Muscular. More like an octopus, or something else with suckers.

[Paul pushes himself up on his elbows with only a slight shakiness, swallowing a dry mouth. He has a slightly abashed air of accomplishment to him, and a pervasive sense of distracting relief as he lets his head fall back and looks up at the sliver of moonlight above them.]

I was right. [He closes his eyes, reinforcing the structure of his memory to capture the vision.] I didn't want to say it, if I was wrong, but I was right. It's a shapeshifter, we knew that, but I wondered - it's prescient, Lazarus. It sees the future, and that's how it adapts. I'll have to see how far it can look, next time.

I couldn't have done that without you. Thank you.

[Before the dream, Paul's acceptance of help had a certain sense of concession to it, an allowance he was making for Lazarus. His thanks here lack it. There is a tender new shoot of emotion under them instead, a sort of wondering, bewildered trust.]

Could you pass me my notebook? It's in my bag. [A minor pause.] I needed it to hit me, to know. I won't do that when I'm awake.

[That, though, comes in the tones of someone who has been rebuked about this sort of thing before.]