CHILD

Prologue

The night sky was taking on a deep purple hue as the last of rays of the day allowed the stars to make their appearance. A small fire was crackling delightfully, fighting off the rugged coolness descending on the summer desert landscape, the flames throwing shadows across the temporary camp. Although obscuring more than they lit, the remnants of a simple meal could still be located amongst the sporadic flickers. Two sand-blasted logs lay near each other on the smokeless side of the fire, and on these logs perched an assortment of adults and a young child, seeking the warmth and relative comfort their roosts provided.

Zoe smiled, leaning into her husband's embrace while he suspended a real marshmallow – on a wire he had procured from God knew where – over the fire. Grey was streaked through both their hair despite the youthful glow they still retained, making it barely believable that the little boy balanced on Zoe's knee and watching the marshmallow eagerly was indeed her grandchild. What made it easier to believe were the dark curls that spiraled into the boy's face, which his mother also shared.

It was the annual (by Haven reckoning) Washburn family camping trip, in which all three generations took time off and spent a week in the splendors of what Wash called the wilderness. In reality they were only a short ride from an outcropping and a slightly longer ride from the Washburn Ranch, but they were far enough out that they wouldn't run into folk not on a similar excursion.

"Okay, Hoban," Wash said excitedly, carefully swinging the marshmallow towards the boy's waiting hands, but keeping it just out of reach of the curling fingers, "Prepare for the most delectable, scrumptious, succulent, tasty bit of foodstuff you have ever – "

"Just give it to him, Pop, before you drop it and he jumps into the fire after it," Hoban's mother chuckled from her spot on the other log. Her curly hair was cut short, hardly brushing her shoulders as they bounced in merriment. Had her hair been longer, most people would have mistaken her for Zoe in her younger days. Her husband Tim – a tall but quiet man – sat at her side, poking at the embers with a stick and trying to coax a little more heat from the flames.

"Honestly Brunhilde, you ruin all my fun," Wash complained, but one look at the kid proved that his mother had a point, so Wash sighed and allowed his grandson to catch the treat and pull it from the wire.

Hoban gobbled it down, smearing half of it across his ear-to-ear grin. "Thanks Gramps," he mumbled thickly to his namesake as he chewed, causing the adults to laugh. Real food was a rare treat on the Rim, and it was good to see the youngster enjoying it. They would make the small bag of fluffiness last the week if they could. Hoban wiped his mouth and licked his fingers with unadulterated joy before his features slowly gave way to a curious frown. "Why'd you name Mamma Broomhill?"

"Brunhilde," Zoe corrected, hugging the boy closer now that he was done with his dessert. "We named her after a friend we met back when we worked with Uncle Mal."

"She was quite a character back then," Wash added, putting down the wire and turning towards his wife. "Remember what she used to say to Inara?" he asked around a small fit of laughter from the memory.

"You're jumping ahead, Husband," Zoe admonished with a grin.

"Sorry Wife," he replied less than sincerely, earning a soft smack on the arm. "You'll like this story," he said to Hoban, who settled in, ready for the non-edible treat he was about to get.

"Is it as good as your dinosaur stories?" he asked curiously.

Wash hesitated. It was hard to beat dinosaurs. Zoe's raised eyebrow was easy enough to quantify, though, and he quickly said, "Even better," with a believable smile. Her look softened and he knew he'd said the right thing. "Start from the beginning," he suggested.

"Well," Zoe paused, thinking. "I suppose the beginning started with Aunt Frank. You remember her, right?" she asked Hoban, who nodded enthusiastically.

"She bought me my BB gun. Did she live on Serenity with you too?"

"She surely did. Saved our lives quite a few times. Of course, in Brunhilde's case, Frank was the one who caused the trouble we got into. She had a knack for living on the edge, and dragging the rest of us along with her. Things are never boring when she's around." The adults chuckled, each remembering their own discovery of that particular fact.

Zoe's eyes glazed slightly, nearly losing herself to the memories before continuing the story. "As I said, it started with Frank, and if I remember rightly, we were on our way to Boros…"