(no subject)
There were still four whole days until the island's more commonplace winter celebrations, but the Vimes family was already gathered in the rec room amidst a small pile of gifts to celebrate their own personal holiday. Having grown up on Tabula Rasa, Young Sam had come to expect not to usual one day of presents, but two - on Hogswatch eve, whenever it fell by the island calendar, and on Christmas day, when the rest of his friends received their presents. Like so many other oddities on the island, this particular strangeness seemed perfectly natural: there was the Hogfather and Father Christmas, flying reindeer and flying pigs, Christmas trees and Hogswatch bushes.
As tends to be the case for most parents, the elder Sam Vimes appreciated the nostalgia of the holiday more than the trappings. Once, he had hated Hogswatch - it had been nothing more than one endlessly dreary night, and though he hadn't believed the damned legend in decades, he had always half expected that the sun wouldn't rise come morning. Now he sipped warm cider and watched as his son picked up each package, shook it, and guessed at its contents. Had he been half this big a year ago? Vimes was almost sure he hadn't.
Gods, but he was getting old. They were all getting old.
As tends to be the case for most parents, the elder Sam Vimes appreciated the nostalgia of the holiday more than the trappings. Once, he had hated Hogswatch - it had been nothing more than one endlessly dreary night, and though he hadn't believed the damned legend in decades, he had always half expected that the sun wouldn't rise come morning. Now he sipped warm cider and watched as his son picked up each package, shook it, and guessed at its contents. Had he been half this big a year ago? Vimes was almost sure he hadn't.
Gods, but he was getting old. They were all getting old.