"A lot," Childermass answers unhelpfully, though what he means will make itself clear when about twelve or so dogs come bounding out of the forest, a few of them the larger, evolved variety that Baker is in the waking world. Luckily for Reira, they don't seem too intent on burying her in orange and cream fluff.

Instead, one of the large ones, an arcanine, skids to a halt in the sand and drops a tennis ball somewhere between where Reira stands and Childermass's beach chair. That done, they look hopefully from one to the other, because surely one of them will throw the ball. Right? Right?