Discworld – The Light Fantastic (Terry Pratchett)

Far out on the snowfield half a dozen pinpoints of red light glowed in the shadows.

'He's not far away,' said the leading wizard, peering into a small crystal sphere.

There was general mutter from the ranks behind him which roughly meant that however far away Rincewind was he couldn't be further than a nice hot bath, a good meal and a warm bed.

Then the wizard who was tramping along in the rear stopped and said, 'Listen!'

They listened. There were the subtle sounds of winter beginning to close its grip on the land, the creak of rocks, the muted scuffling of small creatures in their tunnels under the blanket of snow. In a distant forest a wolf howled, felt embarrassed when no-one joined in, and stopped. There was the silver sleeting sound of moonlight. There was also the wheezing noise of half a dozen wizards trying to breathe quietly.

'I can't hear a thing—' one began.

'Ssshh!'

'All right, all right—'

Then they all heard it; a tiny distant crunching, like omething moving very quickly over the snow crust.

'Wolves?' said a wizard. They all thought about hundreds of lean, hungry bodies leaping through the night.

'N-no,' said the leader. 'It's too regular. Perhaps it's a messenger?'

It was louder now, a crisp rhythm like someone eating celery very fast.

'I'll send up a flare,' said the leader. He picked up a handful of snow, rolled it into a ball, threw it up into the air and ignited it with a stream of octarine fire from his fingertips. There was a brief, fierce blue glare.

There was silence. Then another wizard said, 'You daft bugger, I can't see a thing now.'

That was the last thing they heard before something fast, hard and noisy cannoned into them out of the darkness and vanished into the night.

When they dug one another out of the snow all they could find was a tight pressed trail of little footprints. Hundreds of little footprints, all very close together and heading across the snow as straight as a searchlight.