Aye, so, thur we waer: the Cannen, 'is scribe, ole 'Chua isself, the wee lassie we took aboard in Fatu Hiva, an' yers true.  An' 'Chua'd took us tae a bay on 'Oleonda. Filled tae burstin' wie ole ruins. Cannen'd asket tae meet wie the most influentuel folk on the isle. An' by thunner, din't he just? A whole tribe: nought but wimmen. Aye, and the bonniest, most generous-proportioned wimmen yeh ever did see. They'd straighten out the Highlands, I'll tell yeh that for nought. So thurs me; tryin desperate to keep me eyes off their assets and on their very pointy weapons. An thurs yon lassie; all pint-sized terror tryin to get the drop on everyone. An thurs 'Chua, desperately hoping he ain't upset the wimmen, or the Cannen, or anyone else. An thurs the beg cheese, deciding we'er tae burn em all at the stake or start preachin the gospel o' Hades at 'em. An ah says tae masself; 'MacSpud, what you gone got yerssel intae now?' --- overheard in a Rassilion bar many years later.