Rebirth
Time passed. Days, months, years uncounted. Snow fell. Snowdrops and crocuses pushed up their heads. Autumn leaves changed colour, to red and gold and brown. Lives were lived, and ended, and born again. And somewhere in a sun-warmed street somewhere in Oxford, a young girl with a mane of dark gold hair, proud, street-wise and brave, with a daemon who favoured the shape of an ermine, was rescued from strangers by a boy. A pale boy with straight, dark brows. Quiet, strong, as fierce as a lion, whose daemon often took the form of a cat.
The turn of the years continued. The children grew close. They changed more and more, but their daemons stopped altogether. When the girl's settled into the shape of a pine-martin, lithe and strong, and the boy's into the shape of a large and beautiful cat whose dark fur epitomised subtlety, the first people they told were each other.
Later still. When they fell in love. When they touched each others daemons for the first time. When the remembered. Lyra and Will looked at each other. And smiled.
Many philosophers, from Plato to Kant, believe the soul is immortal, eternal, and lives on after death.
Many believe that we are reborn after death.
Many believe each person has a soul-mate, a being who is perfect for them, who will love them and keep them safe.
Rest assured that happiness will come to us, whether in this life or the next.