The stranger seems to have a knack for chaos - at least when it comes to disposing of the memory mud (and, strangely enough, turning into frogs). Lyra listens politely to the list of things that the woman has tried in her efforts to get rid of the muck, blinking with surprise at the range of options - most of which she hadn't even considered. Water, sure - wash it away - but fire? Beating it? All Lyra can picture is going after the mud with a stick.
Then the stranger suggests shooting it, and Lyra snorts out a laugh before she realizes that the woman is quite serious. Her amusement turns to awe as the woman - Melita, apparently - shoots an ice arrow at a puddle of mud, freezing it solid. "That's handy," she says, admiring the weapon. "I'm Lyra. Nice to meet you."
Then the stranger suggests shooting it, and Lyra snorts out a laugh before she realizes that the woman is quite serious. Her amusement turns to awe as the woman - Melita, apparently - shoots an ice arrow at a puddle of mud, freezing it solid. "That's handy," she says, admiring the weapon. "I'm Lyra. Nice to meet you."
Lyra
spent my whole life trying to put it into words
