Luna carefully moved into Lyra’s dream, not wanting to alter it. Not yet. She hid in the deepest recesses, a shadow among shadow-images, carefully collecting small bits and pieces that came her way. They weren’t even full-formed elements; they were more ideas and thoughts. A gentle touch, a moonlit night, a sense of being. She had to wait the longest to get a piece of the stallion, but she eventually did—and to her great good fortune, it was a warm feeling of familial love.