Author's Note: I know, it's been forever since my last update. Forgive me!
By the way, this is an old chapter I wrote a while back and I haven't
gotten around to posting until now. I doubt Ch. 3 will come out any time
soon, if ever, so don't be too disappointed.
*****
That night, the four dæmons were weary from flying everywhere (Pantalaimon and Will's dæmon had changed into birds), looking for a window out of that world, and decided to see if the people in the "holding area" who had given them food and shelter the night before would be willing to give them a place to sleep again. They did, and the new dæmons viewed for the very first time with their own eyes the shriveled, bony deaths.
The next day they set out again to look for a window out. They were sure that once they found a window out of the world of the dead, it would be much easier to find windows from whatever worlds they ended up in to the worlds they wanted to get to. There was one problem, however: finding a window out was proving very difficult. Pan was getting desperate; despite being very angry with Lyra, he wanted to be able to find her when she returned from the land of the dead, to know that she was safe.
Being separated had changed the bond between them. They were still very much a part of each other, and he could feel her extreme emotions and pain, but he couldn't read her every thought as he could before, and they could concentrate on different things, which had been very difficult before. He thought of Bolvangar, when Lyra and Roger had schemed together, using Pan and Salcilia, Roger's dæmon, as a means of communication. Whenever Lyra had become interested in the conversation of the girls around her, he had had to slow down his conversation with Salcilia, and vice versa. But now they could concentrate on two separate things as easily as separate beings could. But we're not separate, Pan thought, we're still one person, together, not severed like Tony Makarios and his dæmon, Ratter were.
Every time Pan thought about Lyra the ache in his chest grew more painful, and he grew more eager to find a window out of the dreadful gray world they seemed to be trapped in. The four trekked around the holding area, then up a path like the one they came down to get there. But nowhere could they find a window.
*****
Once, Pantaliamon thought he had seen a window. He approached it, looking more carefully. But, closer up, he saw that it had just been a trick of his mind.
Then he got an idea. He remembered the concentrated state of mind that Lyra switched to whenever she used the alethiometer. She became oblivious to everything else, looking at and thinking of only the alethiometer and the question she was asking. He recalled then that her state of mind was much like Will's when he was cutting a window with the subtle knife. Pan wondered if perhaps he could use the same state of mind to help him find a window.
He switched over to the serene, focused mind frame, shutting out everything else both inside his mind and outside it. He looked around, closely studying the area around him. Then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, he saw a point.
He was jolted out of his state of mind surprise, and, just as quickly, the point disappeared. He regained his bearings quickly, and slipped into the concentration again. Finding the point again, he examined it more closely. It was like the windows the subtle knife made, except this was so small that is looked as if it had been made by a tiny poke in the air with the knife. But something about it made Pan feel that the knife had not made it. He didn't think the knife could make such a small window. And, when he looked closely at the point, which was about a foot off the ground, he saw that, however tiny it was, its edges were rough, inexact, completely unlike the precise cuts made by the knife.
He got as close as he could to the point, and still in his calm, concentrated state, he stared at it. He filled his thoughts with it, and though he did not then realize it, he was tugging on it with his mind. Before his very eyes, the point was getting bigger. Slowly at first, then with more confidence, he was pulling on it with his mind, tearing a sort of window.
After working on it for several minutes, his mind became tired, and he slipped out of his trancelike state. He stood back and looked at his work: he had made a hole, nearly half an inch wide, with rough edges and an undefined shape. Pantaliamon could hardly believe what he had created: he had started to tear a window into another world.
*****
A/N: Sorry if it's a bit of a cliffhanger. If I add on, like I said, it won't be soon, because I haven't worked on it for ages . . . but review anyway!
*****
That night, the four dæmons were weary from flying everywhere (Pantalaimon and Will's dæmon had changed into birds), looking for a window out of that world, and decided to see if the people in the "holding area" who had given them food and shelter the night before would be willing to give them a place to sleep again. They did, and the new dæmons viewed for the very first time with their own eyes the shriveled, bony deaths.
The next day they set out again to look for a window out. They were sure that once they found a window out of the world of the dead, it would be much easier to find windows from whatever worlds they ended up in to the worlds they wanted to get to. There was one problem, however: finding a window out was proving very difficult. Pan was getting desperate; despite being very angry with Lyra, he wanted to be able to find her when she returned from the land of the dead, to know that she was safe.
Being separated had changed the bond between them. They were still very much a part of each other, and he could feel her extreme emotions and pain, but he couldn't read her every thought as he could before, and they could concentrate on different things, which had been very difficult before. He thought of Bolvangar, when Lyra and Roger had schemed together, using Pan and Salcilia, Roger's dæmon, as a means of communication. Whenever Lyra had become interested in the conversation of the girls around her, he had had to slow down his conversation with Salcilia, and vice versa. But now they could concentrate on two separate things as easily as separate beings could. But we're not separate, Pan thought, we're still one person, together, not severed like Tony Makarios and his dæmon, Ratter were.
Every time Pan thought about Lyra the ache in his chest grew more painful, and he grew more eager to find a window out of the dreadful gray world they seemed to be trapped in. The four trekked around the holding area, then up a path like the one they came down to get there. But nowhere could they find a window.
*****
Once, Pantaliamon thought he had seen a window. He approached it, looking more carefully. But, closer up, he saw that it had just been a trick of his mind.
Then he got an idea. He remembered the concentrated state of mind that Lyra switched to whenever she used the alethiometer. She became oblivious to everything else, looking at and thinking of only the alethiometer and the question she was asking. He recalled then that her state of mind was much like Will's when he was cutting a window with the subtle knife. Pan wondered if perhaps he could use the same state of mind to help him find a window.
He switched over to the serene, focused mind frame, shutting out everything else both inside his mind and outside it. He looked around, closely studying the area around him. Then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, he saw a point.
He was jolted out of his state of mind surprise, and, just as quickly, the point disappeared. He regained his bearings quickly, and slipped into the concentration again. Finding the point again, he examined it more closely. It was like the windows the subtle knife made, except this was so small that is looked as if it had been made by a tiny poke in the air with the knife. But something about it made Pan feel that the knife had not made it. He didn't think the knife could make such a small window. And, when he looked closely at the point, which was about a foot off the ground, he saw that, however tiny it was, its edges were rough, inexact, completely unlike the precise cuts made by the knife.
He got as close as he could to the point, and still in his calm, concentrated state, he stared at it. He filled his thoughts with it, and though he did not then realize it, he was tugging on it with his mind. Before his very eyes, the point was getting bigger. Slowly at first, then with more confidence, he was pulling on it with his mind, tearing a sort of window.
After working on it for several minutes, his mind became tired, and he slipped out of his trancelike state. He stood back and looked at his work: he had made a hole, nearly half an inch wide, with rough edges and an undefined shape. Pantaliamon could hardly believe what he had created: he had started to tear a window into another world.
*****
A/N: Sorry if it's a bit of a cliffhanger. If I add on, like I said, it won't be soon, because I haven't worked on it for ages . . . but review anyway!