Last midsummer...

[lyra_silver]

Today Lyra and Pantalaimon sneak out of maths class early, with a conspiratorial smile for their classmates and a quick glance at the half-blind lecturer. They cut through the University Parks, behind Gabriel College. They hurry down Holywell Street and the road curving past Magdalen, and climb over the fence of the Botanical Gardens. It's daytime and the gardens are open, of course, but Lyra feels it would be a certain kind of failure to pay the entrance fee like the tourists do. These are her gardens, after all.

Across the park, past the fountain, and back at the plainer end of the garden, just by the riverbank, the bench waits for them. It's empty. No one would dare sit on Lyra's bench, not on Midsummer's Day. Lyra runs to it and takes her seat. Pantalaimon slips up behind her just as the first set of bells begins to chime noon.

Comments

[subtle-will.livejournal.com]

He's tired, already.

Up since the early morning, when Mary had left for work, and it was his turn to make breakfast--a quiet meal. Will never did say much on this particular day, at least not to her, and so Mary simply sat across from him and pretended to read the morning paper, while absentmindedly stirring her tea.

And then it was to the library, to get work out of the way...no work was allowed on this day. Not today. Books and dust

(not Dust) and Kirjava making him nervous with her own impatience to be there, but Will takes his time. No hurry. No need to be there before noon.

And yet he finds himself walking the familiar paths with a quick sure stride a good quarter hour in advance, his blood singing nervously through his veins.

He pays for his ticket.

And there it is. His bench. He sits, lowers his satchel to the ground, while Kirjava weaves nervously around his ankles.

The clock chimes noon.