Me: You are a nice little girl.
Lyra: No. Pretend I'm a different nice little girl. And pretend that this - (waves a stick) - is a gun. Pretend I'm a nice little girl with a gun.
Me: Oh dear.
Lyra: A nice little girl who shoots baddies. Pow! POW POW POW! Umm... Mom?
Me: Yes?
Lyra: Actually, let's just pretend I'm a horse.
