I like her style. There aren't many things in life that can't be solved with huge jets of flame, though that's simply a personal opinion. It isn't really the time to congratulate her on her taste in mayhem. Not when she's in the grip of a nightmare.

"You know you're dreaming," I say. It's a little breathless. There are still birds filling the air around me, over my head. Some of them are singed, some are burned and falling around us. Chaos.

"How are you manipulating things like this?"