Light Fantastic

In a distant forest a wolf howled, felt embarrassed when no-one joined in, and stopped.

There was the faintest of pure sounds, high and sharp, like the breaking of a mouse’s heart.

‘What was that?’ he said.

Trymon cocked his head.

‘C sharp, I think,’ he said.

It’s a Change spell,’ said Trymon. ‘The whole world is being changed.’

Some people, thought Galder grimly, would have had the decency to put an exclamation mark on the end of a statement like that.

'What shall we do?' said Twoflower.
'Panic?' said Rincewind hopefully. He always held that panic was the best means of survival; back in the olden days, his theory went, people faced with hungry sabre-toothed tigers could be divided very simply into those who panicked and those who stood there saying 'What a magnificent brute!' and 'Here, pussy.'

It looked the sort of book described in library catalogues as 'slightly foxed', although it would be more honest to admit that it looked as though it had been badgered, wolved and possibly beared as well.

Anyway, wizard’s die just like anyone else when you stick a

But the grey world behind those empty eyes would trample and destroy without even according its victims the dignity of hatred. It wouldn’t even notice them.

Trymon was looking at him. Something was looking at him. And still the others hadn’t noticed. Could he even explain it? Trymon looked the same as he had always done, except for the eyes, and a slight sheen to his skin.

All they really needed to enter was one head.

His eyes were empty holes.

I just managed to go around with one of the Great Spells in my head for years without going totally insane, didn’t I?’