• He could shoe anything, could Jason Ogg. They'd brought him an ant once, for a joke, and he'd sat up all night with magnifying glass and an anvil made out of the head of the pin. The ant was still around, somewhere - sometimes he could hear it clatter across the floor.

• There's been things going on, she said, in cold and deliberate tone.

  Like what?

  All the bracken and weeds is trampled around the stones. I reckon someone's been dancing.

  Nanny Ogg gave this the same consideration as would a nuclear physicist who'd just beend told that someone was banging two bits of sub-critical uranium together tokeep warm.

• I've got a new hawk, said Hodgesaargh proudly. It's a Lancre crowhawk They've never been tamed before. I'm taming it. I've already stopped it pecking myoooooow —

  He flailed the hawk madly against the wall until it let go of his nose.

  Strictly speaking, Hodgesaargh wasn't his real name. On the other hand, on the basis that someone's real name is the name they introduce themselves to you by, he was definitely Hodgesaargh.

  This was because the hawks and falcons in the castle mews were all Lancre birds and therefore naturally possessed of a certain sod you independence of mind.

• Magrat had been gloomily unsurprised to learn that there was a precise class and gender distinction in falconry - Verence, being king, was allowed a gyrfalcon, whatever the hell that was, any earls in the vicinity could fly a peregrine, and priests were allowed sparrowhawks. Commonners were just allowed a stick to throw¹. Magrat found herself wondering what Nanny Ogg would be allowed - a small chicken on a spring probably.

  There was no specific falcon for a witch but, as a queen, the Lancre rules of falconry allwed her to fly the wowhawk or Lappet-faced Worrier. It was small and shortsighted and preferred to walk everywhere. It fainted at the sight of blood. And about twenty wowhawks could kill a pigeon, if it was a sick pigeon. She'd spent an hour with one on her wrist. It had wheezed at her, and eventually it had dozed off upside down.

• Shawn took a deep breath and leaned over the battlements.

  Halt! Who Goes There? he said.

  A ringing voice come up from below.

  It's me, Shawn. Your mum.

  Oh, hallo, Mum. Hello, Mistress Weatherwax.

  Let us in, there's a good boy.

  Friend or Foe?

  What?

  It's what I've got to say, Mum. It's official. And then you've got to say Friend

  I'm your mum.

  You've got to do it properly, Mum, said Shaw, in the wretched tones of one who knows he's going to lose no matter what happens next, otherwise what's the point?

  It's going to be Foe in a minute my, lad.

  Oooaaww, Mum!

  Oh, all right. Friend then.

  Yes, but you could just be saying that —

  Shawn saluted, slightly stunning himself with the butt of his spear.

  Right you are, Mistress Weatherwax.

• Anyway, said Weaver, she said, You wait there, I'll give you something for it and she goes out into the her back kitchen and comes back with couple of big red pills, and she —

  How'd it get crumpled, then? said Carter.

  — and she gave him one of the pills and said. What you do, you raise the old cow's tail and shove this pill where the sun doesn't shine, and in half a minute she'll be up and running as fast as he can", and he thanked her, and then as was going out of the door he said, "What's the other pill for?" and she gave him a look and said, "Well, you want to catch her, don't you?"

  That'd be that deep valley up near Slice, said Carter.

  They looked at him.

  What exactly, are you talking about? said Weaver.

  It's right behind the mountain, said Carter, nodding knowingly. Very shady there. That's what she meant, I expect. The place where the sun doesn't shine. Long way to go for a pill, but I suppose that's witches for you

¹If it wasn't a big stick