(no subject)
Lyra Belacqua went by many names but "Stop Thief!" was never one of them. Running full tilt through the Turl Street market, she mindfully tossed a few golden coins at one of the many blurred fruit stands, weaving the rest of the way through stretches of quaint little stalls with her canvas bag banging three apples heavier against her side.
The sun shone bright over the lush green trees peeking out above the walls of the Botanic Garden, bathing the creamy yellow stone of Magdalen College in dazzling light and gently kissing the distant skyline spires. Her morning summer lessons at St. Sophia's had run later than she would've liked, but it was no matter, she was still a fast runner, she would get to the bench with time to spare.
And oh, the joy she felt when Pan cleared the iron fence with paws outstretched! Still so far behind her daemon, a painful tug in her heart would have immobilized her completely were it not for their witchlike powers of separation. Instead, the knowledge that they were so close, Pan even closer, only made her run that much faster, black Mary Janes kicking up the gravel sprinkled inside the ornate stone gateway of the preserve.
Already perched on the ground in front of the wooden seat, Pantalaimon welcomed his flush, smiling human to the garden with a wave of his bushy pine marten tail, whiskers twitching. A little ways beyond there stood a spouting fountain, the water a fresh pitter-patter as it flowed and dripped into the round shallow pool below.
"We made it," Pan said as she slowed to a stop in front of him, drinking in the sight with bright, wishful eyes. Coiling, summery plants had sprouted up on either side of the bench and the low branches of a thick-barked tree framed the carved backrest and bowed to her in welcome.
"Of course we made it," Lyra breathlessly replied, her heart filling with relieved glee, her mind already shaping the story of Will's simultaneous retreat with Kirjava to the same bench in his world, his Botanic Garden, his Oxford. A story she would add to a bigger story, one that would grow over time into something beautiful and ready for telling to her children.
"Do you think they're here already?" Pan asked. As if in response, Lyra closed her eyes against the sun and imagined Will's growth spurt - not a big one, just a noticeable stretch, like he'd been tugged in two different directions.
"Of course they're here," she said, imagining his hands and his bare knees - it would be hot and dry in his Oxford too. She imagined, and she imagined, and she imagined some more until the bells of the scattered Oxford colleges rang all across the town, call and response, pealing and chiming the time for all to know.
Twelve noon. Midday on Midsummer Day. Lyra rocked on the tips of her toes and then slowly, reverently crossed the handful of steps it took to seat herself down on the bench.
And Pan watched as she pulled out a brown paper bag and one of the apples from the market, noticed how when her legs swung back and forth, the bottoms of her shoes skimmed the garden floor in a way they had never before. She too was lengthening in certain places, her limbs stretching out and her body abandoning flat, straight lines in favor of tiny, awkward curves here and there. While she picked at her food and drank from a jar of honeyed water, he climbed up beside her, dipping his face into her canvas bag.
It had been two years since their farewell. She'd gone on to live at Jordan College when she wasn't studying at St. Sophia's boarding house, but Lyra imagined that Will knew all about that. After all, she'd come to the bench the same time last year to tell him all about her enrollment and her academic study of the alethiometer.
But now she had a new tale to tell him. A tale of deception, vengence, and discovery. A tale of belonging, protection, and home. The story of a man named Sebastian Makepeace and the birds, and a scorned witch who'd loved him once upon a time.
And so Lyra ate and talked to a boy and his daemon trapped in another world, laughing and occasionally touching her fingers to the alethiometer and rubbing the spot over her heart until the traveling sun told her it was time to go home. Gathering Pan into her arms, Lyra hastily dumped everything back into her bag and pushed up to stand.
Adjusting the canvas strap further over her shoulder, she glanced back at the bench one last time and then turned to cross that little bridge that had given her such warm seclusion.
Cuddling Pan to her heart, Lyra murmured words to her closest friend and sighed when he murmured encouraging ones right back to her. Sniffing, she nuzzled her face into his rust-golden fur, eyes closing into his soft coat and the warmth settling on her lids.
But the warmth suddenly grew heavy enough to startle her out of her reverie, Pan's fur bristling warningly against her face, and at once she was no longer in the garden but on the edge of a beach, right where the hot sand met the treeline.
Gasping, she hugged Pan tighter to her and turned in one spot, head whipping around to survey the foreign surroundings. It was hot, somewhere south, and her first thought was that she'd fallen into the world of the mulefa, but she knew at once that she was wrong.
What was worse, Pan was already frantically licking her face, making it nearly impossible to concentrate. His whiskers twitched with an urgency she'd only seen once before, and she couldn't tell if the thickly churning anxiety in her stomach was Pan's or her own.
"What is it, Pan?" Lyra frowned at him, lovingly stroking his fur as a fear raised the hairs on the back of her own neck. "Where are we? Go have a look around for me, won't you? Pan?"
And then, in one painfully abrupt moment, several heavy, unbearable truths settled their full weight on her shoulders as if she'd been slapped. Her bottom lip began to quiver.
"Oh, Pan!" Lyra cried out and pressed her face into his fur once more, her mind simultaneously racing and yet easily shifting gears.
In spite of, or perhaps because of all her fearful uncertainty, Lyra Belacqua became Lyra Silvertongue without meeting an ounce of resistance. She wasn't at all surprised that the skin of the slow-witted little girl fit just as well as it had those years ago.
