Terry Pratchett - The Sea and Little Fishes

“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?” Granny 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 get, 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 firewood 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 paper attached to the second sack: “Dear Mis f tres f Weatherwax, I would be mo f t grateful if you would let me name thi f new champion f hip variety E f me 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 not —”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh ... nothing ...”

Granny Weatherwax turned the onion round and round, while the world, via the medium of Nanny Ogg, awaited its fate. Then she seemed to reach a decision she was comfortable with.

“A very useful vegetable, the onion,” she said, at last. “Firm. Sharp.”

“Good for the system,” said Nanny.

“Keeps well. Adds flavour.”

“Hot and spicy,” said Nanny, losing track of the metaphor in the flood of relief. “Nice with cheese —”

“We don’t need to go that far,” said Granny Weatherwax, putting it carefully back in the sack. She sounded almost amicable. “You comin’ in for a cup of tea, Gytha?”

“Er ... I’d better be getting along —”

“Fair enough.”

Granny started to close the door, and then stopped and opened it again. Nanny could see one blue eye watching her through the crack.

“I was right though, wasn’t I,” said Granny. It wasn’t a question.

Nanny nodded.

“Right,” she said.

“That’s nice.”