Author: Walking the Disc

Regular

“But can’t you just wave your hand and make all the dirt fly away, then?”
“The trouble is getting the magic to understand what dirt is,” said Tiffany, scrubbing hard at a stain. “I heard of a witch over in Escrow who got it wrong and ended up losing the entire floor and her sandals and nearly a toe.”
Mrs. Aching backed away. “I thought you just had to wave your hands about,” she mumbled nervously.
“That works,” said Tiffany, “but only if you wave them about on the floor with a scrubbing brush.”

– the rules of magic |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

“I don’t think I’m the type you’re looking for…”
“Oh, I wouldna say that,” said Rob Anybody wearily. “Accordin’ tae the hag o’ hags, ye’re just the laddie. Ye just need someone tae fight with…”
Big Yan, always suspicious, looked at his brother and followed his gaze to the battered suit of armor.
“Oh aye?” he growled. “Weel, Ah’m no’ gonna be a knee!”

– he’s always the knee |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

“And he won her freedom by playing beautiful music,” Roland added. “I think he played a lute. Or maybe it was a lyre.”
“Ach, weel, that’ll suit us fine,” said Daft Wullie. “We’re experts at lootin’ an’ then lyin’ aboot it.”

– mythology |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

Apart from the tiny Cornucopia in her pocket, she’d left everything behind – her diary, her clothes, everything. It didn’t matter. She hadn’t run away, she’d run to, and here she was, waiting for herself. She could feel her own ground under her boots again.

– the place where you are most yourself |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

And so the Feegles sailed home. Apart from Billy Bigchin they couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but that minor problem was dwarfed by the major problem, which was that they didn’t bother with the idea of singing at the same pitch, or speed, or even with the same words. Also, minor fights soon broke out, as always happened even when Feegles were having fun, and so the sound that echoed among the rocks as the log sped toward the lip of the waterfall went something like:
“Rowaarghgently boat ouchgentlydoon boat boat boatiddley boat stream boatlymerrily boatarrgh… CRIVENnnnnns!“

– boat songs |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

“‘Row, Row, Row Yer Boat’?” Daft Wullie suggested.
“Whut aboot it?” said Rob Anybody as the log began to speed up.
“Why don’t we all sing it?” said Daft Wullie. The walls of the canyon were closing in fast now.
“Okay,” said Rob. “After all, it is a pleasin’ naut-ickal ditty. And Wullie, ye’re tae keep yon cheese away fra’ me. I dinna like the way it’s lookin’ at me.“
“It hasna got any eyes, Rob,” said Wullie meekly, holding on to Horace.
“Aye, that’s whut I mean,” said Rob sourly.
“Horace didna mean tae try an’ eat ye, Rob,” said Daft Wullie meekly. “An’ ye wuz sae nice an clean when he spat ye oot.”
“An’ hoo come ye ken whut name a cheese has?” Rob demanded, as white water began to splash over the log.”
“He told me, Rob.”
“Aye?” said Rob, and shrugged. “Oh, okay. I wouldna argue wi’ a cheese.”

– conversations to have as you prepare to go over a waterfall | Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

“Aye, weel, we’re as light as wee feathers,” said Big Yan. “An’ the wind blowin’ through the kilt keeps a man well aloft, ye ken.”
“I’m sure that’s a sight to see,” said Nanny Ogg.

– Nanny was made to hang out with Feegles |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

On the chilly river just above the thundering Lancre falls, a tree trunk was moored. Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg stood on a huge, water-worn stone in the middle of the torrent and watched it. 

– this is just such a good image I had to share it |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

The Wintersmith snatched at her hand–
–and the witch grabbed his shoulder.
“Don’t you take hold of her like that! How dare you! I’m a witch, you know!”
Annagramma’s voice wasn’t easy on the ear at the best of times, but when she was frightened or angry, it had a whine that bored right into the head.
“Let go of her, I say,” screamed Annagramma. The Wintersmith looked stunned. Having to listen to Annagramma in a rage was hard for someone who hadn’t had ears for very long.
“Let her go,” she yelled. Then she threw a fireball.

– Annagramma models the correct response to weird dudes grabbing women |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

Tiffany didn’t sleep; at least, she didn’t go to bed. None of the witches did. The snow got trampled down into ice that was like rock, so a few carts could be moved about, but there still weren’t enough witches to go around or enough hours in the day. There weren’t enough hours in the day and the night put together. Petulia had fallen asleep on her stick and ended up in a tree two miles away. Tiffany slid off once and landed in a snowdrift.
Wolves entered the tunnels. They were weak with hunger, and desperate. Granny Weatherwax put a stop to them and never told anyone how she’d done it.
The cold was like being punched, over and over again, day and night. All over the snow were little dark dots that were dead birds, frozen out of the air. Other birds had found the tunnels and filled them with twittering, and people fed them scraps because they brought a false hope of spring to the world…
…because there was food. Oh, yes, there was food. The Cornucopia ran day and night.
And Tiffany thought: I should have said no to snowflakes…

– on giving an inch | Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith