Literature
Scarecrow Night
Greebo was sleeping. It was one of those standard feline activities that did not interfere with the flow of ions and other -ons through the multiverse.¹ His sleep, however, was at the same time a great relief for everything that walked, rolled, talked, sang, squeaked, or even occasionally fluttered in the wind. Somewhere in the distance, a not-very-clever cat meowed—only to be immediately silenced by his wiser brothers, whose reflexes were highly preventive.²
If Greebo had been in the bean field that had sprung up surprisingly quickly around Lancre Castle, he would have been astonished. King Verence had decided to put a scarecrow there. By day, it hardly stood out: a pile of sticks clad in old rags and scraps of clothing no one would wear anymore.³ Usually, it didn’t even scare away flies, let alone sparrows (which were scarce in the bean field anyway, since they had no taste for such refined food). Beans attracted no one. The field was so saturated with everyday life—stomach aches