“Pan, am I going to die?” “The witches won’t let you die. Nor will Lyra.” “But the spell didn’t work. I keep losing blood. I can’t have much left to lose. And it’s bleeding again, and it won’t stop. I’m frightened …” “Lyra doesn’t think you are.” “Doesn’t she?” “She thinks you’re the bravest fighter she ever saw, as brave as Iorek Byrnison.” “I suppose I better try not to seem frightened, then,” Will said. He was quiet for a minute or so, and then he said, “I think Lyra’s braver than me. I think she’s the best friend I ever had.” “She thinks that about you as well,” whispered the dæmon.
