Well, that first wasn't a question with a straightforward answer, and Little John sat himself back on the couch a little, getting comfortable the way he'd get comfortable at home before a story. At least he could be assured that they'd both understand what he was talking about; Lyra had witnessed the magical distortion of time firsthand, and Avery, as Little John'd been told, knew everything. "A few months after our wedding, Elaine and I went back into her realm for her to give birth to our son. It's a long, long story, but the part to understand is that we have been living there for more than eighteen of our years. Rathellion was devoured by a dragon not long before I came back to New York, but when I say that had been perhaps a month for me, I have no way of telling when he died in relation to the way your time works."
"A dragon," Lyra breathed, her eyes wide as dinnerplates, mind skipping over the time factor entirely to grab onto this. She let go of very entirely and stepped toward Little John like she'd misheard, but she knew she hadn't, and her heart was racing once again. "A dragon? A dragon— Avery," she spun back toward him, grabbing the hem of his shirt. "A dragon!"