ANDREW
James and I take turns sitting with Lyra on the front porch in silence. She reluctantly let the pack doctor look her over, but she refused to move from the swing. The air is getting cooler as the sun sets in the sky, but Lyra does not seem to be cold. In fact, she does not seem to be anything. It is like her body is on the swing, but her mind is miles away. Every now and then I reach through the bond to try and catch a glimpse of her emotions or thoughts. But every time I do, massive walls build around her mind, and she glares at me from the swing.
The turn of the doorknob behind me clicks and the smell of coffee hits my nose. I look up to see James trying to juggle three mugs of coffee. Hopping to my feel I take one of the mugs from him and pass it to Lyra. She takes it without a word, holding it between her hands, and taking small sips. Taking my mug from James we settle ourselves against the wall of the porch.
“Has she said anything else?&rdquo
