The Last Continent

Whitlow! How could we have forgotten her!”
    “In your case, only by having a cold bath, Senior Wrangler.”

    As horses went, this one went slowly. It moved in a stolid, I-can-do-this-all-day manner that clearly said the only way you get me to go faster will be to push me off a cliff. It had a curious gait, somewhere faster than a trot but slower than a canter. The effect was a jolting slightly out of synchronization with the moment of inertia in any known human organ, causing everything inside Rincewind to bounce off everything else. Also, if he forgot for a second and lowered his legs, Snowy went on without him, and this meant that he had to run ahead and stand there like a croquet hoop until he caught him up.
    But Snowy didn’t bite, buck, roll over or gallop insanely away, which were the traits Rincewind had hitherto associated with horses. When Rincewind stopped for the night the horse wandered off a little way and ate a bush covered with leaves the thickness, smell and apparent edibility of linoleum.
    He camped beside what he had heard called a “billybong,” which was just an expanse of churned earth with a tiny puddle of water welling up in the middle. Little green and blue birds were clustered around it, cheeping happily in the late afternoon light. They scattered when Rincewind lay down to drink, and scolded him from the trees.
    When he sat up, one of them landed on his finger.
    “Who’s a pretty boy, then?” said Rincewind.
    The noise stopped. Up on the branches the birds looked at one another. There wasn’t much room in their heads for a new idea, but one had just turned up.
    The sun dropped towards the horizon. Rincewind poked very cautiously inside a hollow log and found a ham sandwich and a plate of cocktail sausages.
    Up in the trees the budgerigars were in a huddle.
    One of them said, very quietly, “Wh…?”
    Rincewind lay back. Even the flies were merely annoying. Things began to sizzle in the bushes. Snowy went and drank from the tiny pool with a noise like an inefficient suction pump trying to deal with an unlucky turtle.
    It was, nevertheless, very peaceful.
    Rincewind sat bolt upright. He knew what was about to happen when things were peaceful.
    Up in the darkening branches a bird muttered, “…pre’y b’y…?”
    He relaxed, but only a little.
    “…‘sa prit’ b’y…?”
    Suddenly the birds stopped.
    A branch creaked.
    The drop-bear…dropped.
    It was a close relative of the koala, although this doesn’t mean very much. After all, the closest relative of the common elephant is about the size and shape of a rabbit. The drop-bear’s most notable feature was its posterior, thick and heavily padded to provide the maximum shock to the victim with the minimum shock to the bear. The initial blow rendered the prey unconscious, and then the bears could gather round to feed. It was a magnificent method of killing, since in other respects the bears were not very well built to be serious predators, and it was therefore particularly unfortunate for this bear that it chose, on this night, to drop on a man who might well have had “Victim” written all over him but also had “Wizard” written on his hat, and that this hat, most significantly, came to a point.
    Rincewind lumbered to his feet and ran into a few trees while he tried, with both hands on the brim, to lift his hat off his head. He managed it at last, stared in horror at the bear and its peculiarly confused expression, and shook it off and into the bushes. There were thumps around him as more bears, disoriented by this turn of events, hit the ground and bounced wildly.
    In the trees the budgerigars woke up and, the simple message by now having had time to work its way into their brain cells, shrieked, “Who’s a pri’y boy, den?” A madly tumbling bear whirled past Rincewind’s face.
    Rincewind turned and ran towards Snowy, landing astride the horse’s back, or where its back would have been had it been taller. Snowy obediently broke into his arrhythmical trot and headed into the darkness.
    Rincewind looked down, swore and ran after his horse.
    He held on tight as Snowy ran on like some small engine, leaving the bouncing bears behind, and didn’t slow down until he was well away along the track and among bushes that were shorter than he was. Then he slid off.
    What a bloody country!
    There was a flurry of wings in the night and suddenly the bush was full of little birds.
    “Wh’sa pri’ boyden?”
    Rincewind