Jean-Honore Fragonard le jour

Jean-Honore Fragonard le jourJean-Honore Fragonard l'auroreJean-Honore Fragonard Cephale et ProcrisEdgar Degas Dancer
There was a movement in the air and what he later described as 'like, a sort of explosion only backwards, you know?', and before he looked down and gave up, having run out of legs.
Rincewind, meanwhile, had found a path. It wound about a good deal, and he would have been happier if it had been cobbled, but following it gave him something to do.
Several trees tried to strike up a conversation, but Rincewind was nearly certain that this was not normal behaviour for trees and ignored them.
The day lengthened. There was no sound but the murmur of nasty little stinging suddenly where there had only been nothing there was a large, battered, wooden chest.It landed heavily on the leafmould, extended dozens of little legs, and turned around ponderously to look at the shaman. That is to say, it had no face, but even through the mycological haze he was horribly aware that it was looking at him. And not a nice look, either. It was amazing how baleful a keyhole and a couple of knotholes could be.To his intense relief it gave a sort of wooden shrug, and set off through the trees at a canter.With superhuman effort the shaman recalled the correct sequence of movements for standing up and even managed a couple of steps