Mark Rothko White over Red

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throbbing.
And what was worse, it had begun to bleed again.
When Serafina looked at it, she put more herbs on the wound, and tied the silk tighter than ever, but this time her face was troubled. He didn't want to question her, for what would be the point? It was plain to him that the spell hadn't worked, and he could see she knew it too.
As darkness fell, fighter she ever saw, as brave as Iorek Byrnison."
"I suppose I better try not to seem frightened, then," Will said. He was quiet for a minute or so, and then he said, "I think Lyra's braver than me. I think she's the best friend I ever had."
"She thinks that about you as well," whispered the daemon.
Presently Will closed his eyes.he heard Lyra come to lie down close by, and presently he heard a soft purring. Her daemon, cat-formed, was dozing with folded paws only a foot or two away from him, and Will whispered, "Pantalaimon?"The daemon's eyes opened. Lyra didn't stir. Pantalaimon whispered, "Yes?""Pan, am I going to die?""The witches won't let you die. Nor will Lyra.""But the spell didn't work. I keep losing blood. I can't have much left to lose. And it's bleeding again, and it won't stop. I'm frightened…""Lyra doesn't think you are.""Doesn't she?""She thinks you're the bravest