'Some distance from the bushes where Nanny Ogg was communing with Nature there was, placid under the autumn sky, a lake.
In the reeds, a swan was dying. Or was due to die.
There was, however, an unforeseen snag.
Death sat down on the bank.
NOW LOOK, he said, I KNOW HOW IT IS SUPPOSED TO GO. SWANS SING JUST ONCE, BEAUTIFULLY, BEFORE THEY DIE. THAT'S WHERE THE WORD 'SWANSONG' ORIGINATES. IT IS VERY MOVING. NOW, LET US TRY THIS AGAIN...
He produced a tuning fork from the shadowy recesses of his robe and twanged it on the side of his scythe.
THERE'S YOUR NOTE...
"Uh-uh," said the swan, shaking its head.
WHY MAKE IT DIFFICULT?
"I like it here," said the swan.
THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT.
'Did you know I can break a man's arm with a blow of my wing?"
HOW ABOUT IF I GET YOU STARTED? DO YOU KNOW 'MOONLIGHT BAY'?
"That's no more than a barbershop ditty! I happen to be a swan!'
'LITTLE BROWN JUG'? Death cleared his throat. HA HA HA, HEE HEE HEE, LITTLE—
"That's a song?" The swan hissed angrily and swayed from one crabbed foot to the other. "I don't know who you are, sirrah, but where I come from we've got better taste in music."
REALLY? WOULD YOU CARE TO SHOW ME AN EXAMPLE?
"Uh-uh!"
DAMN
"Thought you'd got me there, didn't you," said the swan. "Thought you'd tricked me, eh? Thought I might unthinkingly give you a couple of bars of the Pedlar's Song from Lohenshaak, eh?"
I DON'T KNOW THAT ONE.
The swan took a deep, laboured breath.
"That's the one that goes 'Schneide meinen eigenen Hals—'"
THANK YOU, said Death. The scythe moved.
"Bugger!"
A moment later the swan stepped out of its body and ruffled fresh but slightly transparent wings.
"Now what?" it said.
THAT'S UP TO YOU. IT'S ALWAYS UP TO YOU.'
- Terry Pratchett
(Page 73-74)
Oh, Mister Pratchett.
I couldn't love you more.
Which is the reason that the very second, and i mean the very second, i finished Maskerade i picked up Sourcery and started reading immediately.
He's just that good.
He's just that good.
Ps.
'"What sort of person," said Salzella patiently, "sits down and writes a maniacal laugh? And all those exclamation marks, you notice? Five? A sure sign of someone who wears his underpants on his head."'
Vindicated!
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