Lyra's concession hung in the air, a fragile agreement born of desperation. But before Sol could say another word, the silence in the corner of the hut broke.
"Sol..."
Liora, the youngest, scrambled up from the dirt floor. She didn't hold back. She threw herself at him, clinging to his arm like a desperate vine, her small hands clutching his tunic so tight her knuckles turned white.
Her wide hazel eyes, framed by a mess of tangled hair that fell constantly into her face, were swimming with unshed tears. She looked up at him, her lower lip trembling.
"Are you really going? Really sure?" she breathed, her voice breathless and rapid. "It's so dangerous out there. The beasts... they have teeth as big as knives, and they are bigger than trees in jungle. What if you get hurt again? What if you don't come back? I... I can't..."
