"Your voice," Ned repeats, breathing it almost the way one would a prayer. "Follow your voice. The river. Moana means ocean." He is trying to make sense of all the things she has been telling him, though so much of their meaning eludes him. He can hear the desperation in her voice, the pleading nature of it. It's that, more than anything else, that seemingly begins to give him the strength he's so far been lacking. Tiny beads of perspiration begin to litter his hairline, the valleys alongside his nose. The fever is beginning to break, however slowly. "I won't give up, Moana."