He's floating, or, at least, that's what it feels like. He's aware of his back as dead space, something not quite connected to him. It takes him a moment to remember what had happened at all. It might as well have happened to someone else. He lifts his head, slightly, stirring, and there she is, sitting in a chair.
"Hello, Catnip," he says, his throat tight and dry.
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"Hello, Catnip," he says, his throat tight and dry.