Tiffany Aching was lying on her stomach by the river, tickling trout. She liked to hear them laugh. It came up in bubbles.
There was a small part of Tiffany’s brain that wasn’t too certain about the name Tiffany. She was nine years old and felt that Tiffany was going to be a hard name to live up to. Besides, she’d decided only last week that she wanted to be a witch when she grew up, and she was certain Tiffany just wouldn’t work. People would laugh.
She’d read the dictionary all the way through. No one told her you weren’t supposed to.
And it didn’t stop being magic just because you found out how it was done.
Note: This World is beautiful. And this is a good day.