Daft Wullie scratched his head. ‘But I thought she thought he was just a big pile of jobbies?’ he said. ‘I seen her oot walkin’, an’ when he comes ridin’ past she sticks her nose in th’ air and looks the other wa’. In fact, sometimes I seen her wait aroond a full five-and-twenty minutes for him tae come past, just so’s she can do that.’

‘Ah, weel, no man kens the workin’s o’ the female mind,’ said Rob Anybody loftily. ‘We’ll follow the Horse.’

From Fairies and How to Avoid Them by Miss Perspicacia Tick:

No one knows exactly how the Nac Mac Feegle step from one world to another. Those who have seen Feegles actually travel this way say that they apparently throw back their shoulders and thrust out one leg straight ahead of them. Then they wiggle their foot and are gone. This is known as ‘the crawstep’, and the only comment on the subject by a Feegle is ‘It’s all in the ankle movement, ye ken.’ They appear to be able to travel magically between worlds of all kinds but not within a world. For this purpose, they assure people, they have ‘feets’.

The sky was black, even though the sun was high. It hung at just past noon, lighting the landscape as brilliantly as a hot summer day, but the sky was midnight black, shorn of stars.

This was the landscape of Tiffany Aching’s mind.

The Feegles looked around them. There seemed to be downland underfoot, rolling and green.

‘She tells the land what it is. The land tells her who she is,’ whispered Awf’ly Wee Billy. ‘She really does hold the soul o’ the land in her heid…’

‘Aye, so ‘tis,’ muttered Rob Anybody. ‘But there’s nae creatures, ye ken. Nae ships. Nae burdies.’

‘Mebbe… mebbe somethin’s scared them awa’?’ said Daft Wullie.

There was, indeed, no life. Stillness and silence ruled here. In fact Tiffany, who cared a lot about getting words right, would have said it was a hush, which is not the same as silence. A hush is what you get in cathedrals at midnight.

‘OK, lads,’ Rob Anybody whispered. ‘We dinnae ken what we’re goin’ tae find, so ye tread as light as e’er foot can fall, unnerstan’? Let’s find the big wee hag.’

They nodded, and stepped forward like ghosts.

The land rose slightly ahead of them, to some kind of earthworks. They advanced on it carefully, wary of ambush, but nothing stopped them as they climbed two long mounds in the turf which made a sort of cross.

‘Man-made,’ said Big Yan, when they reached the top. ‘Just like in the old days, Rob.’ The silence sucked his speech away.

‘This is deep inside o’ the big wee hag’s head,’ said Rob Anybody, looking around warily. ‘We dinnae know whut made ‘em.’

‘I dinnae like this, Rob,’ said a Feegle. ‘It’s too quiet.’

‘Aye, Slightly Sane Georgie, it is that—’

‘You are my sunshine, my only su–’

‘Daft Wullie!’ snapped Rob, without taking his eyes off the strange landscape.

The singing stopped. ‘Aye, Rob?’ said Daft Wullie from behind him.

‘Ye ken I said I’d tell ye when ye wuz guilty o’ stupid and inna-pro-pre-ate behaviour?’

‘Aye, Rob,’ said Daft Wullie. ‘That wuz another one o’ those times, wuz it?’

‘Aye.’

They moved on again, staring around them. And still there was the hush. It was the pause before an orchestra plays, the quietness before thunder. It was as if all the small sounds of the hills had shut down to make room for one big sound to happen.

And then they found the Horse.

They’d seen it, back on the Chalk. But here it was, not carved into the hillside but spread out before them. They stared at it.

‘Awf’ly Wee Billy?’ said Rob, beckoning the young gonnagle towards him. ‘You’re a gonnagle, ye ken aboot poetry and dreams. What’s this? Why’s it up here? It shouldnae be on the top o’ the hills!’

‘Serious hiddlins, Mr Rob,’ said Billy. This is serious hiddlins. I cannae work it out yet.’

‘She knows the Chalk. Why’d she get this wrong?’

‘I’m thinkin’ aboot it, Mr Rob.’

‘You wouldnae care tae think a bit faster, would ye?’

‘Rob?’ said Big Yan, hurrying up. He’d been scouting ahead.

‘Aye?’ said Rob gloomily.

