William Blake NebuchadnezzarWilliam Blake Jacob's LadderVincent van Gogh The Olive Trees
Smith reached up very slowly, without moving his head, and touched the axe blade. It wasn't on the axe any more. It had buried itself in the door by his head, taking a tiny nick out of his ear.
Grannytake my head off?"
She glared at the staff, which appeared not to notice.
"Not right now," she admitted. "But you just give me time -"
"All right, all right. Anyway, I've got things to do, wizards to bury, you know how it is."
Smith took a spade from beside the back door and hesitated.
"Granny."
"What?"
"Do you know how wizards like to be buried?" stood looking slightly blurred from hitting an absolutely immovable object, and stared at the stub of wood in her hands. "Rrrrightttt," she stuttered: "Iiiinnn tthhatttt cccasseee -" "No," said Smith firmly, rubbing his ear. "Whatever it is you're going to suggest, no. Leave it. I'll pile some stuff around it. No one'll notice. Leave it. It's just a stick." "just a stick?" "Have you got any better ideas? Ones that won't
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment