The first thing Will did was to make Lyra sit down, and then he took out the little pot of bloodmoss ointment and looked at the wound on her head. It was bleeding freely, as scalp wounds do, but it wasnt deep. He tore a strip off the edge of his shirt and mopped it clean, and spread some of the ointment over the gash,

trying not to think of the filthy state of the claw that made it.

Lyras eyes were glazed, and she was ash-pale.

"Lyra! Lyra!" he said, and shook her gently. "Come on now, weve got to move."

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