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Will and Lyra followed the stream into the wood, walking carefully, saying little, until they were in the very center. There was a little clearing in the middle of the grove, which was floored with soft grass and moss covered rocks. The branches laced across overhead, almost shutting out the sky and letting through little moving spangles and sequins of sunlight, so that everything was dappled with gold and silver. And it was quiet. Only the trickle of the stream, and the occasional rustle of leaves high up in a little curl of breeze, broke the silence. Will put down the package of food; Lyra put down her little rucksack. There was no sign of the daemon- shadows anywhere. They were completely alone. They took off their shoes and socks and sat down on the mossy rocks at the edge of the stream, dipping their feet in the cold water and feeling the shock of it invigorate their blood. “I’m hungry, Will said “Me too, said Lyra, though she was feeling more than that, something subdued and pressing and half happy and half painful, so that she wasn’t quite sure what it was. They unfolded the cloth and ate some bread and cheese. For some reason their hands were slow and clumsy, and they hardly tasted the food, although the bread was floury and crisp from the hot baking stones, and the cheese was flaky and salty and very fresh. Then Lyra took one of those little red fruits. With a fast beating heart, she turned to him and said, “Will... | 
