The harsh light bleaches River's face to white, makes the blood drenching her knees and her father's body a bright unnatural red. There are twin red streaks down her skirt where she wiped off her hands. Her lip is split, and another trickle of blood has traced its way down her chin.

She's crouched by Gabriel's head, hands fisted in the fabric at the back of his shoulders. Her head is lifted, eyes wild and instantly narrowed against the white-hot flare of magnesium, and everything about her posture is poised for instant motion -- fleeing, or lashing out.

"Hold still, bà bà," she whispers as the first streak of light explodes into being, and tugs hard; she's small, but strong, and with the fierce and desperate strength of adrenaline she drags him back a foot or more.

"Not time yet."