Why did I bring her this far out here?

By the light of the full moon, he was able to see the downed tree in Blue's path and had just enough time to lean forward so that the animal could clear the obstacle. The landing wasn't smooth and it jarred his teeth, but Wyatt barely noticed as he spurred the horse on. To his right, the Kisra River churned in the darkness, swollen by the heavy rains that had fallen all night.

He was almost there. He could see the warm light of the windows of the cabin he and Adora had built together after he had accepted the transfer.

Blue's feet slid and the sure-footed horse worked to regain his equilibrium as he rounded the last bend and emerged from the woods. Fear constricted his lungs as he fought to stay in the saddle. Please let me be in time . . .

He was on the ground and scrambling up the porch steps before Blue even had a chance to slow down. The latch to the door slipped in his hand as he fought with it and swore viciously.

Adora's eyes were on him immediately, feverishness about her intense gaze. "Did you get it?"

He reached into the pouch that hung from his belt, removing the plant, root and all. Rising from her place beside the fire, Adora hurriedly wiped her hands on her sweat-stained nightgown and took the delicate white flower from him. With shaking hands, she quickly removed the stem and reached for a small paring knife to slice the root.

He watched her work, scared for her, but knowing that he could not step in to stop her. She was driven, as driven as he had been when he had left the house to get the Wood Sage. Adora should be resting, glowing, enjoying this moment.

But things seldom happen as they should.

"How is she?"

"She'll be fine." Adora answered sharply, almost maniacally as she dropped the sliced root in the water. "This will help. Her heart's just a little weak is all. She'll be just fine."

Watching her for a few seconds more, Wyatt backed up towards the small wooden cradle he had made. His sickening worry gave way to grief as he knelt and looked down on the newborn baby girl, so small, and so unnaturally still. With slow, measured movements, he reached down and placed his hand on her chest, leaving it there longer than was necessary to convince himself of the devastating truth. There was no rise and fall as she breathed. No beat of the little heart beneath the soft blanket. She was gone.

It took everything he had not to cry out. Anguish threatened to overflow, but he couldn't, would not, let the weakness show in front of Adora. She would need him to be strong.

He pulled the blanket around the infant, tenderly covering her small face as he whispered his regrets and told her how much he loved her. He gave himself a moment before he could face his wife.

Adora still stood near the fire, watching him. She was pale as death from the stress of the birth and the mad scramble to try to save their daughter. Aside from a twitch in her cheek, she didn't move. She just watched him with lifeless eyes as the knife fell from her grasp on to the hard wood floor.

Taking a deep breath, Wyatt stood up and walked to her. "Adora?"

She didn't answer. She didn't even look at him as he put his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes remained on the cradle and the small form that it held. He met with no resistance as he gently guided her back to their bedroom, helped her into a clean nightgown, and laid her down in their bed. There were no angry, fighting words. There was no fight at all. Adora just let him guide her.

Wyatt stood beside her for a few minutes, willing her to say or do something. He wanted her to scream and cry. She could have a few good swings at him if she wanted them. The bruises would be a small price to pay.

His eyes never left her as he sank into the rocking chair beside the bed, trying to forget that it was where Adora had sat, not two weeks earlier, hand on her swollen belly, chatting on merrily about names. He closed his eyes and ordered himself to hold it together.

It took hours, but gradually, Adora's blank stare was interrupted more frequently by her heavy eyelids. The physical and emotional strain was taking its toll. She wouldn't be able to fight it much longer.

Finally, her eyes closed one last time and her breathing grew even and steady. When he was sure that she was asleep, he stood and took a deep breath, preparing himself for a task no father should ever have to undertake- burying his own child.

He awoke to grittiness in his eyes, his whole body feeling as though he hadn't slept. There was no rest. Only a numbing weariness that manifested itself in the physical, but came from his soul. He was empty and hollow.

And very much alone, he suddenly realized. The quilt from their bed had been draped over him where he still sat in the rocking chair to keep watch over his wife. The bed was now empty. Adora was gone.

Fear sank its claws into his stomach as he jumped up, untangling himself from the cover. Who knew what kind of frame of mind she was in? Cursing himself for his lack of vigilance, he began to search the small cabin. "Adora!"

In the kitchen, he found a pot of coffee brewing on the stove and a fire crackling in the grate, recently tended. Adora was nowhere to be found. Feeling the panic rising, he ran out on to the porch.

And he saw her kneeling beside the mound of freshly turned dirt, facing away from him, towards the river as the gentle breeze stirred her hair.

Slowly, he descended the porch stairs and approached her. She was fully dressed, wearing one of her old work shirts and faded gray skirt she had worn during the early months of her pregnancy. Her head cocked back ever-so-slightly at the sound of his soft footsteps.

She turned back to the little wooden grave marker Wyatt had erected. "I love the name Rachel." It was Adora's voice. Sad and tired, but hers nonetheless. Cain felt a ray of relief shine through the cloud of worry and heartache. "Are you all right?"

Though the role-reversal surprised him, it too lessened his concern for Adora. It was something he had come to expect from her. "I'm worried about you. Why didn't you wake me up?"

She turned to face him fully. He could see the tracks her tears had made down her cheeks. "You were exhausted."

Wyatt knelt down beside her. "You should still be in bed."

"So I can lie there and feel sorry for myself?" She shook her head as her eyes drifted to the grave again. She sighed and turned to look at him again. "Besides, someone has to look after you."

"I think I'm supposed to look out for you, in this particular instance."

"You are." There was a shuddering breath and small smile. "I look out for you, you look out for me. That's how this whole 'family' thing works. And there's nothing more important then family."

Without another word, she leaned forward, letting her head rest on his shoulder. "Thanks for being so strong. I needed that. But it's okay now. I wasn't the only one to lose a child last night."

Her gentle words needled him as he wrapped his arms around her. Her warm tears began to soak through his shirt. It was like a wave breaking on the shore as the emotions he had bottled up hit him. He had no choice but to let them go. He buried his face against her neck as her breath hitched and he let himself cry with her.

"There's nothing more important then family." DG's eyes cast down and away. "I can't remember who taught me that."

But Cain could. The words took him back in time, when that lesson was taught to him. You took the bad with the good and you came out the better for it. Family was everything.

He knew what DG stood to lose. He had been there. She would do everything in her power to save Azkadellia, even die if that's what it came to, stubborn little thing that she was.

For the briefest of instances, he wondered if his own daughter had lived, would she have been anything like the young woman he saw before him.

DG stuck out her hand, determination and maybe just a little bit of fear coloring her voice. "Good luck, Mr. Cain."

It wasn't good enough. Like it or not, the kid was family. Together, they had taken the bad with the good.

And Cain, at least, had come out the better for it.

He stepped forward, initiating the contact as he drew her close for those damnable hugs she was always passing out. DG didn't seem surprised in the least, returning the embrace easily. Though it was brief, he tried to make her feel safe and loved, keeping the fear of losing her to himself.

When he let her go, he felt the conflicting emotions of pride and dread rising. It choked him and all he could do was nod to send her on her way. DG said nothing and left quickly, as if she knew it was what he needed.

Taking a deep breath, he implored the Fates to see his family through this insane plan. He shook his head when he realized he wasn't just thinking of Jeb and DG, but Zipperhead and the Furball, too.