He's young, and he's old, and he's neither; he's dead, and he's here, and in dreams only the last part matters.

The violin is louder now, if still unseen. A soft waltz underlies the chirping birdsong, both from the same instrument.

"Time to go." River takes half a careful step towards Ennis as she speaks, and her head turns and lifts into the wind. "Listen. The rocks are going to fall."