Her rifle is back in the holster at her side, and she realizes after a moment of confusion that he's right. Or that he must be right. For one thing, she's wearing clothes - browns and dark reds the color of earth and blood - and for another, there is no place like this in the house that she knows. The alternative is that they're dead. Still, this doesn't make sense.

"How can you be in my dream?" she asks. "'Less you're part of it, and you don't seem like it. Or is this your dream?" Is she the intruder here? No. It feels too familiar for that. Another thought occurs to her. "Sorry I couldn't get you away from those vines quick enough. Got trapped myself not long after."