Once More With Footnotes

dusk.
     
                  Nanny knew enough to fling herself to the ground.
     
                  Granny Weatherwax's hand curved through the air like a comet and the spark flew out, crackling.
     
                  The bonfire exploded. A bl ue-white flame shot up through the stacked branches and danced into the sky, etching shadows on the forest. It blew off hats and overturned tables and formed figures and castles and scenes from famous battles and joined hands and danced in a ring. It left a purple image on the eye that burned into the brain —
     
                  And settled down, and was just a bonfire.
     
                  "I never said nothin' about forgettin," said Granny.
     
    -
     
                  When Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg walked home through the dawn, their boots kicked up the mist. It had, on the whole, been a good night.
     
                  After some while, Nanny said, "That wasn't nice, what you done. "
     
                  " I done nothin'."
     
                  "Yeah, well ... it wasn't nice, what you didn't do. It was like pullin' away someone's chair when they're expecting to sit down ."
     
                  "People who don't look where they're sitting should stay stood up," said Granny.
     
                  There was a brief pattering on the leaves, one of those very brief showers you get when a few raindrops don't want to bond with the group. "Well, all right," Nanny conc eded. "But it was a little bit cruel. "
     
                  " Right," said Granny.
     
                  "And some people might think it was a little bit nasty. "
     
                  " Right."
     
                  Nanny shivered. The thoughts that'd gone through her head in those few seconds after Pewsey had screamed —
     
                  "I gave you no ca use," said Granny. "I put nothin' in anyone's head that weren't there already."
     
                  "Sorry, Esme."
     
                  "Right."
     
                  "But ... Letice didn't mean to be cruel, Esme. I mean, she's spiteful and bossy and silly, but — "
     
                  "You've known me since we was girls, right?" Gr anny interrupted. "Through thick and thin, good and bad?"
     
                  "Yes, of course, but — "
     
                  "And you never sank to sayin, 'I'm telling you this as a friend', did you?
     
                  Nanny shook her head. It was a telling point. No one even remotely friendly would say a thing like that.
     
                  "What's empowerin' about witchcraft anyway?" said Granny. "It's a daft sort of a word."
     
                  "Search me," said Nanny. "I did start out in witchcraft to get boys, to tell you the truth."
     
                  "Think I don't know that?"
     
                  "What did you start out to ge t, Esme?"
     
                  Granny stopped, and looked up at the frosty sky and then down at the ground.
     
                  "Dunno," she said, at last. "Even, I suppose."
     
                  And that, Nanny thought, was that.
     
                  Deer bounded away as they arrived at Granny's cottage.
     
                  There was a stack of f irewood piled up neatly by the back door, and a couple of sacks on the doorstep. One contained a large cheese.
     
                  "Looks like Mr. Hopcroft and Mr. Poorchick have been here," said Nanny.
     
                  "Hmph." Granny looked at the carefully yet badly written piece of pap er attached to the second sack: " 'Dear Misstress Weatherwax, I would be most grateful if you would let me name this new championship variety "Esme Weatherwax". Yours in hopefully good health, Percy Hopcroft.' Well, well, well. I wonder what gave him that idea?"
     
                  "Can't imagine," said Nanny.
     
                  "I would just bet you can't," said Granny
     
                  She sniffed suspiciously, tugged at the sack's string, and pulled out an Esme Weatherwax.
     
                  It was rounded, very slightly flattened, and pointy at one end. It was an onion.
     
                  Nanny Ogg swallowed. "I told him