"Tell you what she sees--" River's voice is rising, spiralling upwards with anger and frustration and, now, something like fear -- but it's not of him. Not of what's in front of her.

"Twenty needles in her brain, wait while the crows are circling. I shoot," she says, voice trembling with too much stress and too little control, "with my mind. I have a mission and I will find it," and then the stake's jammed into the pocket of her long coat and she's running, running into the darkness with her tangled hair flying back from her white strained face.