He stood up, testing the injured leg.
It'd do.
And finally, he swore.
'Woof, woof, woof!'
He paused. That wasn't right.
He tried again.
'Woof!'
He looked around . . .
. . . and colour drained out of the world, returning it to a state of blessed blacks and whites.
It occurred to Gaspode that Harga would be throwing out the trash around now, and then there was bound to be a warm stable somewhere. And what more did a small dog need?
Somewhere in the distant mountains, wolves were howling. Somewhere in friendly houses, dogs with collars and dishes with their names on were being patted on the head.
Somewhere in between, and feeling oddly cheerful about it, Gaspode the Wonder Dog limped into the gloriously-monochrome sunset.
About thirty miles Turnwise of Ankh-Morpork the surf boomed on the wind-blown, seagrass-waving, sand-dune-covered spit of land where the Circle Sea met the Rim Ocean.
Sea swallows dipped low over the waves. The dried heads of seapoppies clattered in the perpetual breeze, which scoured the sky of clouds and moved the sand around in curious patterns. '
The hill itself was visible for miles. It wasn't very high, but lay amongst the dunes like an upturned boat or a very unlucky whale, and was covered in scrub trees. No rain fell here, if it could possibly avoid ·t.
But the wind blew, and piled the dunes against the dried-out, bleached wood of Holy Wood Town.
It howled its auditions on the deserted backlots.
It tumbled scraps of paper through the crumbling plaster wonders of the world.
It rattled the boards until they fell into the sand and were covered.
Clickaclickaclicka.
The wind sighed around the skeleton of a picturethrowing box, leaning drunkenly on its abandoned tripod.
It caught a trailing scrap of film and wound out the last picture show, snaking the crumbling glistening coils across the sand.
In the picture-thrower's glass eye tiny figures danced jerkily, alive for just a moment . . .
Clickaclicka.
The film broke free and whirled away over the dunes.
Clicka . . . click . . .
The handle swung backwards and forwards for a moment, and then stopped.
Click.
Holy Wood dreams.
THE END