Lyra and Will each awoke with a heavy dread: it was like being a ned prisoner on the m fixed for the execution. Tialys and Salmakia were attending to their dragonflies, bringing them moths lassoed he anbaric lamp over the oil drum outside, flies cut from spiderwebs, and water in a tin plate. When she saw the expression on Lyras fad the way that Pantalaimon, mouse-formed, ressing himself close to her breast, the Lady Salmakia left what she was doing to e and speak with her. Will, meanwhile, left the hut to walk about outside.
"You still decide differently," said Salmakia.
"No, we t. We decided already," said Lyra, stubborn and fearful at once.
"And if we dont e back?"
"You dont have to e," Lyra pointed out.
"Were not going to abandon you."
"Then what if you dont e back?"
"We shall have died doing something important."
Lyra was silent. She hadnt really looked at the Lady before; but she could see her very clearly now, in the smoky light of the naphtha lamp, standing oable just an arms length away. Her face was calm and kindly, not beautiful, not pretty, but the very sort of face you would be glad to see if you were ill or unhappy htened. Her voice was low and expressive, with a current of laughter and happiness uhe clear surface. In all the life she could remember, Lyra had never beeo in bed; no one had told her stories or sung nursery rhymes with her before kissing her and putting out the light. But she suddenly thought now that if ever there was a voice that would lap you in safety and warm you with love, it would be a voice like the Lady Salmakias, and she felt a wish in her heart to have a child of her own, to lull and soothe and sing to, one day, in a voice like that.
"Well," Lyra said, and fouhroat choked, so she swallowed and shrugged.
"Well see," said the Lady, and turned back.
Ohey had eatehin, dry bread and drunk their bitter tea, which was all the people had to offer them, they thaheir hosts, took their rucksacks, a off through the shanty town for the lakeshore. Lyra looked around for her death, and sure enough, there he was, walking politely a little way ahead; but he didnt want to e closer, though he kept looking back to see if they were following.
The day was with a gloomy mist. It was more like dusk than daylight, and wraiths and streamers of the fog rose dismally from puddles in the road, or g like forlorn lovers to the anbaric cables overhead. They saw no people, and few deaths, but the dragonflies skimmed through the damp air, as if they were sewing it all together with invisible threads, and it was a delight to the eyes to watch their bright colors flashing bad forth.
Before long they had reached the edge of the settlement and made their way beside a sluggish stream through bare-twigged scrubby bushes. Occasionally they would hear a harsh croak or a splash as some amphibian was disturbed, but the only creature they saw was a toad as big as Wills foot, which could only flop in a pain-filled sideways heave as if it were horribly injured. It lay across the path, trying to move out of the way and looking at them as if it khey meant to hurt it.
"It would be merciful to kill it," said Tialys. "How do you know?" said Lyra. "It might still like being alive, in spite of everything."
"If we killed it, wed be taking it with us," said Will. "It wants to stay here. Ive killed enough living things. Even a filthy stagnant pool might be bett