Category: Tiffany Aching

Regular

discworldtour:

“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

discworldtour:

“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

Photo

Photo

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

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

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

Regular

“I think it’s the Cornucopia.”
There was the sound of voices outside and the door was flung open.
“Blessings be upon this house,” said Granny Weatherwax, stamping snow off her boots. “Your boy said I shouldn’t come in, but I think he was wrong. I came as quick as I could. What’s happened?”
“We’ve got cornucopias,” said Nanny Ogg, “whatever they are.”

– I would read a book that’s just Nanny and Granny going about their day |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

“Shall we hide under the kitchen table?” said Nanny as Tiffany tried to brush mud and cabbage off her dress. Then Nanny winked. “If it is going to explode?”
Her son Shawn came around the house with a bucket of water in each hand and stopped, looking disappointed that there was nothing to do with them.
“What was it, Mum?” he panted.
Nanny looked at Tiffany, who said: “Er… a giant rock fell out of the sky.”
“Giant rocks can’t stay up in the sky, miss!” said Shawn.
“I expect that’s why this one fell down, lad,” said Nanny briskly. “If you want to do something useful, you can stand guard and make sure nobody comes near it.”
“What shall I do if it explodes, Mum?”
“Come and tell me, will you?” said Nanny.

– mothering |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

It was lonely on the hill, and cold. And all you could do was keep going. You could scream, cry, and stamp your feet, but apart from making you feel warmer, it wouldn’t do any good. You could say it was unfair, and that was true, but the universe didn’t care because it didn’t know what “fair” meant. That was the big problem about being a witch. It was up to you. It was always up to you.

– we have to make the fairness ourselves |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith