The sharp aromas of pine wood and fresh manure wafted through the air, enlivening Michonne's spirit and reawakening her senses as she cautiously approached the newly built horse stalls and pen. At first, she never would've thought she'd get used to such a smell, much less come to think of it as the scent of tranquility, of comfort. To her, it had become the smell of home. It wasn't a great smell by any means, and it left the nose with much to be desired, but she knew she that would miss it during her time away. It inspired her, stood as a testament to the notion that what she and Daryl had been doing was the right thing. Perhaps it had been their unwavering vigilance, their constant presence outside the prison fences that kept the Governor at bay. If they stopped now, surely something terrible would happen. Perhaps he'd seen them, as she and Daryl scoured nearby locations, and decided to wait. After all, he was alone now, having slaughtered the only people willing to allow themselves to be manipulated by his delusional rants. If they could stand to send out two of their best soldiers, then surely, the home base must now be a stronghold, an impenetrable fortress, and simply not worth the risk. It was the right thing, the only thing, no matter how empty it left her feeling as she'd lay on the cold, hard ground, struggling to still her turbulent mind as Daryl stood watch nearby. To protect all of this, and everyone living here, she'd endure anything, kill anyone.

Flame's head protruded through the opening of her stall to greet Michonne as she shrugged her katana off of her shoulder and carefully placed it at her feet. She wouldn't have time to see Flame in the morning, as she and Daryl still had a lot to do before leaving. They'd been home for a few days now, and she was anxious to get back out there. This most recent lead had seemed to be the most promising yet, although Daryl had been dragging his feet as of late. She knew his arguments were valid, but She'd come to know people like Philip well enough to understand them, and she knew that even on his own, he wouldn't just leave with his vendetta unfulfilled. He'd likely be holed up someplace nearby, lying in wait, watching for the best time to strike, and he'd do so when they would least expect it. It was up to them to be proactive, to strike first in order to neutralize one of the biggest threats to their people. To act as the grey mongoose to Philip's king cobra.

She'd left Carl in the rec area with Beth and Judy shortly after supper. Rick had excused himself a short while earlier, mumbling something about checking supplies when Carl began to ask about the search for Philip. She wasn't sure where Rick had gone off to, but when she didn't see him or anyone else around, she relaxed, grinning as she smoothed her fingers through Flame's mane. "Hello sweet girl," she said, speaking to the horse in soft lulling tones. Michonne self-consciously glanced around before loosely wrapping her arms around Flame's neck, the mare protested as expected, but only a little. "Hey, mama, gimme hug," she cooed gently. Flame obediently turned her head, pressing it against Michonne's upper back, and effectively trapping her as Flame nibbled at her hair, "Alright, that's enough…"

Michonne jumped a bit when she heard the door of the small shed creak open, but was careful not yank her hair out of Flame's mouth before raising her head. If someone was inside, she couldn't have noticed, as the shed stood facing away from the enclosures, and she'd neglected to check there this time. If anyone except Carl caught her baby-talking Flame, she'd likely die of embarrassment, she thought.

"That's funny, I don't remember teaching her that trick."

As she bent her knees in an attempt to get Flame to let her go, she twisted her head, craning her neck to look up and grin at Rick. The tips of her ears burned with embarrassment, but it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd anticipated, she thought gleefully, as she let Rick help her untangle herself from Flame.

"Well, we haven't exactly perfected it yet, as you may have noticed," she said straightening herself and leaning against outside of Flame's stall.

"She misses you when you're gone," he said, settling next to her for a moment and reaching back to casually stroke Flame's muzzle. The horse jutted her head between the two of them, and nibbled at Rick's hands, likely hoping for a treat.

"I know," she replied, turning to face him, and serious now, "We're getting close. We are," she said as she absently stroked Flame's neck. A light breeze brought with it the faint scent of Rick's sandalwood soap, blended with the acrid odor of his sweat, completing the bouquet that formed an everlasting impression of this place, this dream within a nightmare, both in her mind and in her heart.

Rick moved past her to continue his chores, stooping over to pick up a spare length of rope and a few farrier tools. While doing so, he paused a few times to glance over at Michonne, but remained silent. While Daryl had made no secret of his growing reluctance, he continued to accompany her on these missions, possibly out of some feeling on indebtedness towards her, and also because he knew she simply wouldn't let up until she was ready. Neither Daryl nor Rick liked the idea of Michonne striking out on her own again, but they both feared she'd do just that if Daryl ever decided to stop going with her. In fact, they'd both been certain of it, although she'd never voiced any intent to do so. She stood watching him, slipping her scabbard over her shoulders and squeezing at the lower end of it with her left hand. When she began to head towards the cellblocks, Rick called to her, "Would you mind telling Carl to get Judy ready for bed? I didn't get a chance to check the traps today. They've likely been spoiled by walkers, but we might get lucky."

"It's almost dark," she said, following him to the shed now.

He shrugged blithely, squinting against the waning sun, "Sun's still up. I won't be long," he countered, casting her a series of perplexingly guileful glances as he placed various items onto their respective shelves. He rummaged through a small blue tool chest, plucking his knife from where it was nestled between his and Carl's pistols.

