[ It takes very little for Blake to set the scene in his mind. He doesn't imagine the crows, but the people instead. It's not hard. Crane, even now, looks little more than a stretched child. His willowy figure and his large head do little to dispel the idea of a scarecrow, but Blake sees more than that, even now. He almost imagines that child's eyes blurring with unbidden tears full of anger and humiliation behind the cold countenance of the man he's come to know here. ]

Yeah, it's abound. Better not to, 'specially here.

[ Blake holds the bag aloft, allowing Crane to bend down and free the crystals from their pillows of twigs and grass. Is it weird that he doesn't want the doctor to just stand there and relive his trauma? Maybe a little, but even in his enemies, Blake hates to see suffering. ]

We're the only ones who know what it means. Doesn't gotta go further than that.