sheer horror of this so appalled him he hardly felt his feet touch the ground. Some ground, anyway; he decided that it almost certainly wasn't the ground, which as far as he could remember wasn't black and didn't swirl in such a disconcerting way.
He took a look around.
Sheer sharp mountains speared up around him into a frosty sky hung with cruel stars, stars which appeared on no celestial chart in the multiverse, but right in there amongst them was a malevolent red disc. Rincewind shivered, and looked away. The land ahead of him sloped down sharply, and a dry wind whispered across the frost-his fingers in his ears, until he saw a sight seen by very few living men.
The ground dipped sharply until it became a vast funnel, ully a mile across, into which the whispering wind of the souls of the dead blew with a vast, echoing susurration, as though the Disc itself was breathing. But a narrow spur of rock arched out and over the hole, ending in an outcrop perhaps a hundred feet across.
There was a, with orchards and flowerbeds, and a quite small black cottage.
A little path led up to it.cracked rocks.It really did whisper. As grey eddies caught at his robe and tugged at his hair Rincewind thought he could hear voices, faint and far off, saying things like 'Are you sure those were mushrooms in the stew? I feel a bit —,' and There's a lovely view if you lean over this —,' and 'Don't fuss, it's only a scratch —,' and Watch where you're pointing that bow, you nearly—' and so on.He stumbled down the slope, with
Rincewind looked behind him. The shiny blue line was still there.
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