Witches Abroad (Discworld 12)

'They ain't horses,' said Nanny. 'They feel like ..."

'Rats turned into horses,' said Granny, who was even better at getting into people's minds than she was at getting under their skins. 'They feel like that poor old wolf. Minds like a firework display.' She winced at the taste of them in her own head.

'I bet,' said Granny, thoughtfully, as the coach skidded around the corner, 'I bet I could make the wheels fall right off.'

'That's not the way,' said Magrat. 'Anyway, Ella's in there!'

'There may be another way,' said Nanny. 'I know someone who could get inside them minds right enough.'

'Who?' said Magrat.

'Well, we've still got our brooms,' said Nanny. 'It should be easy to overtake it, right?'

The witches landed in an alleyway a few minutes ahead of the coach.

'I don't hold with this,' said Granny. 'It's the sort of thing Lily does. You can't expect me to like this. Think of that wolf!'

Nanny lifted Greebo out of his nest among the bristles.

'But Greebo's nearly human anyway," she said.

'Hah!'

'And it'll only be temp'ry, even with the three of us doing it,' she said. 'Anyway, it'll be int'resting to see if it works.'

'Yes, but it's wrong,' said Granny.

'Not for these parts, it seems,' said Nanny.

'Besides,' said Magrat virtuously, 'it can't be bad if we're doing it. We're the good ones.'

'Oh yes, so we is,' said Granny, 'and there was me forgetting it for a minute there.'

Nanny stood back. Greebo, aware that something was expected of him, sat up.

'You must admit we can't think of anything better, Granny,' said Magrat.

Granny hesitated. But under all the revulsion was the little treacherous flame of fascination with the idea. Besides, she and Greebo had hated one another cordially for years. Almost human, eh? Give him a taste of it, then, and see how he likes it ... She felt a bit ashamed of the thought. But not much.

'Oh, all right.'

They concentrated.

As Lily knew, changing the shape of an object is one of the hardest magics there is. But it's easier if the object is alive. After all, a living thing already knows what shape it is. All you have to do is change its mind.

Greebo yawned and stretched. To his amazement he went on stretching.

Through the pathways of his feline brain surged a tide of belief. He suddenly believed he was human. He wasn't simply under the impression that he was human; he believed it implicitly. The sheer force of the unshakeable belief flowed out into his morphic field, overriding its objections, rewriting the very blueprint of his self.

Fresh instructions surged back.

If he was human, he didn't need all this fur. And he ought to be bigger . . .

The witches watched, fascinated.

'I never thought we'd do it,' said Granny.

... no points on the ears, the whiskers were too long . . .