[River is hiding from Book, freaked out by his enormous unbundled mane of white hair.]
They say the snow on the roof is too heavy. They say the ceiling will cave in. His brains are in terrible danger.
River? Please, why don't you come on out?
No! Can't. Too much hair.
Is— is that it?
Hell, yes, preacher. If I didn't have stuff to get done, I'd be in there with her.
. . .
River, honey, he's putting the hair away now.
[Book starts to tie his hair back.]
Doesn't matter. It'll still be there. Waiting.
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