end of its shaft, driven deep into the heart of a …
man lying in a pool of his own blood… at least I assumed it was his own. As I made my way back to my feet I asked the giant in a desperate voice,
“what have you done?”
He pointed to the case lying on the ground next to the hand of the recently departed. I went over and picked up the case.
“Tis only a hat box, I…”
I opened the box and pulled out a large woman’s hat.
“I don’t understand.”
He dropped the whetstone that had been in his hand and the expression on his face went cold as he came to his knees.
“I… I thought it was a bodhran” he said as he looked at the poor man lying cold on the ground.
I grabbed the case and started to run
The pirate with the rhumy eyes was chasing after me like a hell hound
I tripped, and Fel (seems there is a verb/noun problem here) on that stupid Bb generation that was sticking in the ground.
Blood, my blood
He’s getting