'This time we go sublime, lovers entwined, divine, divine.'

Lyra led Will lazily by the hand through her Oxford, while they caught up on one another's lives, to the house she lived in on the outskirts of the city. It was a sleepy stone cottage, only small, nestled within a boundary of tall hedges. Baskets of flowers hung down from sash windows on the lower floors, with hanging baskets beside the front door. The purple, yellow and red tulips they held gave the air a sweet fragrance, which had attracted a few butterflies and some small, fat bees to take their nectar.

'Your house is lovely, Lyra.' Will said, and she unlocked the door. She could feel herself blushing, and she turned around to kiss him. They stepped over the threshold into the quaint hallway. A coat stand was sat to the right of the door, a hallway leading into the rest of the house to their left. A small desk and a mirror stood against the wall. She lit the naptha lamps which bathed them in a warm light, turning the cream walls into a cosy shade of amber.

'The Master of Jordan left me some money in his will. I reckon my father gave it to him, so I would have something to live on when I got older.' She said, moving through to the kitchen. 'You want some tea?' Will nodded and sat down, Kirjava sitting next to him, being sniffed by a curious Pantalaimon. Will looked on at Lyra while she busied herself filling the kettle, looking through the larder for dried tea leaf and some cups. He couldn't hold back a smile, how he had missed the way she moved with a clumsy, effortless grace. She placed the kettle on the stove and sat next to him. He put an arm around her shoulder and kissed her head.

They sat in happy silence for a few minutes, enjoying the moment, the last of the warm sunlight cutting through the window and into gold beams through the dust in the air. Soon the kettle began to whistle, so Lyra poured some tea, and they drank and spoke, and laughed. Before long their conversation moved on to when they would leave, and they decided that sooner was better.

They packed a leather satchel each with some soft, fresh bread, some cheese wrapped in cloth, salted beef and pork, and some fresh apples. 'Of course when we're there, we'll have to live off the land.' said Lyra, while they packed. Will took a sharp knife from one of the drawers in the kitchen and after testing its edge with his thumbnail he wrapped it in a cloth and placed in into his satchel.

'I'm breaking this one, as soon as we get there.' He explained, and gestured to the knife strapped to his belt. 'We'll need this for meat, and shaping wood and stuff.'

'Where are we going to live?' asked Lyra.

'In a treehouse? We'll build a hut!' He said and they both laughed. For the first time in a while, they both didn't have a care in the world. As long as they went hand in hand, it didn't matter where they lived.

When they had finished their packing, they swung their leather satchels over their shoulders. Lyra extinguished the fire in the stove and the lamps on the walls, and they stepped out of the little cottage.

'Are you ready?' Lyra asked, and took Wills hand in hers.

'Absolutely.'

Will raised the knife up and across the air, feeling for a notch in the veil. Several he found, but none were right, of this he was certain. He knew this world like he knew Lyra's. They all felt cold, uninviting, and so he left them closed. After a while of searching, the knife fell into the groove he was waiting for. 'This is it, Lyra.' He said, and pushed the knife through. He sliced down in front of him and a tear opened large enough for them and their dæmons to step through. What greeted them on the other side was a sight for sore eyes. To the south was a forest of enormous trees, the smallest of which would have dwarfed the largest in their own worlds. The forest was dense and vast, although surrounded in every direction by grassy savannah, paved with smooth black roads like capillaries across the back of a hand.

'We're home.' Lyra said simply, and gazed over their paradise.

'Only one last thing to do.' Will said, closing the window with a pinch of his fingers.

'Do it.' Lyra said and squeezed his hand.

Will felt with the knife for a notch in the fabric before him, and it caught almost instantly. The knife shuddered as though it knew what was coming. It felt tired, like it was ready, thankful that this would be the end. He squeezed Lyra's hand in return, and looking from her eyes to the vast lands before them, their lands. He wrenched the knife upwards, and against the ever enduring bond of their love, it could not withstand, it was nothing. A thousand pieces of metal and wood were scattered to the four winds, returning the dust of all the worlds. That was to be the last of the subtle knife.

They walked down toward the forest, their dæmons fighting and rolling around in the tall grass while their humans laughed, and hugged and kissed. They wrestled one another in the last of the day's sunlight; they ate bread and cheese, sat cross legged, and amused one another with stories from the time they had spent apart. Will passed on Mary's love, like he'd promised, and told Lyra of her riches and fame, in writing about the very land on which they sat.

They reached the trees before night fell, and under their shade and protection they decided to stay and rest for the night. There was a nearby stream from which they drank and filled some bottles they had carried in their satchels. Under a large tree they lay, on the soft grass, whispering quietly.

'This is where we should have stayed, always.' Lyra whispered to Will, looking individually at each of his fingers in the dwindling sunlight, as though trying to learn every inch by heart. She kissed the ends of the two fingers he had lost when the knife had first chosen him.

'I never wanted to leave, but we had to. We were so young back then, we couldn't have fought against all the forces that were against us.' He replied. 'But now we're here, and nobody, not an army of angels, devils, Gods or men, nobody is going to tear us apart again. I'd kill them all first.'

She kissed him fiercely, and rolled on top of him. 'I love you, Will.' she breathed, between kisses.

'I love you too, Lyra.' He replied, kissing her back in a fit of passion, sitting up and removing her shirt. Soon, they were both naked, laid on the grass, knotted together. Will greedily drank in every inch of his lover, who shone, radiant in the pale moonlight. There, they made love into the small hours of the morning, until they only kissed gently and whispered quietly into each other's ears. It would be several months yet before Lyra discovered she was pregnant, with their daughter.

