River's eyes close when he murmurs those words back at her in that deep voice raspy from illness and too many cigarettes, when he brushes a callused hand over her cheek and kisses her forehead. It's a long minute before she lifts her eyes again, and when she does that steely clarity of before might never have been there. She looks twenty again, or younger, her face fond and sad and wistful, and the way her gaze drifts and her head tilts is all River and nothing quite like normal.

She smiles a little at Ennis, reassuring. And doesn't try to help, but she's near enough for him to put a hand on her shoulder for balance, maybe, if he wants to.