Hey all. So I'm being really ambitious with this at the moment and it may turn out to be complete rubbish, but I'm hoping on sending Lyra and Will on another adventure. Let me know if y'all like it/ if I should continue this one. Thanks!

Lyra was up in the wee hours of the morning again studying the alethometer as she frequently did. It had been beyond frustrating, certainly, when she had first began re-learning the instrument, and she still did miss the ease with which she had gleaned information from the golden compass as a child; however, with ten years of practice she had gotten quite skilled with the device. Of the handful of people in the world who studied the craft, she was the youngest and most skilled. She still needed the books. About every third symbol she had to look up and test different possibilities with, but the task was much less laborious than it had been when she first returned to her world a decade before.

"I'm tired," Pan complained yet again as he rolled on Lyra's lap to attempt to get more comfortable. "Shut out the light so that I can actually get to sleep."

Lyra rolled her eyes at the pine marten but fought a yawn herself. Scooping him up, she shut off her work lamp, wrapped the alethometer into its silk cloth and slipped it under her pillow. She collapsed once again into bed, hoping tonight she would not dream of him. It always hurt to wake up when she did.

Lyra and Pan could hear the boisterous music and laughter from down the river long before they reached the floating city of the gypsies who had made camp once again. They always loved when there less than lawful friends came in to the area. As much as Lyra had progressed with her studies, she still much preferred the company of this rough and tumble lot to that of the other young men and women of Jordan College. She was much respected amongst her peers, but she still did not fit in. In fact, their respect for her might have gone further to making her stand out. Some thought she exaggerated her stories, and others were frightened of her because of them.

As she approached the floating city of boats all tied together and lit up with torches, she immediately felt the sense of camaraderie that always accompanied her time with the Gyptians. She missed that more than anything when they were away. In Jordan, she just felt alone. If not for Pan, Lyra would probably started talking to herself a long time ago.

A shrilling, twirling whistle sang out from up in the rigging of one of the larger boats as a silhouetted form stuck its head out.

"Well if it isn't Miss Lyra Silvertounge come down to grace us lower beings with her presence," called a young man's voice.

"Come off it Joss!" Lyra cried up toward him. "Is it too much to ask for a friendly greeting after a lengthy separation?"

Laughing, the agile form swung his way down from above and landed in a graceful hop on the deck of the boat. Lyra ran to meet him and was engulfed immediately by a dozen of her friends as they all began speaking at once: about their adventures, asking about Lyra's life, telling of the gossip. It was all very loud and animated, and rowdy just like time with the gypsies always was, and she was glad of it. All she needed to do right now was dance, drink, and loose herself in the night because tomorrow was the worst day of the year. Tomorrow she would have to make the pilgrimage to the bench that she did every year. Tomorrow her heart would be ripped yet again at the reminder of what she had loved and lost. Tomorrow would kill her, but tonight she did not want to think about any of that.

She woke up with the sun as the boat rocked her steadily back and forth, and she woke up crying. Shrugging off the knit blanket someone had tossed over her, she crept silently back across the boats until she finally jumped on shore. She held Pan close as they silently made their way back to their room.

Everything was hard today. Her shower took twice as long and her lightweight cotton dress literally felt as if they pushed down on her as she tugged it on. Slowly, methodically, she went through the motions of the morning, but the steady flow of silent tears did not end. Every now and then, Pan would let out a mew of distress as he clawed the foot of her desk in distress. It hurt. It all hurt.

They moved like zombies through the streets as they made their way to the park. The beautiful day seemed to mock them as the storm of anger and sorrow raged inside of them. It was when they finally reached the bench that it all broke through. Lyra sank onto the seat and her tears were silent no more.

While her face was buried in her hands, something was happening just in front of her. Across the path, obscured by some bushes, a strange shimmering was in the air. At first, it was as if the air was rippling, but then the space itself began to open. This window that formed was almost imperceptible. It was down low, hidden by shrubbery, and on the other side was a park nearly identical to this one. Unless you absolutely knew it were there and looked closely for it, you would miss it entirely.

Out of this window stepped a man. An intelligent looking cat followed him. The man stood up straight and his gaze locked instantly on the beautiful, crying woman on the bench. He was quite tall, standing perhaps six feet three inches and was powerfully built. He had a mess of dusty blonde hair on top of his head and a small growth of stubble on his chin. His straight, dark brows hooded a set of extremely intense eyes. Though he was a young man, it was clear he had seen much of life. He was certainly handsome, but there was something rugged about him, though he was dressed cleanly in jeans and a light blue oxford. The pinky and ring finger on his left hand were missing. He had a strong jaw, which he flexed and relaxed several times as if some overwhelming force of emotion gripped him and he was attempting to swallow it down. Staring at Lyra, his expression was quite indescribable. He looked completely overwhelmed and intense, but by what it was hard to tell.

He took one purposeful step forward but the hesitated. Lyra was still crying, and Pan was still nuzzled into her lap. Neither of them was even aware of the strange goings on before them. The cat pressed herself against the man's legs as if she too were seeking reassurance. The man opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, he took a deep breath to steady himself and tried again.

"Lyra?" his voice was so soft, so hopeful, so cautious. He seemed as if he feared speaking the name out. Maybe he was just scared to hope.

Lyra's head snapped up as she finally noticed the man standing in front of her. She jumped quickly from her seat to regard him with cautious eyes.

"How do you know my name?" she asked skeptically. For all of her weakness on this day, she was still always on the defense. With a childhood like hers, trust was not an immediate instinct for her.

The man did not speak; he just looked at her with those piercing eyes. The emotion on his face grew, if possible, even more intense and tears began to form in his eyes. Who was this man? He knew her name, and now he just stared at her and cried? What did that mean? Pan jumped up on Lyra's shoulder as she took a step backwards. The man shook his head at her retreat and a panicked sound escaped his lips. There was something familiar about him. She studied his handsome face carefully, for though he was frightening her with his strange behavior, she felt as if she should not run from him.

Then she saw it, in the eyes. She knew who he reminded her of, but it could not be true. She had spent the last ten years of her life beating down any sliver of hope because she knew if she allowed the thought of this possibility in then it would crush her, yet they were his eyes. In the face of a boy or a man, they were his eyes. Her brow smoothed from a frown to surprise. She dropped her eyes to his left hand which had two fingers missing.

"Will," she breathed.