It was desperately hard for Lyra and Will to leave that sweet world where they had slept the night before, but if they were ever going to find their daemons, they knew they had to go into the dark once more. And now, after hours of weary crawling through the dim tunnel, Lyra bent over the alethiometer for the twentieth time, making little unconscious sounds of distress, whimpers and catches of breath that would have been sobs if they were any stronger. Will, too, felt the pain where his daemon had been, a scalded place of acute tenderness that every breath tore at with cold hooks.

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