By the time Lyra had finished bathing, Astrid had already left.
In the bedroom, only a faint trace of body fragrance lingered, along with the dead wood branch tossed into the bucket, serving as proof of the other's presence.
Lyra moved her chair to sit by the window, letting the evening breeze dry her long, wet pink hair.
She hung her changed clothes on the drying rack, hoping for good weather the next day so they would dry by midday.
The silvery moonlight streamed into the bedroom, casting a shimmering glow on the floor tiles.
As she gazed at the bright moon, her thoughts drifted to her parents, far from home, and the humble wooden house that held so many cherished childhood memories.
At night, sentimentality often takes hold, even for someone like Lyra, who is the protagonist of this world.
She recalled her mother's farewell words, the silent encouragement in her father's eyes, and the two puppies that had circled her legs, reluctant to let her go.
