He knew us, didn’t he? He knew us because, whatever he may have or have not said, he was one of us.
We all need models. Granny Weatherwax has long been one of my chiefest models for how to be Witch. It was said of her that: Granny Weatherwax didn’t hold with looking at the future, but now she could feel the future looking at her. She didn’t like the expression at all.
And: Magrat peered around timidly. Here and there on the moor were huge standing stones, their origins lost in time, which were said to lead mobile and private lives of their own. She shivered. “What’s to be afraid of?” she managed.
“Us,” said Granny Weatherwax, smugly.
Most importantly: “[W]hat about this rule about not meddling?” said Magrat.
“Ah,” said Nanny. She took the girl’s arm. “The thing is,” she explained, “as you progress in the Craft, you’ll learn there is another rule. Esme’s obeyed it all her life.”
“And what’s that?”
“When you break rules, break ‘em good and hard.”
OK, one more: Granny Weatherwax was often angry. She considered it one of her strong points. Genuine anger is one of the world’s great creative forces. But you had to learn how to control it. That didn’t mean you let it trickle away. It meant you dammed it, carefully, let it develop a working head, let it drown whole valleys of the mind and then, just when the whole structure was about to collapse, opened a tiny pipeline at the base and let the iron-hard steam of wrath power the turbines of revenge.
May it be so for you.