The wind carried the scent of ash and death. It was a stark contradiction to the sunny summer day. As he slowed the horse to a trot, he realized his life seemed full of contradictions these days.

“They had no warning,” Gus Harding, the old sheriff, stated. “We found most of the hands still in the fields. A few made it to the Campbells' place but the bastards were there, too.”

Mal kept his gaze steady on the charred remains of his birthplace. “And Ma?”

“We found her on the front steps. She had taken at least six of them down to give Mrs. Hernandez enough time to get the house girls down into the hidden cellar. They got out through the tunnel before the whole place burned down.

“Your mother, Elizabeth, was a great woman, Mal. Because of her, this wasn't a complete massacre. You should be proud.”

Mal swallowed hard but his voice still came out husky. “I am.”

His mother had managed to hang on to the farm after his father died in a field accident. She had fought off raiders, thieves, corrupt Alliance tax collectors and more than her fair share of suitors. “This land is your inheritance, Malcolm,” she had told him time and time again. “Your father wanted to pass it down to his son and you will pass it down to yours some day.”

Mal dismounted and tied his horse's reins to the remains of a fence. He walked toward the ashes and stopped when his boots hit something metal. He brushed away the ashes and realized that it was an old horseshoe. It had hung over the main door of the house to give good luck. It looked like its luck had run out.

“I know that this may be a little soon,” Sheriff Harding began, “but Bill Lopez is interested in buying the place.”

Mal studied the rusty horseshoe in his hand. He closed his fist around it as he made his decision. “Tell Bill to name his price.”

* * * * *

Mal woke up from the dream with a start. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering why he had dreamed of home. He hadn't been back to Shadow since there was nothing to go back to.

Realizing that he wouldn't be going back to sleep anytime soon, he got out of bed and threw on some clothes. He touched the old rusty horseshoe over the stairs out of habit as he headed toward the bridge.

The ship was quiet but there were lights on the bridge. He wasn't surprised to find River there. “Hello, little albatross.”

She turned around in the pilot's chair with a smile as if she was expecting him. And maybe she was. The girl was a reader after all.

He noticed the sketchbook in her lap. It was open to a scene of horses running while a Firefly flew over their heads. “That's pretty good.”

“The perspective keeps shifting,” River stated with a frown as she studied the drawing. “Angles are off and the shadowing is inconsistent.”

“Still looks good to me.” That earned him a smile. He sat down in the co-pilot's chair. “So, how far to Persephone?”

“We'll be there by morning.” She cracked a grin. “Hours earlier than Badger's expecting.”

Mal chuckled as he leaned back to study the stars.