Except that it isn't.
Mirrors contain infinity.
Infinity contains more things than you think.
Everything, for a start.
Including hunger.
Because there's a million billion images and only one soul to go around.
Mirrors give plenty, but they take away lots.
Mountains unfolded to reveal more mountains. Clouds gathered, heavy and grey.
'I'm sure we're going the right way,' said Magrat. Freezing rock stretched away. The witches flew along a maze of twisty little canyons, all alike.
'Yeah,' said Granny.
'Well, you won't let me fly high enough,' said Magrat.
'It's going to snow like blazes in a minute,' said Nanny Ogg.
It was early evening. Light was draining out of the high valleys like custard.
'I thought . . . there'd be villages and things,' said Magrat, 'where we could buy interesting native produce and seek shelter in rude huts.'
'You wouldn't even get trolls up here,' said Granny.
The three broomsticks glided down into a bare valley, a mere notch in the mountain side.
'And it's bloody cold,' said Nanny Ogg. She grinned. 'Why're they called rude huts, anyway?'
Granny Weatherwax climbed off her broomstick and looked at the rocks around her. She picked up a stone and sniffed it. She wandered over to a heap of scree that looked like any other heap of scree to Magrat, and prodded it.
t listened to all this with interest. Her own preparations had consisted of a large sack containing several changes of clothes to accommodate whatever weather foreign parts might suffer from, and a rather smaller one containing a number of useful-looking books from Desiderata Hollow's cottage. Desiderata had been a great note-taker, and had filled dozens of little books with neat writing and chapter headings like 'With Wand and Broomstick Across the Great Nef Desert'.
What she had never bothered to do, it seemed, was write down any instructions for the wand. As far as Magrat knew, you waved it and wished.
Along the track to her cottage, several unanticipated pumpkins bore witness to this as an unreliable strategy. One of them still thought it was a stoat.
Now Magrat was left alone with Jason, who shuffled his feet.
He touched his forelock. He'd been brought up to be
respectful to women, and Magrat fell broadly into this category.
'You will look after our mum, won't you, Mistress Garlick?' he said, a hint of worry in his voice. 'She'm acting awful strange.'
Magrat patted him gently on the shoulder.
'This sort of thing happens all the time,' she said. 'You know, after a woman's raised a family and so on, she wants to start living her own life.'
'Whose life she bin living, then?'
Magrat gave him a puzzled look. She hadn't questioned the wisdom of the thought when it had first arrived in her head.
'You see, what it is,' she said, making an explanation up as she went along, 'there comes a time in a woman's life when she wants to find herself.'