[OOC: Come one, come all to Lyra's debut. EDIT: First TWO people get to explain stuff to her but everyone who tags in gets to find her looking lonely and uncertain on the beach. ST and late tags welcome.]
The sun shone bright over the lush green trees peeking out above the walls of the Botanic Garden, bathing the creamy yellow stone of Magdalen College in dazzling light and gently kissing the distant skyline spires. Her morning summer lessons at St. Sophia's had run later than she would've liked, but it was no matter, she was still a fast runner, she would get to the bench with time to spare.
And oh, the joy she felt when Pan cleared the iron fence with paws outstretched! Still so far behind her daemon, a painful tug in her heart would have immobilized her completely were it not for their witchlike powers of separation. Instead, the knowledge that they were so close, Pan even closer, only made her run that much faster, black Mary Janes kicking up the gravel sprinkled inside the ornate stone gateway of the preserve.
Already perched on the ground in front of the wooden seat, Pantalaimon welcomed his flush, smiling human to the garden with a wave of his bushy pine marten tail, whiskers twitching. A little ways beyond there stood a spouting fountain, the water a fresh pitter-patter as it flowed and dripped into the round shallow pool below.
"We made it," Pan said as she slowed to a stop in front of him, drinking in the sight with bright, wishful eyes. Coiling, summery plants had sprouted up on either side of the bench and the low branches of a thick-barked tree framed the carved backrest and bowed to her in welcome.
"Of course we made it," Lyra breathlessly replied, her heart filling with relieved glee, her mind already shaping the story of Will's simultaneous retreat with Kirjava to the same bench in his world, his Botanic Garden, his Oxford. A story she would add to a bigger story, one that would grow over time into something beautiful and ready for telling to her children.
"Do you think they're here already?" Pan asked. As if in response, Lyra closed her eyes against the sun and imagined Will's growth spurt - not a big one, just a noticeable stretch, like he'd been tugged in two different directions.
"Of course they're here," she said, imagining his hands and his bare knees - it would be hot and dry in his Oxford too. She imagined, and she imagined, and she imagined some more until the bells of the scattered Oxford colleges rang all across the town, call and response, pealing and chiming the time for all to know.
Twelve noon. Midday on Midsummer Day. Lyra rocked on the tips of her toes and then slowly, reverently crossed the handful of steps it took to seat herself down on the bench.
And Pan watched as she pulled out a brown paper bag and one of the apples from the market, noticed how when her legs swung back and forth, the bottoms of her shoes skimmed the garden floor in a way they had never before. She too was lengthening in certain places, her limbs stretching out and her body abandoning flat, straight lines in favor of tiny, awkward curves here and there. While she picked at her food and drank from a jar of honeyed water, he climbed up beside her, dipping his face into her canvas bag.
It had been two years since their farewell. She'd gone on to live at Jordan College when she wasn't studying at St. Sophia's boarding house, but Lyra imagined that Will knew all about that. After all, she'd come to the bench the same time last year to tell him all about her enrollment and her academic study of the alethiometer.
But now she had a new tale to tell him. A tale of deception, vengence, and discovery. A tale of belonging, protection, and home. The story of a man named Sebastian Makepeace and the birds, and a scorned witch who'd loved him once upon a time.
And so Lyra ate and talked to a boy and his daemon trapped in another world, laughing and occasionally touching her fingers to the alethiometer and rubbing the spot over her heart until the traveling sun told her it was time to go home. Gathering Pan into her arms, Lyra hastily dumped everything back into her bag and pushed up to stand.
Adjusting the canvas strap further over her shoulder, she glanced back at the bench one last time and then turned to cross that little bridge that had given her such warm seclusion.
Cuddling Pan to her heart, Lyra murmured words to her closest friend and sighed when he murmured encouraging ones right back to her. Sniffing, she nuzzled her face into his rust-golden fur, eyes closing into his soft coat and the warmth settling on her lids.
But the warmth suddenly grew heavy enough to startle her out of her reverie, Pan's fur bristling warningly against her face, and at once she was no longer in the garden but on the edge of a beach, right where the hot sand met the treeline.
Gasping, she hugged Pan tighter to her and turned in one spot, head whipping around to survey the foreign surroundings. It was hot, somewhere south, and her first thought was that she'd fallen into the world of the mulefa, but she knew at once that she was wrong.
What was worse, Pan was already frantically licking her face, making it nearly impossible to concentrate. His whiskers twitched with an urgency she'd only seen once before, and she couldn't tell if the thickly churning anxiety in her stomach was Pan's or her own.
"What is it, Pan?" Lyra frowned at him, lovingly stroking his fur as a fear raised the hairs on the back of her own neck. "Where are we? Go have a look around for me, won't you? Pan?"
And then, in one painfully abrupt moment, several heavy, unbearable truths settled their full weight on her shoulders as if she'd been slapped. Her bottom lip began to quiver.
"Oh, Pan!" Lyra cried out and pressed her face into his fur once more, her mind simultaneously racing and yet easily shifting gears.
In spite of, or perhaps because of all her fearful uncertainty, Lyra Belacqua became Lyra Silvertongue without meeting an ounce of resistance. She wasn't at all surprised that the skin of the slow-witted little girl fit just as well as it had those years ago.
[OOC: Come one, come all to Lyra's debut. EDIT: First TWO people get to explain stuff to her but everyone who tags in gets to find her looking lonely and uncertain on the beach. ST and late tags welcome.]