set for wednesday, march 22nd. will's disappearance.
Will Parry might have been a lot of things - difficult, stubborn, deeply loyal, and the loveliest person she knew - but one of the things he most definitely wasn't, was lazy. Lyra couldn't remember having ever seen him miss a class without good reason. Especially not Algebra, the one class they shared this term, and the one excuse that had finally brought them back together again over scraps of paper, fidgeting fingers, and anxiously twirling pencils.
Worry dogged her steps as she trickled out of class, her school materials hastily tucked under her arm, her skin hot and prickling with anticipation. Physics was the next class he had later that day - she knew his schedule better than she knew her own - but if he couldn't make that one, then surely someone ought to be informed.
Lyra took to the main path running.
It was silly, she thought, to feel so paranoid, but some part of her despaired, a thick and meaty part in her chest that thumped and protested more painfully on occasion than her superficial bruises and cuts ever could. For an island so small people managed to busy themselves remarkably well. She knew from personal experience how exhaustion could settle into one's bones and demand respite from fixed routine.
It was nothing. Nothing serious, anyway. Cutting lessons; for most students she knew, skirting work was a way of life. Lyra told herself these things as she darted off the beaten path and into the jungle, Pan little more than a rust-colored blur flitting through the trees high above her, both human and daemon darting quickly and methodically, her calves well-honed, her lungs sucking air with a certain grace. Easy.
She'd run to her father's house by the beach as well when Lyra finally noticed a break in his rhythm, his daily movements around the island. Most daughters didn't have to stalk their fathers, to keep tabs on their transactions, but she didn't mind watching from a distance, only interfering when she really needed something. And she liked to think that he hadn't minded either.
"I'm still your daughter! What if I'd vanished?"
"Then you would be in a far better place than you are now."
Her father might have felt that way, but as she slowed to a stop, panting lightly at the base of the Treehouse, Lyra's difference of opinion almost exploded with an anxious yell of Will's name. At the last minute she caught and inwardly berated herself for her haste, shucked her bag and began the journey to Will's room instead.
No use waking the baby, she thought. No use when there's absolutely nothing wrong whatsoever.
She left a little while later, disoriented and impassive, blank but for the tell-tale unbalance in her walk.
He was gone. There was no doubt about that. Her whole world shifted, upturned and refused to right itself as she left and wandered off through the trees, little more than a spirit. A Spectre.
Here was a world and here were her atoms, scattered and viciously laid bare. A light breeze could have knocked her over as she dragged her feet through the grass, and even Pan kept his distance. A bad sign of her mood if there ever was one. Distantly, she was aware that her chest hurt with an overwhelming swell of knowledge, but the wave of grief had yet to break upon her ribs and fill the crevices between them. Lyra's loss hovered around her as she made for her hut by the waterfall, halted oddly mid-walk, then turned and glided for Lord Asriel's empty house instead.
Killer was there. She'd been feeding the direwolf mutt scraps daily since Lord Asriel's departure, still not yet quite sure what to do with her.
Gone. They were all...
When she reached her father's comfortable house Lyra wandered inside and sat on the floor.
She didn't cry but she did draw her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapping tightly around them. Her mind, a cloud of numbing dismay, refused to clear so that she might be allowed to make sense of it all. People were leaving her left and right, people she loved. People she could survive without but wouldn't ever choose to if she'd been given a say in the matter.
But she hadn't been. People came and went, kicking up Dust, disturbing the laws of the universes. All while her alethiometer remained useless.
After all this time, after years on this island, she still couldn't make any of it stop.
Worry dogged her steps as she trickled out of class, her school materials hastily tucked under her arm, her skin hot and prickling with anticipation. Physics was the next class he had later that day - she knew his schedule better than she knew her own - but if he couldn't make that one, then surely someone ought to be informed.
Lyra took to the main path running.
It was silly, she thought, to feel so paranoid, but some part of her despaired, a thick and meaty part in her chest that thumped and protested more painfully on occasion than her superficial bruises and cuts ever could. For an island so small people managed to busy themselves remarkably well. She knew from personal experience how exhaustion could settle into one's bones and demand respite from fixed routine.
It was nothing. Nothing serious, anyway. Cutting lessons; for most students she knew, skirting work was a way of life. Lyra told herself these things as she darted off the beaten path and into the jungle, Pan little more than a rust-colored blur flitting through the trees high above her, both human and daemon darting quickly and methodically, her calves well-honed, her lungs sucking air with a certain grace. Easy.
She'd run to her father's house by the beach as well when Lyra finally noticed a break in his rhythm, his daily movements around the island. Most daughters didn't have to stalk their fathers, to keep tabs on their transactions, but she didn't mind watching from a distance, only interfering when she really needed something. And she liked to think that he hadn't minded either.
"I'm still your daughter! What if I'd vanished?"
"Then you would be in a far better place than you are now."
Her father might have felt that way, but as she slowed to a stop, panting lightly at the base of the Treehouse, Lyra's difference of opinion almost exploded with an anxious yell of Will's name. At the last minute she caught and inwardly berated herself for her haste, shucked her bag and began the journey to Will's room instead.
No use waking the baby, she thought. No use when there's absolutely nothing wrong whatsoever.
She left a little while later, disoriented and impassive, blank but for the tell-tale unbalance in her walk.
He was gone. There was no doubt about that. Her whole world shifted, upturned and refused to right itself as she left and wandered off through the trees, little more than a spirit. A Spectre.
Here was a world and here were her atoms, scattered and viciously laid bare. A light breeze could have knocked her over as she dragged her feet through the grass, and even Pan kept his distance. A bad sign of her mood if there ever was one. Distantly, she was aware that her chest hurt with an overwhelming swell of knowledge, but the wave of grief had yet to break upon her ribs and fill the crevices between them. Lyra's loss hovered around her as she made for her hut by the waterfall, halted oddly mid-walk, then turned and glided for Lord Asriel's empty house instead.
Killer was there. She'd been feeding the direwolf mutt scraps daily since Lord Asriel's departure, still not yet quite sure what to do with her.
Gone. They were all...
When she reached her father's comfortable house Lyra wandered inside and sat on the floor.
She didn't cry but she did draw her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapping tightly around them. Her mind, a cloud of numbing dismay, refused to clear so that she might be allowed to make sense of it all. People were leaving her left and right, people she loved. People she could survive without but wouldn't ever choose to if she'd been given a say in the matter.
But she hadn't been. People came and went, kicking up Dust, disturbing the laws of the universes. All while her alethiometer remained useless.
After all this time, after years on this island, she still couldn't make any of it stop.