It was rounded, very slightly flattened, and pointy at one end. It was an onion.
Nanny Ogg swallowed. “I told him not —”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh ... nothing ...”
Granny Weatherwax turned the onion round and round, while the world, via the medium of Nanny Ogg, awaited its fate. Then she seemed to reach a decision she was comfortable with.
“A very useful vegetable, the onion,” she said, at last. “Firm. Sharp.”
“Good for the system,” said Nanny.
“Keeps well. Adds flavour.”
“Hot and spicy,” said Nanny, losing track of the metaphor in the flood of relief. “Nice with cheese —”
“We don’t need to go that far,” said Granny Weatherwax, putting it carefully back in the sack. She sounded almost amicable. “You comin’ in for a cup of tea, Gytha?”
“Er ... I’d better be getting along —”
“Fair enough.”
Granny started to close the door, and then stopped and opened it again. Nanny could see one blue eye watching her through the crack.
“I was right though, wasn’t I,” said Granny. It wasn’t a question.
Nanny nodded.
“Right,” she said.
“That’s nice.”