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 panions clapped and stamped and cried in rhythm, Serafina crouched over the knife and sang in a high, fierce tone:
"Little khey 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 ihe fe till your blade was blood-red, scorg!
Then they made you wound the water once again, a again, till the steam was boiling fog and the water cried for mercy.
And when you sliced a single shade into thirty thousand shadows, then they khat you were ready, then they called you subtle one.
"But little knife, what have you done?
Unlocked blood-gates, left them wide!
Little knife, your mother calls you……（内容加载失败！）
(ò﹏ò)
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