Disclaimer: I don't own Discworld, thankfully. The great Terry Pratchett does, however.


Yet again, Rincewind was lost, hungry, and alone in a cold, damp forest.


Or, at least, lost and hungry. He nodded resignedly at the Luggage as it shambled toward him.

"Hello. I don't suppose you're actually a sausage-inna-bun?"

The Luggage merely moved closer, with an almost... predatory air. Rincewind felt vaguely unnerved. It seemed to be looking suggestively at him. It didn't have eyes, how could...


The Luggage opened its lid just a crack, running a long red tongue along what Rincewind supposed were its lips. It advanced, hinges swaying seductively. The Luggage winked...

...and Rincewind ran.