Category: wintersmith

Regular

“There are some very disturbing stories,” said Mrs. Earwig, watching Tiffany. “Of the darkest nature, Mistress Weatherewax. I feel that the people in this steading have been very badly served, indeed. Dark forces have been unleashed.”
Tiffany wanted to yell: No! It was all stories! It was all Boffo! She watched over them! She stopped their stupid arguments, she remembered their laws, she scolded their silliness! She couldn’t do that if she was just a frail old lady! She had to be a myth!

– on witchcraft |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

There was a stealthy rustling behind her. She turned so quickly that Horace the cheese leaped backward.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Tiffany. “Where have you been, you naughty bo– cheese? I was worried sick!”
Horace looked ashamed, but it was quite hard to see how he managed it.
“Are you going to come with me?” she asked.
Horace was immediately surrounded by a feeling of yesness.

– understanding |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

Tiffany sat on a stump and cried a bit, because it needed to be done. Then she went and milked the goats, because someone had to do that, too.

– time and tears |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

AT LAST, MISS EUMENIDES TREASON, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER. Death took her gently by the arm.
“Hey, wait a minute!” said Tiffany. “Miss Treason is one hundred and thirteen!”
“Er… I adjusted it slightly for professional reasons,” said Miss Treason. “One hundred and eleven sounds so… adolescent.” As if to hide her ghostly embarrassment, she plunged her hand into her pocket and pulled out the spirit of the ham sandwich.
“Ah, it worked,” she said. “I know I– where has the mustard gone?”
MUSTARD IS ALWAYS TRICKY, said Death as they began to fade.
“No mustard? What about pickled onions?”
PICKLES OF ALL SORTS DON’T SEEM TO MAKE IT. I’M SORRY. Behind them, the outline of a door appeared.
“No relishes in the next world? That’s dreadful! What about chutneys?” said the vanishing Miss Treason.
THERE’S JAM. JAM WORKS.

– Miss Treason moves on |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

MISS EUMENIDES TREASON, AGED ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN?
Tiffany heard the voice inside her head. It didn’t seem to have come through her ears. And she’d heard it before, making her quite unusual. Most people hear the voice of Death only once.
Miss Treason stood up, without the creak of even one bone. And she looked just like Miss Treason, solid and smiling. What now lay on the dead leaves was, in this strange light, just a shadow.
But a very tall dark figure was standing beside her. It was Death himself. Tiffany had seen him before, in his own land beyond the Dark Door, but you didn’t need to have met him before to know who he was. The scythe, the long hooded robe, and of course the bundle of hourglasses were all clues. 

– an old friend

We make happy endings, child, day to day. But …

We make happy endings, child, day to day. But you see, for the witch there are no happy endings. There are just endings.

Regular

“I’m sure they’ll miss you,” said Tiffany.
“Ha! I’m the wicked ol’ witch, girl. They feared me, and did what they were told! They feared joke skulls and silly stories. I chose fear. I knew they’d never love me for telling ‘em the truth, so I made certain of their fear. No, they’ll be relieved to hear the witch is dead.”

– you help people however you can |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

“They think you wove names into your cloth,” said Tiffany.
“That? Oh, it’s true. There’s nothing magical about it. It’s a very old trick. Any weaver can do it. You won’t be able to read it, though, without knowing how it was done.” Miss Treason sighed. “Oh, my silly people. Anything they don’t understand is magic.”

– on magic |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

At least there was no problem with leftovers. Nanny Ogg, a witch who’d invented Leftover Sandwiches Soup, was waiting in the scullery with her big string bag and a bigger grin.

– there she is there she is |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Regular

“Stop stealing the funeral meats right now, you wee scuggers!” she shouted.
The Feegles stopped and stared at her. Then Rob Anybody said: “Socks wi’oot feets?”
There was one of those moments – you got a lot of them around the Feegles – when the world seems to have got tangled up and it is so important to unravel the knot before you can any further.
“What are you talking about?” asked Tiffany.
“Scuggers,” said Rob Anybody. “They’re like socks wi’oot feets in ‘em. For keepin’ yer legs warm, ye ken?”
“You mean like legwarmers?” said Tiffany.
“Aye, aye, that would be a verra guid name for ‘em, it bein’ what they do,” said Rob. “In point o’ fact, mebbe the term ye meant to use wuz ‘thievin’ scunners,’ which means–”
“–us,” said Daft Wullie helpfully.
“Oh. Yes. Thank you,” said Tiffany quietly. She folded her arms and then shouted, “Right, you thieving scunners! How dare you steal Miss Treason’s funeral meats!”

– good to get that sorted out |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith