He did not lose all hold on his awareness. He had a sense of lying at full length, and blinding light flashes that made his eyelids jump. And a tug somewhere, as though his helmet was coming off. He would have put out a hand to see, but his left arm was broken, and his right arm limp from weariness.
"You're back," said a voice he knew, a voice strained with wonder. "You managed. I knew you would."
"Now," said Wofforth, "I know it's a dream. We dream after we die."
A hand was cupped behind his neck, lifting him to a sitting position. He felt warm fluid at his lips. "It's no dream," said the voice beseechingly. "Look at me."
"I don't dare. The dream will go away."
But he opened his eyes and looked at her hair like Plutonian night, her eyes like bright stars. "Lya," he said. "I'm going to call you Lya."
"Please call me Lya."
"I'd be bound to dream about you. I've dreamed about you so much.... Owww!"
He got his right hand up to cherish his tingling cheek.
"So you felt that," she said. "Now you know you're awake. Or must I slap you again?"