Beaker Folk assemble disconsolately in Octarine hi-viz, bearing the legend "We stole a lot of our stuff from you."
Archdruid: Mort, you little sod.
A luggage wanders miserably counter-sunwise round the Moot House on its hundreds of dear little legs, followed by three witches. The librarian of Unseen University swings dolefully from the bookcase. Far off, the setting sun makes the edge of the Diskworld nearest it quite warm, before dropping to bestow its rays on an ancient star-turtle. Great A'Tuin continues the endless journey, knowing that somehow there's not as much joy in the world as there was.