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Lyra Silvertongue (
lyra_silver
) wrote
2005-09-20 06:12 am (UTC)
no subject
Lyra wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt.
She whispers, "I won't forget you, Will," to the empty bench.
Lyra and Pantalaimon trudge back northward, past the hazy spires of Magdalen, Gabriel and Durham and up to St Sophia's, in the warm Oxford afternoon.
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no subject
She whispers, "I won't forget you, Will," to the empty bench.
Lyra and Pantalaimon trudge back northward, past the hazy spires of Magdalen, Gabriel and Durham and up to St Sophia's, in the warm Oxford afternoon.