Regular

In the middle was a large book, taller than Rob and filled with colorful pictures. It was quite muddy from its journey down into the mound. Rob had been challenged. For years he’d thought himself to be a hero, and then the hag o’ hags has said he wasna, no’ really. Weel, you couldn’t argue wi’ the hag o’ hags, but he wuz goin’ to rise tae the challenge, oh aye, so he wuz, or his name wasna Rob Anybody.
“Where’s mah coo?” he read. “Is that mah coo? It gaes cluck! It is a… a… chicken! It is no’ mah coo! An’ then there’s this wee paintin’ o’ a couple o’ chickens. That’s another page, right?”
“It is indeed, Rob,” said Billy Bigchin.
There was a cheer from the assembled Feegles as Rob ran around the book, waving his hands in the air.

– starting with the classics |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith