River's hands clench into fists.

"No rutting help," she snaps -- too low for him to hear, perhaps, hurrying away as he is -- and her eyes glitter with angry tears.

He's out of sight. One moment, two, and then she flings herself away from the wall and half-runs down the rocky hill, hair flying and face pale and wild.

Behind her, the squirrel advances happily on the forgotten bread roll.