As the moon rose, the witches began their spell to heal Wills wound.

They woke him and asked him to lay the knife on the ground where it caught a glitter of starlight.

Lyra sat nearby stirring some herbs in a pot of boiling water over a fire, and while her companions clapped and stamped and cried in rhythm, Serafina crouched over the knife and sang in a high, fierce tone:

"Little knife! They tore your iron out of Mother Earths entrails, built afire and boiled the ore, made it weep and bleed and flood, hammered it and tempered it, plunging it in icy water, heating it inside the forge till your blade was blood-red, scorching!

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