As the last bits of unreality faded from her mind, Lyra stayed perfectly still, letting the comforting familiarity of her home drift back in. The strange moonshadow in the corner wasn't a monster, it was the stupid fern she'd won at a carnival in Canterlot and stubbornly held onto even after any sensible mare could have seen it was never going to amount to anything . . . and then she'd met Bon Bon, and the mare had felt pity for the dumb plant, and now it thrived. Over there, on the wall, an unskilled painting of a grassy field Bon Bon had found at a flea market, which was still ugly, but now it was also a fixture in the living room.