Dev-Winger: Because there aren't enough non-Lyra-Will-soppiness stories out there. His Dark Materials belongs to Philip Pullman, as does that specific concept of dæmons. Sara and Typian are mine.

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A Thousand Ways to Say 'I'm Settled'

She rested her head on her hands, propping it up so that her gaze was angled to look out the window. It was night, and most of the lights in the small town had been put out, leaving only a few bright patches scattered here and there. Even as she watched, another light faded slightly, before blinking out into darkness.

"And another sensible person off to bed."

Next to her, no more than a grey shadow perched on the window-ledge, her dæmon sat, squirrel-ears flicking as he grumbled at her. As she had known him her whole life, Sara was well-used to his grumbling, and was therefore able to ignore her companion with nothing more than a small sigh to show for it.

Unfortunately, he was equally used to being ignored and was getting adept at stopping her. Her view of the night sky was blocked by a furry face, black eyes narrowed at her pointedly.

"Typ!"

"Sara!" he countered.

She straightened up, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's not that late. Besides, if I were to go to bed now, all I'd do is lie there staring at the ceiling."

"You'd rather sit here staring at the street?"

"Yes," she said forcefully, and blinked in surprise when he left it at that. Typian moved back, settling into place beside her. She could tell by the quick, frustrated twitching of his tail that he still wasn't satisfied, but she was pleased he'd decided to drop it. It was rare that she managed to better the persistent dæmon.

She sagged back in her chair, fiddling with a loose thread on her night-gown. She didn't know why she had such difficulty falling asleep sometimes; it was as if there were simply too many thoughts in her head, each clamouring to be noticed before they released her and let her body rest. Sara's fingers strayed from the gown to run over the windowsill, picking at the flaking paint, before moving back to clasp her other hand. She stared down at the street again, at the few dim figures shutting and locking their store doors, clearing the doorsteps of the huddled forms there. A cat skittered across the street to vanish into shadow.

"When do you think we'll settle?"

Typian started, head rising sharply as he looked at her in mild surprise. "When we're ready, of course."

"Yes, but…" she faltered, searching for the ever-elusive words. "You're a squirrel a lot lately."

"Yes. I like the form."

"Does that mean you'll settle as it?"

Red-furred shoulders shrugged. "I don't know."

Frustration reared its head, and she stamped her foot irritably. "How can you not know? You're the dæmon! You're the one who keeps changing, you choose what form you take – how can you possibly not know?"

He flicked his ears, unperturbed. "I'm you, Sara. I know as much as you do."

Shoulders slumped sulkily. "It's not fair…"

He snorted at this, becoming a blackbird and fixing her with a sharp-eyed glare. "What do you want, Sara? There's a thousand different ways to say 'I'm settled' and none fit right now."

"I just need one," she whispered wistfully. "All our friends are settling…I want to know who I am too."

Typian hopped onto her shoulder, running his yellow beak through her hair soothingly. "You're Sara. You're a thirteen year old girl living in an apartment in Oxford with your mother and father. You're an excellent flute player. You're also far too impatient." He tilted his head to look at her fondly. "It will come in time, and we will settle when we're ready. Not when everyone else is ready; when we are."

"Promise?"

Typian rolled his eyes and sprang away, alighting on the windowsill as the red squirrel once more. "No Sara. I will be the only unsettled dæmon ever, and everyone will hate you. Honestly! I think all this staying up is making your brain fail. In fact, I think you should go to bed, hmm?"

She couldn't help it; she giggled. "Like I'd listen to a bushy-tailed rat."

A man down in the street finished shutting down shop, and looked up in surprise, his impala dæmon raising her head too, as a roar echoed from a small apartment above, followed by a playful squeal. He smiled, amused by the antics of children.

After a short while, the light that shone from the room went out.