"Never pretty." River staggered a few more steps, her upraised hands coming down to curl at her lips. "Death is never what It says It is." The pot had long since boiled over, spilling bubbles like exploding promises. River already saw the blur of arms and legs -- York, but not moving how York was supposed to. If Church hurt him, if Tex hurt him -- made him irreparable.
She'd...
We never forgive, a chorus of aspects of River screamed in her head.
She backed against half-bent bars, shoulderblades rocking against them. "It is improper for soldiers to leave the battlefield."