U is for Undulating
Title: Marry Land
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Tiffany/Annagramma
Claim: Discworld
Rating: G
Word count: 200
A/N: I wasn't going to write another one, but I'm really liking this pairing suddenly.
The hills spread out under them like long low waves frozen in time, green under a blue sky. The soft land saps Annagramma's magic. She might know her way around demons and beasties these days, and even go undaunted into the goat pens, but she can't begin to understand the power that Tiffany takes from the Chalk. Tiffany knows this, too, and it's there in her calm brown eyes as she glances back at Annagramma from her broomstick, flying just ahead.
They land at her cottage at the hilltop and don't say a word as they stand their broomsticks by the door. There are rooms to air and firewood to gather: chores that for once Anna doesn't mind, since they give her time to adjust. She lights the fire with a small fireball, because she can, and it makes her feel somewhat better.
'I'm sorry,' says Tiffany behind her, bringing in the kettle. 'It doesn't mean to do it.'
Sometimes Tiffany is altogether too much like Mistress Weatherwax. Annagramma would mind more if Tiffany wasn't... well, hers. If you can't have land, marry land, her father used to say, even though she's quite sure this wasn't quite what he'd intended.
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Tiffany/Annagramma
Claim: Discworld
Rating: G
Word count: 200
A/N: I wasn't going to write another one, but I'm really liking this pairing suddenly.
The hills spread out under them like long low waves frozen in time, green under a blue sky. The soft land saps Annagramma's magic. She might know her way around demons and beasties these days, and even go undaunted into the goat pens, but she can't begin to understand the power that Tiffany takes from the Chalk. Tiffany knows this, too, and it's there in her calm brown eyes as she glances back at Annagramma from her broomstick, flying just ahead.
They land at her cottage at the hilltop and don't say a word as they stand their broomsticks by the door. There are rooms to air and firewood to gather: chores that for once Anna doesn't mind, since they give her time to adjust. She lights the fire with a small fireball, because she can, and it makes her feel somewhat better.
'I'm sorry,' says Tiffany behind her, bringing in the kettle. 'It doesn't mean to do it.'
Sometimes Tiffany is altogether too much like Mistress Weatherwax. Annagramma would mind more if Tiffany wasn't... well, hers. If you can't have land, marry land, her father used to say, even though she's quite sure this wasn't quite what he'd intended.