Lyra ran a hand through her tawny blonde hair, cursing it for its tangles.
She knew she should have tied it back on such a windy day, but there had
been no time after her lessons. Already late, Lyra started to jog toward
her destination. With only five minutes until noon and her path usually a
10 minute brisk walk, there was no time to lose.
Of course, Lyra had a good excuse for being late. After three years of tuition, she had finally, this morning, got a clear reading out of her alethiometer. Well… clear in that she knew exactly what each separate meaning was, but put together and they made little sense. Indeed, she had been so late that there had been no time to pick up Jarron her little son to bring him to be with his father.
Another gust of wind caught under Lyra skirt, causing her to stop and push it down. Not for the first time she longed for women to be able to wear trousers, as the men did, without being disgraced. But then, with a pang, she saw the women of Wills word, happily doing a s such with no need to feel ashamed. She saw Wills face when she had flatly refused to wear trousers in that shop in cittegaze, oh so long ago.
Wills face, Wills face. That face she would love forever. These eyes which shone so deeply with love for her, that mouth that had spoken such caring words, those lips she had tasted with her own. Oh, how beautiful he was, how unchanging he would be to her forever.
But Will would have changed, just as Lyra herself had. Two years ago she had already started to grow into a woman, but now, at 16, Lyra was almost fully grown. Her curves and figure now looked much more womanly than the young Lyra could have ever imagined. And Will. Lyra had tried and failed to imagine him as he would be now, a tall, masculine 16 or 17 year old. His voice would have broken, a deep rumble instead of the cracked, higher, vocal sounds she could remember. His face would have sprouted hair, Lyra wondered if he would let it row or shave it off. Shave it she had decided, he was no the type of person to bring attention to himself the way a beard or moustache would do.
Probably, by now, he would not recognise her, or not care if he did. I will never forget him, Lyra thought savagely, my heart is forever concreted around his being. In fifty years time I would recognise his face, be he burnt al over! But how would he feel now that she – they – had a child. A child that was conceived on that day of temptation. Would Will l love her, and Jarron, all the more, or would he hate them both? This made Lyra the most scared, that Will would hate Jarron if he knew of him.
Lyra reached the gate with only one minute to spare, she fumbled with the keys, and pushing it open she ran to the bench. It was time again. The Botanic garden at midsummer – be it a very windy midsummer. Here to be with Will, well as much as it was possible to be anyway. She often came here at other times in the year to be alone and feel close to Will, but there had only been two midsummers since they had parted. Only two occasions that she knew he would be there. And yet there was always that nagging doubt, that feeling that he may not turn up, that he had forgotten her and their meeting.
Lyra sat down as the noon bell tolled. Panteliamon, her dæmon, squirmed from her shoulder and onto her lap as they both sank into that bliss which only came at midsummer when she came here and at the times when Lyra consulted the alethiometer. The cam settled around them and she closed her eyes. Lyra reached out and placed her hand between her and Will, where he would be in his world. She could almost feel his hand close over hers, protecting it from the chill breeze. She turned her head, imaging herself opening her eyes and seeing Will sat there. It was so vivid a picture that Lyra jumped and opened her eyes and –
Of course, Lyra had a good excuse for being late. After three years of tuition, she had finally, this morning, got a clear reading out of her alethiometer. Well… clear in that she knew exactly what each separate meaning was, but put together and they made little sense. Indeed, she had been so late that there had been no time to pick up Jarron her little son to bring him to be with his father.
Another gust of wind caught under Lyra skirt, causing her to stop and push it down. Not for the first time she longed for women to be able to wear trousers, as the men did, without being disgraced. But then, with a pang, she saw the women of Wills word, happily doing a s such with no need to feel ashamed. She saw Wills face when she had flatly refused to wear trousers in that shop in cittegaze, oh so long ago.
Wills face, Wills face. That face she would love forever. These eyes which shone so deeply with love for her, that mouth that had spoken such caring words, those lips she had tasted with her own. Oh, how beautiful he was, how unchanging he would be to her forever.
But Will would have changed, just as Lyra herself had. Two years ago she had already started to grow into a woman, but now, at 16, Lyra was almost fully grown. Her curves and figure now looked much more womanly than the young Lyra could have ever imagined. And Will. Lyra had tried and failed to imagine him as he would be now, a tall, masculine 16 or 17 year old. His voice would have broken, a deep rumble instead of the cracked, higher, vocal sounds she could remember. His face would have sprouted hair, Lyra wondered if he would let it row or shave it off. Shave it she had decided, he was no the type of person to bring attention to himself the way a beard or moustache would do.
Probably, by now, he would not recognise her, or not care if he did. I will never forget him, Lyra thought savagely, my heart is forever concreted around his being. In fifty years time I would recognise his face, be he burnt al over! But how would he feel now that she – they – had a child. A child that was conceived on that day of temptation. Would Will l love her, and Jarron, all the more, or would he hate them both? This made Lyra the most scared, that Will would hate Jarron if he knew of him.
Lyra reached the gate with only one minute to spare, she fumbled with the keys, and pushing it open she ran to the bench. It was time again. The Botanic garden at midsummer – be it a very windy midsummer. Here to be with Will, well as much as it was possible to be anyway. She often came here at other times in the year to be alone and feel close to Will, but there had only been two midsummers since they had parted. Only two occasions that she knew he would be there. And yet there was always that nagging doubt, that feeling that he may not turn up, that he had forgotten her and their meeting.
Lyra sat down as the noon bell tolled. Panteliamon, her dæmon, squirmed from her shoulder and onto her lap as they both sank into that bliss which only came at midsummer when she came here and at the times when Lyra consulted the alethiometer. The cam settled around them and she closed her eyes. Lyra reached out and placed her hand between her and Will, where he would be in his world. She could almost feel his hand close over hers, protecting it from the chill breeze. She turned her head, imaging herself opening her eyes and seeing Will sat there. It was so vivid a picture that Lyra jumped and opened her eyes and –