SO STOP GRINNING LIKE THAT.
‘Yes, Master.’
Death rode out, but found himself guiding the white horse down the track to the orchard.
He stopped in front of one particular tree, and stared at it for some time. Eventually he said:
LOOKS PERFECTLY LOGICAL TO ME.
Binky turned obediently away and trotted into the world.
The lands and cities of it lay before him. Blue light flamed along the blade of the scythe.
Death felt attention on him. He looked up at the universe, which was watching him with puzzled interest.
A voice which only he heard said: So you’re a rebel, little Death? Against what?
Death thought about it. If there was a snappy answer, he couldn’t think of one.
So he ignored it, and rode towards the lives of humanity.
They needed him.
Somewhere, in some other world far away from the Discworld, someone tentatively picked up a musical instrument that echoed to the rhythm in their soul.
It will never die.
It’s here to stay.
The End