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the clang and scrape of lorek Byrnison's armor as he leaped fully clad over the sledges and into the fog, and that was followed by screams, snarling, crunching and tearing sounds, great smashing blows, cries of terror and roars of four or five shots, as against the ceaseless knocking rain of arrows. And more and more men fell every minute.
Oh, John Faa! she thought in anguish. You didn't foresee this, and I didn't help you!
But she had no more than a second to think that, for there was a mighty snarl from Pantalaimon, and something- another daemon-hurtled at him and knocked him down, crushing all the breath out of Lyra herself; and then hands were hauling at her, lifting her, stifling her cry with foul-smelling mittens, tossing her through the air into another's arms, and then pushing her flat down into the snow again, so that she was bearish fury as he laid them waste.But who was them? Lyra had seen no enemy figures yet. The gyptians were swarming to defend the sledges, but that (as even Lyra could see) made them better targets; and their rifles were not easy to fire in gloves and mittens; she had only heard
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