River stops and sways on the balls of her feet with the residual momentum. "Fertilizer," and it sounds like she's insulting him just as much as she's explaining.

Left, right, forward, left, twisting the necklaces against the movement. It steadies her like a placebo counterbalance weighing against the alternative. The gravity, a shift in equilibrium, the fall and laying down and sleep and nightmares.

"Put you under and it," she pauses, looks at the flowers, frowns, continues, "...piles. We're buried."