Pantalaimon took the form of a small puppy as Lyra hopped into the dingy boat with Will, Lady Salmakia and Lord Tialys the Gallivespians, and the wretched old man who was almost an extension of the boat itself, and who had told Lyra she could not take her daemon in to the Land of the Dead.

He meant not to look so helpless and beaten, he wanted to help Lyra and soothe her and stop her sobbing, but Pan felt like nothing but this sad, beaten creature, having to part with his dear Lyra.

Lyra's sobs shook her small frame, so slender due to her incredible journey. She sat down on to the damp seat, never looking away or breaking the gaze she held with her dear Pan. He stared back, as though they would be able to forever gaze at one another forever, even if it would not be so.

As the boatman moved the boat over the ugly, grey mass of water, Pan trotted up to the very end of the jetty to keep as close to Lyra as long as he possibly could. His dog-form strengthened as he stared into Lyra's eyes, as much pain as this seperation would cause, he somehow felt it would soon be over and the would be reunited.

They stared until they faded away in the fog, both grimacing against the explosive pain within themselves, and soon Lyra was out of sight. He heard her sob so passionately, but soon he could hear them no more and could hear nothing but the soft lapping of water against the rocky shore.

Pan sat down and rested his little head on to his paws. He continued to gaze where he could last remember seeing Lyra's pain-filled face so wet with tears, feeling an immense sadness yet the strongest sense of pure love that he could ever remember for his Lyra. He would remain a faithful dog and this thought almost cheered him. He would wait here patiently until she returned and was in her arms again and knew more then anything that this would be so. Lyra could not live without her Pan, as her company could not live without their daemon's, which remained with Pantalaimon on the jetty.