Wolfgang is quiet for a bit; he's trying to sort out what he feels versus what is coming from some outside source. He's not very good at this -- ten years out of practise will do that to you.

"Anger," he says finally, holding very still. "A lot of... just, rage. And under that, sadness, like --"

He doesn't get any further before a blue-nailed white hand shoots out from under the water and hauls him under. And it doesn't just pull him under -- it's like he's not even there anymore.

The crows are there, just as suddenly, lined up on either side of the river and screaming hellish warning cries.