Balthamos felt the death of Baruch the moment it happened. He cried aloud and soared into the night air over the tundra, flailing his wings and sobbing his anguish into the clouds; and it was some time before he could compose himself and go back to Will, who was wide awake, knife in hand, peering up into the damp and chilly murk. They were back in Lyras world.

"What is it?" said Will as the angel appeared trembling beside him. "Is it danger? Get behind me...”

"Baruch is dead," cried Balthamos, "my dear Baruch is dead...”

"When? Where?"

But Balthamos couldnt tell; he only knew that half his heart had been extinguished. He couldnt keep still: he flew up again, scouring the sky as if to seek out Baruch in this cloud or that, calling, crying, calling; and then hed be overcome with guilt, and fly down to urge Will to hide and keep quiet, and promise to watch over him tirelessly; and then the pressure of his grief would crush him to the ground, and hed remember every instance of kindness and courage that Baruch had ever shown, and there were thousands, and hed forgotten none of them; and hed cry that a nature so gracious could never be snuffed out, and hed soar into the skies again, casting about in every direction, reckless and wild and stricken, cursing the very air, the clouds, the stars.

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