"Well, if it's any consolation," says Daniel, full well knowing that it's hardly any consolation at all, "if we die the worst that happens is we wake up."

Aliyah butts him on the knees, just hard enough to make him wobble and he bites his lip, immediately contrite. Morbid humor's easier when one's died a half dozen times and a dozen more in dreams.

Wordless, he stretches one hand out to feel against the cave wall, smooth and cool and disconcertingly solid, and uses that as his guide in the dark. A few steps forward at a time, then a few more. Aliyah moves a half step in front of him, wary and tail swishing.