Bara woke weightless and unable to breathe. She floated not in the air but was submerged from head to toe. Not in water. It was thicker. Blood?

The low light shone red. Bloody water. How? Doesn’t matter. Hold your breath. Swim to the surface.

Her legs kicked and her arms flayed. The Problem. Which way was up? One desperate pull and then two. No, she wasn’t swimming to the surface.

From the rusty murk emerged one head and then another. An Army of statues. They were buried to their necks in the lake bottom. No not statues. Eyes snapped open, silver canine eyes. Bara slowed her descent moments before biting teeth would have claimed her hand. At least now she knew which way to swim. She turned herself right side up and reached above her head.

The dirt below moved. Ragged hands clawed themselves free. Sharp nails raked at her ankles. Sinewy and heavily veined hands took hold of her slim legs. Down into the dirt and blood, she went. She struggled and escaped the grip, but then another hand took hold and then another. The Demen pinned her to the slimy bottom.

Slip hurts were felt in the waking world. She always wondered. If she were to die in the Slip, would she die for real? There was no holding her breath any longer. She opened her mouth and gasped for air. Her lungs filled with blood. She was drowning and moments away from losing consciousness. The red of the water grew darker. Black descended. If she were dying, where was the white light. There was no white light … but there was a face falling through the blackness? And then it was gone.