Disclaimer: I don't' own Will, Lyra, HDM plot, or anything else by Philip Pullman. Blah, blah, blah.

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Just Telling You Guys–

Chapters 2 through 5 all happen in the same 24 hours–on Midsummer's Day. I originally meant to have it all in one chapter, but it was too much... so here we go...

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DRAWINGS AND DREAMS

The house was silent and dark. All were asleep. Except for one.

The boy sat at his desk, leaning over a book, pencil in hand. The desk light highlighted his short dark hair, while his face remained in shadow. His appearance was that of a child, perhaps no more than 13 years old. But his demeanor, so intent and sullen, gave the impression of a full-grown man.

Lifting up his head from the paper, he reviewed his work with a critical eye. His brow became knitted in frustration as he gazed at the image before him. His eyes were red with exhaustion, but underneath lay the emptiness of a deep depression and intense despair. A despair underlined even further with an incredible ferocity, all of which was directed at the paper before him.

"No!" the boy growled, his voice surprisingly deep for one so young. "It isn't right! Her lips aren't that wide!"

As he criticized his own work, the boy ripped the page from the book, tearing it to pieces in his rage. Tossing the shreds into the trash beside him, the boy leans against the back of his chair. He rubs the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying--with out success--to dissipate the exhaustion with the action. As he does so, his left hand comes into view of the light, and one can see the scars where his two smallest fingers used to be.

"Why Kirjava?" the boy moans, his eyes now burning with tears, "Why can't I get it right? Why does it never work?"

Behind him, lying on the bed like a sphinx, a cat the size of a panther looks up at him. Her fur held a thousand tones--seeming to shift between blacks, purples, blues, grays and greens. When the boy spoke, she stood, stretching her self and let out a large yawn.

"Will," she replied, "You've never drawn before. No matter how keen your memories of Lyra are, it will take time, maybe even years, to capture her face properly on paper."

"It's just so hard," Will said, his voice broken by sobs, "Going on without her... Drawing her face helps me remember, brings me back to those weeks, months we had together."

But Kirjava knew there was more to it than that.

"You want to see her again," she said, her eyes drilling into Will's heart, "and a sketch or painting is the closest you'll ever get to that, isn't it?"

Will could only nod in reply. He couldn't hide anything from her.

"Come to bed Will," Kijava said, her voice sad and filled with worry, "It's one in the morning, and you won't get any further on your drawings tonight. Besides, it's Midsummer's Day. You need your sleep to see Lyra again."

"That's the problem, Kirjava," Will sighed as he stood up and turned off the light. "I won't be seeing her at all, ever."

That final word toned out with dull despair and finality; like a huge iron bell, rung out across a cemetery at midnight, giving no release. Will, his back bent with despair and depression, shuffled over to the bed, lying down next to his beloved daemon.

Both lay silent, lost in thought on their own object of desire. Until Will broke that silence.

"It's only been three months, Kirjava" he whispered, "How am I going to do on for a whole lifetime with out her?"

Kirjava said nothing. How could they go on? She didn't know.

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A gentle glow illuminated the room, cast into the darkness from a naphtha lamp covered by a silk screen. Wholes cut into screen projected images of witches, bears and angels on the walls and shelves about the room, swirling around from the motor attached to the shade.

A white crib lies in the center of the room, filled with warm soft blankets in pastel hues. A window displays the white snow blanketing everything outside, highlighted against the black sky above.

The door to the room opens, the warm glow of stronger lights flooding in silhouette a woman's figure. She is carrying a bundle in her arms, rocking it back and forth gently. At her feet is a creature gingerly grasping a smaller creature in its mouth.

As the woman enters the room, the more gentle light from the lamp displays her features clearly. She's a young woman, perhaps no more than twenty, her long blonde hair tumbling down in gentle curls. She holds in her arms a baby, wrapped in a wool blanket. The creature at her side is a lithe golden brown animal, long and graceful, but filled with power as well. He carries in his jaws a small kitten by the scruff of his neck, eyes closed in sleep.

