"Never grow old." Ice was forming along her spine.  "You might have had me, you would have had me if not for that."  Beretta at her hip, M4 across her back, knife in her boot sheath.  She knew they would have done no good in the waking world against whatever presence was beside her, would they do any better in a dream?<br/><br/>"The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away."  Dream-Sergeant Nash stood slowly and carefully.  "That was from Psalms 90."  She unslung her M4 with a practiced motion, but did not turn.  "Or how about this one,"  She clicked the safety off.  "Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night hath trifled former knowings."  She snugged the butt against her shoulder. "That's from Macbeth, it seems appropriate."<br/><br/>She already knew it wouldn't do any good, even if there was anything there, but she spun  in place towards the voice firing full auto as she turned.<br/><br/><br/><br/>