She eyed the tool chest, now tucked into the far corner of the shed, as she gave him room to step out. She watched as he closed and locked the shed door, thinking fleetingly to herself that he could use a bag to carry some of his smaller quarry home, "You're not taking the python?"

He glanced down towards his hip where it would've normally been holstered, "Guess not," he grinned, but her carefully frozen expression conveyed to him, and in no polite or vague terms, that she most certainly didn't see what the hell was so funny.

"I'm going with y-"

"OK."

She blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him.

He smiled, "What?"

She slowly shook her head, barely containing her own smirk, "Let's go."

Rick stood, awestruck, as he watched what had probably been one of the most intricate series of movements he'd ever seen Michonne execute. She spun in one direction to engage the first walker, smoothly transitioning and pivoting into the opposite direction to handle the second and then a third. Her sword somehow carved a figure eight as it arched through the air, glinting in the fading sunlight. As she moved, he realized she'd been wearing a new headband today, more colorful than the last, and it was secured with a long brown ribbon that hung a few inches below the ends of her hair, complimenting her lighter colored, sun-bleached dreads rather nicely. When she came to a stop, her hair swung around, whipping hard against the side of her face and neck as she glanced over her shoulder, grinning at a stunned Rick. She hadn't even broken a sweat.

"Show-off," he remarked.

She performed a near-perfect chiburi, flinging off most of the walker blood from the blade of her katana before sheathing it, "I wasn't lying when I told u I hate it," she said, falling into step beside him, "I need it just as much, I think. Gets all of the bad shit out, ya know?"

Rick had to slow his pace while looking at her lest he'd trip over his own feet. He stared at her, then nodded, "The bad shit." Something, a tiny seed of an idea perhaps, began to sprout within his mind as he looked at her. The bad shit…

Michonne gave him a speculative look as he walked ahead towards the next snare, seemingly lost in thought. She turned to follow him, herself distracted by his bemusement, and yelped in surprise as she felt sharp metal snag the sleeve of her shirt and dig into the flesh of her forearm. She'd momentarily forgotten about the waist-level barb wire perimeter around some of the trap sites. She stood there, a bit dazed, slowly rolling up her torn sleeve to watch as the blood welled from the fresh wound.

She turned to Rick as he approached, "What happened?" he asked.

She held up her arm as blood began to drip from the small cut. He produced a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and peered at her as he pressed it to her arm. She winced in pain in spite of herself.

"It's fine. That's what I get for being a dumbass," she said, taking the handkerchief and securing it around her arm.

"Stop," he said as he palmed the side of her head, drawing her to his chest for a brief hug before she restlessly squirmed out of the embrace, "I'm fine Rick."

"I know," In that instant, Rick wasn't sure what had come over him. Perhaps it was that he was all too aware that she and Daryl were heading out the next morning for God knows how long, or that she'd clearly been upset by such a tiny wound, such a common, insignificant mistake. He couldn't stand to see her upset, not even a little, and that this battle-hardened angel's first instinct was to turn to him for help did not go unappreciated by him. He wanted to lift her spirits and let her know that he wanted her, and that even in her instances of weakness or need, that she was loved, desired and awe-inspiring, all without uttering a single word. All of this would run through his mind as he'd think back upon this moment in the future, of course, but in retrospect, he knew that he hadn't a rational thought in his mind when he suddenly kissed her. They were still close enough to embrace, and Rick simply moved his hand from the side of her head to her chin, tilting her face up, to bring their lips together. Time stopped when their lips locked for the very first time. His teeth grazed her bottom lip, gently biting when she attempted to turn her head as Rick used his other hand to hold her face steady, intensifying their kiss. She relaxed against him, and allowed him to tentatively explore her with his tongue. This kiss was no innocent peck to be shared between platonic friends, and could not have be mistaken for anything other than what it was, surprising them both with its fervor and depth, both knowing that this was merely the tip of the iceberg. For one frightening moment, Rick was sure that he'd topple onto her, as the ground beneath his feet seemed to have become unsteady, almost as if it were in a state of flux as his lips brushed against hers when he ended their kiss. He opened his eyes to find hers still closed. He gently kissed her brow and then the bridge of her nose before her eyes fluttered open. Glazed over and unfocused at first, Michonne's eyes widened a bit before she pulled away.

"Michonne?" he called to her as she hurried off.

"We should head back," she said quickly, not turning to glance at him.

Rick hesitated before following, just taking in the sight of her, and reading her body language, looking for any sign that he'd upset her further. He trailed behind her a bit, keeping about five paces between them, just out of striking range of her katana, or so he hoped. She slowed her pace to glance over her shoulder at him a few times, but said nothing until she finally came to a complete halt. He stopped when she did, still a few feet away from her.

"Rick…," she said, sighing as she turned towards him.

"I know. I'm sorry," he said gently, closing the distance between them. "I should've asked your permission." He regarded her with boyish, innocent eyes before grasping her shoulders and pressing his cheek to hers, "Please don't kill me," he murmured, brushing his beard against the smooth skin of her cheek as he spoke into her ear.

She laughed softly, "I think I'll spare your life this time," she said, leaning into him, "but you're right, you should have asked first." She returned his kiss with one of her own. