A/N: continuation of The Running Philosophy

Rincewind the Wizzard sat clutching his head. He never thought he would admit it, but ever since he took on an apprentice, he caught himself wishing he could return to the calm, peaceful, simple days when he travelled with Twoflower and had the eight spell lodged inside his head.

Not that Harry was a difficult child. As far as children went, and Rincewind had little experience with them – a child Sourcerer and a child demonologist were hardly to be considered representative of the entire species of 'children' – Harry wasn't an overly troublesome lad. He certainly had taken to the idea of running a lot better than anyone ever had, and at almost seven years old the boy could outrun practically everyone. (This had only once caused trouble, when the child had managed to outrun the Patrician's carriage after a bet to see if he could discern the black coat of arms on the black carriage. Fortunately, Rincewind and Harry had succeeded in outrunning the guards, as well).

So the boy was a wizard – that was no problem, either. Rincewind himself considered himself something of a wizard, despite a startling lack of magical ability, and he could cope well enough with that. One did not spend years around wizards of all ages, even when one is not that adapt at magic oneself, without developing some sort of cavalier attitude towards accidents with fireballs, unintended summoning of various pets that the boy insisted on keeping until the disgruntled summoned creatures returned to their native realms of their own accord, and some minor mischief in trying to bewitch bartenders around the city into believing a six year old SHOULD be allowed to drink beverages high in alcohol content.

Though the Neuralger had been a bit much. The boy had, after all, promised him a Succubus. The problem was not so much in the summoning, Rincewind later evaluated, but in the fact that the boy had no idea how to tell the difference between the two, and Rincewind had not managed to explain it to him without blushing fiercely, stammering a little and ultimately giving up.

But generally the boy was no problem. So when Harry snuck past him a little earlier, holding two sticks, a cage of mice and a syringe, he thought nothing of it. When over his head, incantations started and all sorts of pounding noises emerged, he figured the boy was just getting rid of some youthful excess energy. They had, after all, not run from anyone in two days. There was bound to be some energy build-up in the child.

"Rincewind! Rincewind!" Harry's excited voice made him realize he had not heard any noise in the past few minutes, "look! Look what I got! Can I keep him?"

Rincewind looked up, straight into the skull of a reproachful looking Grim Reaper, who was being led by his hand through the house by a bouncing Harry. His other hand clutched a small black duck.

"AAAHHHH!!!!" Rincewind did some preventive screaming, "Run, Harry, run!"

Harry stared at him. Normally he was quite inclined to obey this command, but this was one really cool pet they were talking about.

"Why?"

Why indeed. After all, I am sure to enjoy being summoned from my bath by a small human.

"That's…that's the Grim Reaper! Him! Death!" Rincewind wailed.

Harry looked up at the skeletal structure. "Really?"

Really.

I might add, Rincewind, that the Rite of AshkEnte is NOT meant for children.

Rincewind nodded weakly. Harry perked up. "Death? But…how can you be death? Death is a state of being, not…" he waved his hand.

An anthropomorphic personification of death, Death replied.

"Yes. That. Anyway, everyone dies," Harry explained patiently to the strange adult he had lived with for the past two years. That was plenty of time to realize that while Rincewind could teach him a great many things, particularly the intricacies of the Running Philosophy, his new guardian was also cowardly and, as adults go, slightly dense at times.

I can confirm that, Death agreed with Harry's statement.

"So there is absolutely no point in running from it," Harry continued, "even if it is an…an…antipodean person."

Anthropomorphic personification, Death corrected, I find it helps putting humans at ease, as it were.

Harry had to admit Rincewind, for one, did not look at ease at all. In fact, he looked terrified.

"Am I going to die?"

Not today, the Grim Reaper determined, though I really wish you humans would stop performing the Rite of AshkEnte. It is most annoying to be summoned at all hours.

"Sorry," Harry said, contrite, "but can I keep him, Rincewind? Please?"

I am not a pet, small boy.

"I know THAT," Harry said, "but the Neuralger had to go back home, and Rincewind didn't seem to like her much anyway. And I could not keep the Tarrasque, either. The Leviathan insisted on going back home even though she was flattered I spoke to her in her own language. I want a friend."

Death seemed to consider this for a while. Colour returned to Rincewind's face, but he seemed to be edging towards the door all the same.

Cats, Death finally said, cats are nice pets. They are clever and independent.

SQUEEK!

A voice from Death's inner pocket made him pet it slightly. I am afraid the Death of Rats dislikes cats for the amount of overwork they cause him, he apologised.

Harry peeked up to see a small skeletal rat, in a black hooded robe, holding a tiny scythe.

"Oh!"

"Harry…." Rincewind said weakly.

Death inspected the boy a little closer. Not of this world, are you? He said, then I will never have business with you. An interesting thought. Very interesting. A human free of the Duty. And with a Destiny.

"Harry…" Rincewind tugged on the boy's sleeve, but the child remained where he was, fascinated by the figure that now regarded him with curiosity and, if it were possible for an anthropomorphic personification of Death, hope.

Squeek. Squeeeeeek eek! The Death of Rats said accusingly.

Quite right. However, this one is different. It is not considered interfering with the affairs of humans when the boy is not subject to me. And he certainly needs teaching.

Squeek, huffed the Death of Rats, and crawled back into the folds of the robe.

"Harry…" Rincewind pleaded.

"But he could teach us so much, Rincewind!" Harry said excitedly, "imagine, Death! The things he must know…"

Death grinned back at the child, but that was because grinning was generally what he always did. Harry grinned because he could. The Death of Rats hooked his scythe through one of Death's ribs and swung itself up on the blackclad shoulder, where it squeeked something that Harry understood to mean something along the lines of 'if you insist.'

I do, said Death.

Rincewind fainted.