Drip, drip, drip and he's in the bottom of the well all over again, a customised personal hell from which he will never escape from. Just when he started to entertain the fantasy of letting his guard down, the dark and cold and wet seizes him again like a stutter in his chest.

He startles awake, gasping for air and a smoky kind of chill fills his battered lungs. Water splashes as his hands seek purchase on the slippery pebbled ground and the only reason crippling helplessness doesn't set in straightaway is the dim light painting contours over her silhouette lying next to him.

"...wha- th-" he hurries over towards her, staying crouched low as he reaches out to touch her upper arm, give her a firm shake.

"Ma'am?"