Мор - ученик смерти

           Goodiewatchedhimforsometime,withherheadononeside.Thenshesaid,’Isee.Whatisyourname,youngman?’

           ’Mort,’sniffedMort.’ShortforMortimer.’

           ’Well,Mort,Iexpectyou’vegotanhourglasssomewhereaboutyourperson,’

           Mortnoddedvaguely.Hereacheddowntohisbeltandproducedtheglass.Thewitchinspecteditcritically.

           ’Stillaminuteorso,’shesaid.’Wedon’thavemuchtimetolose.Justgivemeamomenttolockp.’

           ’Butyoudon’tunderstand!’Mortwailed.’I’llmessitallup!I’veneverdonethisbefore!’

           Shepattedhishand.’NeitherhaveI,’shesaid.’Wecanlearntogether.Nowpickupthescytheandtrytoactyourage,there’sagoodboy.’

           Againsthisprotestationssheshooedhimoutintothesnowandfollowedbehindhim,pullingthedoorshutandlockingitwithaheavyironkeywhichshehungonanailbythedoor.

           Thefrosthadtighteneditsgripontheforest,squeezingituntiltherootscreaked.Themoonwassetting,buttheskywasfullofhardwhitestarsthatmadethewinterseemcolderstill.GoodieHamstringshivered.

           ’There’sanoldlogoverthere,’shesaidconversationally.’There’squiteagoodviewacrossthevalley.Inthesummertime,ofcourse.Ishouldliketositdown.’