So although she admired the fur of Sophonax and even speculated on what it might feel like, she never made the slightest move to touch her, and never would. Lyra couldn't remember having to be told that: she just knew it, as instinctively as she felt that nausea was bad and comfort good. Daemons might touch each other, of course, or fight but the prohibition against human-daemon contact went so deep that even in battle no warrior would touch an enemy's daemon. She longed to touch that fur, to rub her cheeks against it, but of course she never did for it was the grossest breach of etiquette imaginable to touch another person's daemon. When the sunlight touched her, it lit up more shades of tawny-brown-leaf-hazel-corn-gold-autumn-mahogany than Lyra could name. When Pantalaimon was a cat, he was lean and ragged and harsh, but Sophonax, for that was her name, was golden-eyed and elegant beyond measure, fully twice as large as a real cat and richly furred. She could hardly take her eyes off Farder Coram's daemon, who was the most beautiful daemon she'd ever seen.
The sims castaway stories codes how to#
What's that little old thing on top of it?īut I'm learning how to read the alethiometer, too. There's often a clue there if you look more close. So in default, Lyra attached herself to Farder Coram. But he had slipped away in the early hours of the morning after the second roping, and naturally no one could say where he'd gone or when he'd return. The man she most wanted to help was Benjamin de Ruyter, the spy. Where's that book with all the symbols in? she asked him one day. The door shut behind her with a decisive click. Pantalaimon hissed quietly, but John Faa's daemon took off from the back of his chair and flew at them with black wings, not threateningly, but like a reminder of good manners and Lyra turned on her heel as the crow glided over her head and wheeled back to John Faa.
Over the next few days, Lyra concocted a dozen plans and dismissed them impatiently for they all boiled down to stowing away, and how could you stow away on a narrowboat? To be sure, the real voyage would involve a proper ship, and she knew enough stories to expect all kinds of hiding places on a full-sized vessel: the lifeboats, the hold, the bilges, whatever they were but she'd have to get to the ship first, and leaving the fens meant traveling the gyptian way. His mind was sharp and clear and powerful, though, and soon Lyra came to love him for his knowledge and for the firm way he directed her.
He could not walk without leaning on two sticks, and he trembled constantly like an aspen leaf.
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