Franz Marc Rehe im Schnee

was the Luggage.
It squatted on the path, watching him.
Rincewind had never got on with the Luggage, it had always given him the impression that it thoroughly disapproved of him. But just for once it wasn't glaring at him. It had a rather pathetic look, like a dog that's just a pleasant roll in the cowpats to find that the family has moved to the next continent.
'All right,' said Rincewind. 'Come on.'
It extended its legs and followed him up the path.
Somehow Rincewind had expectedan eye for colour, always provided the colour was deep purple, night black or shroud white. Huge lilies perfumed the air. There was a sundial without a gnomon in the middle of a freshly-scythed lawn.
With the Luggage trailing behind him Rincewind crept along a path of marble chippings until he was at the rear of the cottage, and pushed open a door.
Four pushed it open. It gave onto a stone-flagged passageway, which in turn opened onto a wide entrance hall.
He crept forward with his back pressed tightly against a wall. Behind him the Luggage rose up on tiptoes and skittered along nervously.
The hall itself . . .horses looked at him over the top of their nosebags. They were warm and alive, and some of the best kept beasts Rincewind had ever seen. A big white one had a stall all to itself, and a silver and black harness hung over the door. The other three were tethered in front of a hay rack on the opposite wall, as if visitors had just dropped by. They regarded Rincewind with vague animal curiosity.The Luggage bumped into his ankle. He spun around nd hissed, 'Push off, you!'The Luggage backed away. It looked abashed.Rincewind tiptoed to the far door and cautiously
Well, it wasn't the fact that it was considerably bigger than the whole cottage had appeared from the outside that worried Rincewind; the way things were these days, he'd have laughed sarcastically