‘Ye’d better come and see this…’

On top of a round hill was a four-wheeled shepherding hut, with a curved roof and a chimney for the pot-bellied stove. Inside, the walls were covered with the yellow and blue wrappers from hundreds of packets of Jolly Sailor tobacco. There were old sacks hanging up there, and the back of the door was covered with chalk marks where Granny Aching had counted sheep and days. And there was a narrow iron bedstead, made comfortable with old fleeces and feed sacks.

‘D’ye have the unnerstandin’ of this, Awf’ly Wee Billy?’ said Rob. ‘Can ye tell us where the big wee hag is?’

The young gonnagle looked worried. ‘Er, Mister Rob, ye ken I’ve only just been made a gonnagle? I mean, I know the songs an’ a’, but I’m no’ verra experienced at this…’

‘Aye?’ said Rob Anybody. ‘An’ just how many gonnagles afore ye ha’ walked through the dreams o’ a hag?’

‘Er… none I’ve ever heard of, Mister Rob,’ Billy confessed.

‘Aye. So you already know more aboot it than any o’ them big men,’ said Rob. He gave the boy a smile. ‘Do yer best, laddie. I dinnae expect any more of you than that.’

Billy looked out of the shed door, and took a deep breath: ‘Then I’ll tell ye I think she’s hidin’ somewhere close like a hunted creature, Mr Rob. This is a wee bit o’ her memory, the place o’ her granny, the place where she’s always felt safe. I’ll tell ye I think that we’re in the soul and centre o’ her. The bit o’ her that is her. And I’m frightened for her. Frightened to mah boots.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve been watchin’ the shadows, Mr Rob,’ said Billy. ‘The sun is movin’. It’s slippin’ doon the sky.’

‘Aye, weel, that’s whut the sun does—’ Rob began.

Billy shook his head. ‘Nay, Mr Rob. Ye dinnae understand! I’m tellin’ ye that’s no’ the sun o’ the big wide world. That’s the sun o’ the soul o’ her.’

The Feegles looked at the sun, and at the shadows, then back at Billy. He’d stuck his chin out bravely but he was trembling.

‘She’ll die when night comes?’ Rob said.

‘There’s worser things than death, Mr Rob. The hiver will have her, head tae toe—’

‘That is nae gonna happen!’ shouted Rob Anybody, so suddenly that Billy backed away. ‘She’s a strong big wee lass! She fought the Quin wi’ no more than a fryin’ pan!’

Awf’ly Wee Billy swallowed. There were a lot of things he’d rather do than face Rob Anybody now. But he pressed on.

‘Sorry, Mr Rob, but I’m telling ye she had iron then, an’ she wuz on her ain turf. She’s a lang, lang way fra’ hame here. An’ it’ll squeeze this place when it finds it, leave no more room for it, and the night will come, an’—’

‘ ‘Scuse me, Rob. I ha’ an idea.’

It was Daft Wullie, twisting his hands nervously. Everyone turned to look at him.

‘Ye ha’ an idea?’ said Rob.

‘Aye, an’ if I tell youse, I dinnae want you ta’ say it’s inna-pro-pre-ate, OK, Rob?’

Rob Anybody sighed. ‘OK, Wullie, ye ha’ my word on it.’

‘Weel,’ said Wullie, his fingers knotting and unknotting. ‘What is this place if it’s not truly her ain place? What is it if not her ain turf? If she cannae fight the creature here, she cannae fight it anywhere!’

‘But it willnae come here,’ said Billy. ‘It doesnae need to. As she grows weaker, this place will fade away.’

‘Oh, crivens,’ mumbled Daft Wullie. ‘Weel, it was a good idea, right? Even if it doesnae work?’

Rob Anybody wasn’t paying any attention. He stared around the shepherding hut. My man’s got to use his heid for something other than nuttin’ folk, Jeannie had said.

‘Daft Wullie is right,’ he said quietly. ‘This is her safe place. She holds the land, she has it in her eye. The creature can ne’er touch her here. Here, she has power. But ‘twill be a jail hoose for her here unless she fights the monster. She’d be locked in here and watch her life gae doon the cludgie. She’ll look oot at the world like a pris’ner at a tiny window, and see hersel’ hated and feared. So we’ll fetch the beast in here against its will, and here it will die!’