At 9, Tiffany Aching defeated the cruel Queen of Fairyland.
At 11, she battled an ancient body stealing evil.
At 13, Tiffany faces a new challenge: a boy. And boys can be a bit of a problem when you're thirteen& .
But the Wintersmith isn't exactly a boy. He is Winter itself snow, gales, icicles all of it. When he has a crush on Tiffany, he may make her roses out of ice, but his nature is blizzards and avalanches. And he wants Tiffany to stay in his gleaming, frozen world. Forever.
Tiffany will need all her cunning to make it to Spring. She'll also need her friends, from junior witches to the legendary Granny Weatherwax. They
Crivens! Tiffany will need the Wee Free Men too! She'll have the help of the bravest, toughest, smelliest pictsies ever to be banished from Fairyland whether she wants it or not.
It's going to be a cold, cold season, because if Tiffany doesn't survive until Spring
Spring won't come.
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September 30, 2006
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Excerpt from Wintersmith by Terry Pratchett
The Big Snow
When the storm came, it hit the hills like a hammer. No sky should hold as much snow as this, and because no sky could, the snow fell, fell in a wall of white.
There was a small hill of snow where there had been, a few hours ago, a little cluster of thorn trees on an ancient mound. This time last year there had been a few early primroses; now there was just snow.
Part of the snow moved. A piece about the size of an apple rose up, with smoke pouring out around it. A hand no larger than a rabbit's paw waved the smoke away.
A very small but very angry blue face, with the lump of snow still balanced on top of it, looked out at the sudden white wilderness.
"Ach, crivens!" it grumbled. "Will ye no' look at this? 'Tis the work o' the Wintersmith! Noo there's a scunner that willna tak' 'no' fra' an answer!"
Other lumps of snow were pushed up. More heads peered out.
"Oh waily, waily, waily!" said one of them. "He's found the big wee hag again!"
The first head turned toward this head, and said, "Daft Wullie?"
"Did I no' tell ye to lay off that waily business?"
"Aye, Rob, ye did that," said the head addressed as Daft Wullie.
"So why did ye just do it?"
"Sorry, Rob. It kinda bursted oot."
"It's so dispiritin'."
Rob Anybody sighed. "But I fear ye're right, Wullie. He's come for the big wee hag, right enough. Who's watchin' over her doon at the farm?"
"Wee Dangerous Spike, Rob."
Rob looked up at clouds so full of snow that they sagged in the middle.
"Okay," he said, and sighed again. "It's time fra' the Hero."
He ducked out of sight, the plug of snow dropping neatly back into place, and slid down into the heart of the Feegle mound.
It was quite big inside. A human could just about stand up in the middle, but would then bend double with coughing because the middle was where there was a hole to let smoke out.
Copyright ý 2006 by Terry and Lyn Pratchett.