Every Species Finds a Way
Lana woke. There was sticky white all around her. She stretched at it, and it started to tear. She could see through. It was dim beyond, but she was trapped in something, and she had to get out. Get out! She was only following instinct, the critical sense to not be trapped, to not be buried inside whatever she was buried in. She couldn’t remember what had come before this. All she knew was that she needed to get out, get out!
She stretched, and pulled at the fibers, and they gave way with a little effort. It seemed like they had once been stronger. She pulled and tore, and suddenly another pair of hands outside were pulling away at them as well, freeing her from her prison of — whatever she was in.
“Come on, little one. Come out,” said a voice outside.
Little one? She didn’t have time to try to assess that. She was a swordswoman — at least, she seemed to remember that.