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“ But suppose your dæmon settles in a shape you don't like?

Well, then, you're discontented, en't you? There's plenty of folk as'd like to have a lion as a dæmon and they end up with a poodle. And till they learn to be satisfied with what they are, they're going to be fretful about it. Waste of feeling, that is.

But it didn't seem to Lyra that she would ever grow up. ”

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[heracleidae]

[ Meg seems to take this as a good sign and begins grooming Max with earnest. she isn't rough, but she's thorough and surprisingly tender, not really pushing the bulldog around very much. Herc reaches across the table for the salt and his hand brushes Chuck's on the way over, the first point of contact between them since they'd stepped into the cafeteria. ]

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[ maxie doesn't talk. it's not that she can't, and it's not that she's afraid to- but things had changed when sydney came down. chuck had been pulled out of the city with that bulldog in his arms- a form she stuck to when he was feeling particularly obstinate, particularly determined.

her head rolls to one side, offers up more space to clean, but she doesn't open her eyes again. it's a casual kind of compliance, and it's one of the few things that allows the hansens to move around each other. the wuff of her breath can reach herc's boots.

his old man moves for the salt and chuck takes the pepper- eyes on the guy's plate. it isn't until his old man's putting the thing back that he snags a drumstick and promptly nabs a bite. ]