Woody moved over and put his hand down on Makola's shoulder, as much for support as to verify that the kid was there and real and solid. Yeah. Solid, real, maybe emotionally scarred, but he was there. He let his hand slide away and then offered it to Makola to help him to his feet. As bad as the dream was, there was a more pressing concern about whether Makola was physically okay. A concern Woody was not qualified to address.
"Come on, Makola," he said. "We've got to get you to the medics, make sure you're alright. And then we can talk about what, ah, what happened in the dream. Okay?"