After a while, they fell silent. It was still dark, and would be many hours until morning's light. The air seemed alive with electricity, which pricked the hairs on Lyra's arms and neck. Will felt it too, his heart surged and his stomach clenched with a deep anticipation. Kirjava, who had been curled around and grooming a very content Pantalaimon, reared her head and stalked over to Lyra, the moonlight illuminating her piercing eyes, her head low and her powerful shoulders raised. Her gaze never left Lyra's, and nor did Lyra break her own. Lyra extended a hand, slowly, and they met. She had forgotten how beautifully soft the fur around her neck was, which bristled at her touch. It may have been smoke, for all she knew. Such a powerful sense of connection, was touching another person's dæmon, to feel their soul melt into your own, to experience their own mind as a part of yours, it was dizzying. Will had been so entranced, resting his head on Lyra's naked chest, watching her caress and touch his own soul, he hadn't realised he was absentmindedly running his fingers over Pantalaimon, who was settling down in the crook of his arm. So tired, the both of them were, but neither of them had been more awake than this night, more aware of the rustling of the leaves in the trees above them, the gentle rush of the wind through the grass, the twinkle of the stars above them, the torrent of Dust swarming around them. For that night, and from that night evermore, they were absolutely one.

It was the following midday, after they had awoken, dressed and set off again, that they reached what they had been waiting for. Will and Lyra had crossed a great stretch of grassland flanked on the left by the great forest, before reaching one of the flat, black roads of ancient and long since solid lava. They turned and followed the road for half a day, and encountered barely another soul, save for a few creatures not unlike small deer, which were fast, and shy too, fleeing the moment they spotted the two travellers. So they carried on slowly into the dwindling sunlight, and made plans to settle for the night when the road met with and cut through the great forest. They decided they would make shelter amongst the trees, and lit a fire, for they had forgotten how cold this world became at night.

They shared some bread and cheese, and drank water. Lyra found some small fruits that Pantalaimon had sniffed and decided were safe. While they ate, and softly spoke, they both felt a low, deep rumbling in the earth, too low to hear. It was rapidly getting louder and stronger, and they both stood up. Kirjava's tail brushed and her back arched, eyes focussed in the pitch black, after Will had kicked some dirt over the fire. Pan had hurried up Lyra's arm and took a perch on her shoulder. Figures were emerging on the horizon, there may have been a dozen, moving quickly and with great purpose, in convoy.

When they were close enough to hear properly, Will and Lyra grabbed their satchels and hid behind the trunk of one of the nearby trees, peering out to keep the shapes in view. A voice had sounded from the pack, something like an alarm, a high pitched call which caused the figures to come to a halt. They approached Will and Lyra's tree, speaking and replying in grunts and rhythmic clicks. A torch was lit and thrust forward to illuminate them both.

They hide behind their tree, but we see them. One of the figures had spoken, but their language was unintelligible. The speaker and his party were powerful creatures, trunked like an elephant but covered in brown fur and grasping enormous, wood coloured wheels in their forelegs.

They are veiled in sraf. We have not seen so much in a long time.

Are they spirits?

No, they are flesh.

As they spoke, Will and Lyra did not let go of one another's hands. They knew these creatures to be very gentle, and wise, the mulefa. But they were strong, and quick to startle. Will racked his brain to remember some of the language Mary Malone had showed him, and practised with him when writing her book. They had both been fluent, once. He remembered that their trunk was a vital aspect of their speech, and used his arm in place of it.

Friend. He grunted, and flicked his hand one way. He hoped they understood. They all took a step back, and a frenzy of murmured grunts and clicks echoed through the air.

It speaks! How is this possible?

Can it be from our world?

That is impossible.

They were hushed immediately, when a figure pushed through to the front of the pack, and stared the two humans in the eye. He was old, his wrinkled eyes were sharp and piercing, his fur was grey in places.

They are the children. He spoke gracefully, slowly, moving his trunk in wide arcs. They are known to us.

The children? They cannot be. The speaker fell silent though, when the elder turned to hush him.

They are the children from the other side. They saviours of our lands, and of all lands. You owe them your gratitude.

Will found he could understand more and more with each time they spoke, and he turned to Lyra and whispered. 'It's going to be alright.'

There was a third, though she is not here.

Will remembered quickly and cleared his throat. Mary. She did not come.

Yes, the doctor. She is safe?

Yes. She is happy.

Then I am happy.

Kirjava had been stalking, pacing slowly back and forth behind them, her eyes darting to and from each of the mulefa, but now she had approached and sat beside Will.

Look how the sraf flows through their companions. They shine like starlight. The elder gestured to the dæmons and spoke to his people, who agreed amongst each other. Though I wonder, how are their feet on our lands?

The knife. Will replied.

Once more they cut the delicate balance. There are forces who would destroy you.

They might try. Will said, wearing a look of absolute defiance on his face.

The elder laughed in endearment, and so did the others. He took Will's hand in his trunk. It was incredibly gentle, and warm.

We are glad to see the children. Come home, eat, and rest. The elder clicked his tongue, and the largest zalif wheeled beside them, and lowered his back. Ride Citsal, though we are not far from home.

Will helped Lyra mount the back of the zalif Citsal, and then climbed on himself. It only took a few hours hard riding before a village emerged over the horizon, with small windowed huts lit from the inside with the gentle glow of open fire. Lyra hugged Will from behind, Pantalaimon nestled in her pocket, Kirjava keeping pace beside them, for she had always been fast, and loved to run. 'I love you, Will.' She spoke, and squeezed him gently.

He took her hand in his. 'I love you too, Lyra.'

They were finally where they belonged, the children of two worlds, home at last.