Pig's nose wrinkled, pleased, and as he pat the other's head like a little kid, snorting like his namesake a few times.

"Good boy, then. Tilly good."

He was just glad the other was calm. The only time he'd seen someone like that (that wasn't himself, talking to a mirror, talking to himself, talking to holes in the walls and distant fantasies) as Runt's dad, and it would always wind up with her crying and getting hit.

"Pickin' up these tools now or mam'll--"

Oh. That's right. Tillman isn't his little brother and his mother doesn't give a shit. Pig's nose wrinkles again.

"--throw a great fit."