"Yes, of course," Charles said, smiling at his father. He reloaded his own gun more slowly, being as careful as possible. The last thing he wanted was to ruin something so simple by trying to rush through it. Forced bravado would likely only lead to someone getting hurt.
He watched as his father felled another fowl and Plato dashed after it and decided he would try for a rabbit next, if the chance presented itself.
"It's a sort of... abbreviated sonnet. One quatrain, one couplet. I didn't feel what I had to say required the traditional fourteen lines," Charles said with a shrug of one shoulder. He was automatically playing it off, he realised. Maybe it was the look his father had given him or perhaps habit? He wasn't sure. Some nagging thought in the back of his mind gave him the feeling that he would have to stop doing that soon.