He arrives in the jewelled canyons of Nepatar 17 after a protracted battle of wills with the TARDIS. For days now she has been attempting to steer him to the place; altering destinations mid flight, flashing coordinates repeatedly across her display screens and finally refusing to fly at all until he gives in. The Doctor had resisted despite the certainty of eventual defeat because the canyons were one of the few places in the universe that made him uncomfortable.
He steps out of the TARDIS. The canyons are decorated in a style utterly unlike that of every other planet in the Nepatar empire, walls utterly devoid of distinctive rectangular spaceships or peculiar gem furred foxes. No artist or time frame has ever been identified due to massive levels of ambient telepathic energy, perpetual, powerful waves barraging even the most psychically insulated archaeologists into retreat. This place is still only an echo of the time war, thousands of minds screaming into the black as he trapped them forever in their own torment. The agony of it had forced him into regeneration. The energy here is stronger than he expects, but perspective makes it easy to push aside the nausea and the cold tingling of his spine. He walks farther into a vista of terrible, violent artwork, horrific images carved so deeply into the sapphire walls that an underlay of ruby has been exposed. The pictures become less and less defined the further into the canyon he moves, the artist's self control more and more tenuos until they had been reduced to tearing into the walls, less and less blue until he is surrounded by bloody red, marked and scarred by fury and pain.
He realises that the energy signature is familiar and fresh just as he rounds the final corner and finds her lying on the ground, curled into a loose foetal position. River's body is coated in a layer of gleaming blue dust, sparkling on her hair and in the myriad tiny cuts that crisscross every exposed piece of her skin. She can hear him approaching he knows, the stone cracking and splintering under his feet, but she doesn't move, likely too exhausted to try. She never seeks him (them, her love for the TARDIS as strong as her love for him) out when she is this young, and he'll pick up her pieces several more times before she trusts him enough to help her before she can't help herself.
He crouches, gathers her in his arms- a gentle kiss to her temple in response to a tiny whimper and a whispered "Hello Sweetie."- before standing and turning back towards the beckoning warmth of the TARDIS, River cradled against his chest.
He will take her home, humming engines to drown out the cacophony in her head, and then she can rest.