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And Granny Weatherwax was walking around the clearing with the head woodcutter, a barrel-chested young man who clearly thought he looked better in his studded leather wristlets than was, in fact, the case.
'It's been around for years, right?' he said. 'Always lurking around the edges of villages and that.'
'And you never tried talking to it?' said Granny.
'Talk to it? It's a wolf, right? You don't talk to wolves. Animals can't talk.'
'Hmm. I see. And what about the old woman? There's a lot of you woodcutters. Did you ever, you know, drop in to see her?'
'Huh? No fear!'
'Why?'
The head woodcutter leaned forward conspiratorially.
'Well, they say she's a witch, right?'
'Really?' said Granny. 'How do you know?'
'She's got all the signs, right?'
'What signs are those?'
The woodcutter was pricked by a slight uneasiness.
'Well . . . she's . . . she lives all by herself in the wood, right?'
'Yes . . . ?'
'And . . . and . . . she's got a hook nose and she's always muttering to herself. . .'
'Yes . . . ?'
'And she's got no teeth, right?'
'Lawks,' said Granny. 'I can see where you wouldn't want to be having with the likes of her, right?'
'Right!' said the woodcutter, relieved.
'Quite likely turn you into just about anything as soon as look at you, right?' Granny stuck her finger in her ear and twiddled it reflectively.
'They can do that, you know.'
'I bet they can. I bet they can,' said Granny. 'Makes me glad there's all you big strong lads around. Teh, tch. Hmm. Can I have a look at your chopper, young man?'
He handed over his axe. Granny sagged dramatically as she grasped it. There were still traces of wolf blood on the blade.
'Deary me, it's a big one,' she said. 'And you're good with this, I expect.'
'Won the silver belt two years running at the forest revels,' said the woodcutter proudly.
'Two years running? Two years running? Lawks. That is good. That's very good. And here's me hardly able to lift it.' Granny grasped the axe in one hand and swung it inexpertly. The woodcutter jumped backwards as the blade whirred past his face and then buried itself a quarter of an inch deep in a tree.
'Sorry about that,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'Aren't I a daft old woman! Never was any good with anything technical!'
He grinned at her, and tried to pull the axe free.
He sank to his knees, his face suddenly white.
