Blue flames shot toward Lyra's face. She ducked, feeling the heat rush over her head. Her father yanked her arm, pulling her away from the fire.
"Run!" he shouted again, pushing her into the dark woods.
Lyra's feet moved before her brain could catch up. She raced through the trees, branches whipping her face. Behind her, angry yells and growls filled the night air. Was Narek chasing her? Or worse—was Elara?
A root caught her foot. Lyra fell down a steep hill, rolling and bouncing off rocks and fallen logs. Pain shot through her body as she finally crashed to a stop at the bottom.
Everything went black.
Then suddenly, Lyra was ten years old again, standing by the river's edge.
"Come on, Elara!" young Lyra called to her sister. "I found something cool!"
Eight-year-old Elara followed unwillingly, her silver-blonde hair shining in the summer sun. "We're not supposed to be this far from home," she whispered.
"Don't be such a baby," Lyra said, rolling her eyes. "Look what I found!"
