Lyra Belacqua wandered about the Botanic Garden on Midsummer's day.No, I'm Lyra Silvertongue, she thought, reminding herself of the name given to her by Iorek Byrnison. She trudged along on the dirt path, her feet making long lines in the dust. She sat down on the bench, rusty from the rain in past years. Her dæmon, Pantalaimon, scampered up to her shoulder from a nearby shrub. Lyra jumped.
"Pan! What are you doing here?"
"I told you I'd meet you here." Pantalaimon was still getting used to his freedom and permanent shape.
"I thought you said you were going to stop by Jordan College!"
"Well, I decided to come directly back here." There was silence as Pantalaimon tried to decide whether or not to ask the question whirling around in his mind. He decided he wouldn't, but it was too late. As he was really a part of Lyra, she knew what he was thinking.
"Yes, Pan, I do think Will's going to show up."
"You do know you won't be able to see him?"
"Of course. But I'll know…" she trailed off.
There was more silence, and Pantalaimon shifted his weight around until he became so distraught that he scampered down off Lyra's shoulder and onto the top edge of the bench.
Lyra heard the clock atop the library at Jordan College strike eleven.
"It's not even noon yet," she said. "He'll come at midday, we promised."
"Then why are you here so early?"
"I…" But they both knew why. Lyra was afraid. Afraid of what might happen if Will was there while she wasn't, afraid of what he might think of her if she wasn't there. She had made sure to start out early so that, in case she was held up, she wouldn't be late. She had promised Will a year before that she would be here on Midsummer's Day at midday. It was a full hour until noon, but she was still worried.
"Don't worry. He'll be there."
"I know, Pan, but—"
"He's Will, Lyra, Will. He'll show up. He's Will. Remember when you were in Mrs. Coulter's cave, and you had that dream where you were talking to Roger? You said, 'We can trust him, Roger, I swear, because he's Will.' You said so yourself. You can trust him because he's Will."
"All right, Pan. I can wait." They sat in silence until the clock struck noon, those eight notes sounding through Lyra's head, making her feel as if she were being born again.