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Daryl stood outside the derelict farmhouse, calling for Sophia, waiting for her to respond. But she wasn't here anymore; he could feel it. If she'd been smart, she would have stayed in the house, where there was food and shelter and a place to hide. But she didn't know any better. She'd never been taught what to do. He couldn't blame her for keeping on going, trying to find her way. If she made it through this, she'd be a hell of a lot tougher and stronger and more prepared than she'd been before.

And she was going to make it through this, he told himself. He'd tracked her this far, he could track her the rest of the way.

Looking around, he spied a small stand of flowers. He remembered those flowers; he'd heard the story about them many times. Finding one here, that was a sign. It had to be. He was going to find her. Plucking one, he tucked it into his belt. Why he'd done that, he couldn't have said. He just felt he needed to.


Carol stood over the little collection of food and the sign they'd written for Sophia. Would she stay, if she made her way back, stay and wait, hidden in one of these cars in the sweltering heat? Carol didn't think so. She'd be too afraid to wait here alone.

Increasingly, she didn't think there was any point in hoping. Sophia was gone, lost somewhere in these woods, and that was the way she would stay. She didn't want to think like that, but it was so hard to keep hoping when everything seemed bent on separating her from any chance of finding her little girl. This move to the farmhouse, now. It was good for everyone—good for Lori, since that was where Carl was—with water and cool woods and people and food … But it wasn't good for Sophia, and it wasn't good for Carol.

If she had any courage, she thought, she'd stay here herself. Stay here by the highway and wait for her girl.

But she was a coward. Hating herself, she refused Andrea and Shane's attempts at sympathy and followed them away from the last place she'd seen her daughter.


Back in camp, Daryl went looking for Carol, finding her in the RV where she had retreated from the heat of the day, and from the clumsy sympathy and the barely concealed irritation of the others, taking refuge in washing the dishes. Simple domestic tasks—that's all she knew how to do, the only way she could contribute in this new world. It wasn't much, but it kept her hands busy, let her think she was doing something for her daughter.

She was sewing on something when Daryl found her. Without missing a stitch, she glanced up at him, understanding his lack of news without needing to ask. "Cleaned up," she said. "I wanted it to be nice for her."

He tried to remember if anyone had ever wanted a place to be nice for him. Must be nice to have a good mom, he thought, and he almost envied the little lost girl, having someone who loved her as much as Carol did. "For a second I thought I was in the wrong place."

She offered a faint smile at that.

Then he took from his pack a bottle he'd found, which he'd filled with water and stuck the flower in. Carol looked at it, so out of place and pretty amidst the filthiness of the world they were living in. She frowned at him in confusion. "A flower?"

"Cherokee rose." But she was still looking at him like he was crazy, so he explained. "The story is, that when American soldiers were movin' Indians off their land, on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee mothers were grievin' and cryin' so much, 'cause they were losin' their little ones along the way—exposure, and disease, and starvation; a lot of 'em just … disappeared. So the elders they, uh, said a prayer, asked for a sign to uplift the mothers' spirits. Give 'em strength. Hope. Next day, um, this rose started to grow, right where the mothers' tears fell. I'm not fool enough to think there's any flowers bloomin' for my brother, but, uh, I believe this one? Bloomed for your little girl."

Carol smiled, fighting back tears. None of them had mourned Merle Dixon much, none of them had thought much about what Daryl might feel losing his brother, and she felt bad about that, especially in the face of his efforts on Sophia's behalf, and this thoughtful, touching gesture.

He ducked out of the room before she could say anything, but he paused at the door, wanting to say something encouraging, searching for anything he could say. Finally, he settled on, "She's gonna really like it in here."

Forcing another smile, appreciating what he was trying to do, Carol had to look away, because she was losing the fight with the tears. They were rolling down her cheeks. By the time she had recovered herself, Daryl was gone, and only the flower was left, the reminder that other mothers had grieved many and many a time throughout human history. Carol supposed she should take comfort in that, if there was comfort to be taken in anything anymore.