Sublime

Not for nothing is his personal dæmon the raven, that picker-up of bits and pieces here and there.

Lyra marvelled at the effect hope could have.

Lyra knew that Pantalaimon’s impulse was to reach out and cuddle the little half-child, to lick him and gentle him and warm him as his own dæmon would have done; but the great taboo prevented that, of course.

she believed that she had to touch every separate slat in every separate bench beside the pond.

It was like tracing a row of stitches while pressing so softly that none of them was harmed.

He had spoken of mastering his fear: that was what she’d have to do.

Lyra could see why Farder Coram loved her, and why it was breaking his heart, though she had known neither of those things a moment before. He was growing old; he was an old broken man; and she would be young for generations.

“Cry as much as you need to, darling,”

Be prepared for strangeness and for new ways, my bears.”