Wintersmith

Explainin’?”
    He looked around.
    The Feegles shuffled backward.
    “Wi’ the kelda a-pursin’ an’ a-foldin’ an’ a-tappin’,” Rob went on in a voice of Doom, “an’ that look in her bonny eye that says: ‘This Explanation had better be really guid’? Well? Do ye?”
    By now Feegles were crying and chewing the edges of their kilts in terror.
    “No, Rob,” they murmured.
    “No, aye!” said Rob Anybody triumphantly. “Ye wouldna! That’s because you don’t have the knowin’ o’ the husbandry!”
    “I heard Jeannie say ye come up with Explanations no other Feegle in all the world would try,” said Daft Wullie admiringly.
    “Aye, that’s quite likely,” said Rob, swelling with pride. “An’ Feegles has got a fine tradition o’ huge Explanations!”
    “She said some of your Explainin’ is so long an’ twisty, by the time ye’ve got to the end, she canna recall how they started,” Daft Wullie went on.
    “It’s a nat’ral gift—I wouldna wanta boast,” said Rob, waving his hand modestly.
    “I can’t see bigjobs bein’ good at Explainin’,” said Big Yan. “They’re verra slow thinkers.”
    “They still get wed, though,” said Billy Bigchin.
    “Aye, and yon boy in the big castle is bein’ too friendly wi’ the big wee hag,” said Big Yan. “His da is gettin’ old an’ sick, and soon yon boy will own a big stone castle an’ the wee bittie papers that says that he owns the hills.”
    “Jeannie’s afeared that if he’s got the wee bittie papers that says he owns the hills,” Billy Bigchin continued, “he might go daft and think they belong to him. An’ we know where that’ll lead, right?”
    “Aye,” said Big Yan. “Plowin’.”
    It was a dreaded word. The old Baron had once planned to plow a few of the flatter areas of the Chalk, because wheat was fetching high prices and there was no money in sheep, but Granny Aching had been alive then and had changed his mind for him.
    But some pastures around the Chalk were being plowed up already. There was money in wheat. The Feegles took it for granted that Roland would take to the plow, too. Wasn’t he brought up by a couple of vain, scheming, and unpleasant aunts?
    “I dinna trust him,” said Slightly Mad Angus. “He reads books an’ such. He disna care aboot the land.”
    “Aye,” said Daft Wullie, “but if he wuz wed tae the big wee hag, he’d no’ think o’ the plow, ’cuz the big wee hag would soon gi’e him the Pursin’ o’ the Arms—”
    “It’s the Foldin’ o’ the Arms!” snapped Rob Anybody.
    All the Feegles looked around fearfully.
    “Ooooooh, not the Foldin’ o’ th—”
    “Shut up!” Rob yelled. “Ah’m ashamed o’ yez! It’s up tae the big wee hag tae marry who she wants tae! Is that no’ so, gonnagle?”
    “Hmm?” said Billy, looking upward. He caught a snowflake.
    “I said the big wee hag can wed who she wants, right?”
    Billy was staring at the snowflake.
    “Billy?” said Rob.
    “What?” he said, as if waking up. “Oh…yes. Do ye think she wants tae marry the Wintersmith?”
    “The Wintersmith?” said Rob. “He canna marry anyone. He’s like a spirit—there’s nothin’ tae him!”
    “She danced with him. We saw her,” said Billy, catching another flake and inspecting it.
    “Just girlish high spirits! Anyway, why should the big wee hag think anything o’ the Wintersmith?”
    “I have reason tae believe,” said the gonnagle slowly, as more flakes danced down, “that the Wintersmith is thinkin’ a lot aboot the big wee hag….”

CHAPTER FOUR
    Snowflakes
    T hey say that there can never be two snowflakes that are exactly alike, but has anyone checked lately?
    Snow fell gently in the darkness. It piled up on rooftops, it kissed its way between the branches of trees, it settled on the forest floor with a gentle sizzle and smelled sharply of tin.
    Granny Weatherwax always checked the snow. She stood at her doorway, with the candlelight streaming out around her, and caught flakes on the back of a shovel.
    The white kitten watched the snowflakes. That’s all it did. It didn’t bat them with a paw, it just watched, very intently, each flake spiral down until it landed. Then the kitten would watch it some more, until it was sure the entertainment was over, before it looked up and selected another flake.
    It was called You, as in “You! Stop that!” and “You! Get off there!” When it came to names, Granny Weatherwax didn’t do fancy.
    Granny