Placing the baby down in the crib, the woman begins tucking her in, stopping to kiss the baby gently on the forehead. As she does this, the pine marten climbs into the crib, and with just as much care and love, tucks the kitten into the folds of the wool next to the baby girl.

A shadow fell on the woman as she finished. Straightening, she smiled warmly, comforted by the presence that was casting the shadow.

"She's just like you," the woman said, turning towards the door, "You know that, don't you?"

The man that was standing there, silhouetted by the hall light, cocked his head in interest. He had a strong build, tall and imposing, but his posture was one of thought and reclusion, not action and muscle. A hint of a warm and loving smile could be seen on his shadowed face.

At his side a large cat, perhaps a panther, sat. Her eyes glowed like pinpoints in shadow.

The man stepped forward, his features becoming more defined as he did so. The panther followed him, her fur a thousand tones of dark and shades of twilight. The man had short dark hair, incredibly fierce eyes that could stare down anything or anyone, and about his face was a warm glow of love for his wife and daughter before him.

"No, Lyra, she's more like you, I think," the man said as he raised his hands to embrace her.

But as they were about to touch, a terrible pain gripped at Lyra's heart, pulling her back.

"Nooo!!" she screamed, "Not now!"

About her, the windows shattered, the walls cracked, and a great wind stormed through the room. It was more than a wind, for it blew out more than the lights or rip down the drapes. The room, the shelves, the crib, and most painfully–oh, most terribly–her daughter and lover. Lyra watched helplessly as their forms were ripped away from her, scattered and erased out of existence.

She collapsed on the floor, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She lost them all–her parents, her friends, her love, her motherhood...

"No!"

The scream was different now, younger, more sudden and louder than before. But it was just as desperate and filled with pain as it was in her dream.

Lyra bolted up in bed, sweat streaming down her body, soaking her sheets, which were all tangled around her, strangling her for breath. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes wide with terror, while she felt a burning, vile pain building up in throat.

Scrambling out of bed, Lyra dashes for the bathroom. The bile pushes up into her mouth just as she throws open the toilet. Just in time, she leans over the bowl and vomits into the water below.

"Urgh..."

Lyra, her stomach empty, turns her head toward her roommate, standing in the doorway.

"Uh, Lyra, are you okay?"

Lyra could only nod weakly in reply.

"Maybe you should go see Dame Hannah, Lyra," the girl said, worry in her voice as she held her daemon–a tawny cat–in her arms. "I mean, you've been sick like this for days."

"...Yeah, sure..." Lyra murmured breathlessly, "You're right... Diana... I'll go... today."

Diana nodded, then–knowing Lyra wanted some privacy–she turned and closed the door behind her.

Picking up Pan, his fur wet with sweat and eyes dull with exhaustion, Lyra walked over toward the mirror and sink. Before her, Lyra's reflection was red-eyed with terror and fatigue. Her hair was matted against her forehead and cheeks, while her skin was pale white from fear and vomiting.

A single tear ran down her cheek. She couldn't hold back any longer. Collapsing on the floor, Lyra let loose all of the pent up tears and distress that were held in her tiny frame, clinging Pan–her only remaining life line--to her. He shares her pain and loss, wailing quietly with her.

"What's...What's happening... t-to me, Pan?" Lyra cries to him in between her shaking sobs. "Are... Are we d-d-dying?"

Pan nuzzles up against her, trying to comfort her, though he feels the same despair in his own heart.

"Maybe... Maybe we are, Lyra. Maybe we can't live with our Will and Kirjava, like we can't live without each other."

This only brought more tears. Lyra didn't want to remember, to relive that pain again.

"Why?" she asked, her voice lost and defeated, "Why did they have to go? Why couldn't we be together?"

Pan said the only thing he could think of, the only ray of hope he could see.

"Shhh..." he murmured, as if to a baby, "shhh, Lyra. Remember, today's Midsummer's Day. The first time we get to be together again, remember?"

Lyra only sobbed in agreement.

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So, What do you think? Please Review! Compliments and flamers welcome, just tell me what you think. Thanks!