Morg, Morg," he whispered into her hair. "My dearest girl. My brave girl." Something squirmed against his arm.
"What is that?" he said, nearly dropping Morg.
"It's a piglet. A boar," she told him. "I thought it would please you. And mother."
Then her father threw back his great head and roared with laughter, his whole body shaking.
"Morg, have you been out this late hunting piglets? This prize indeed." And he laughed again.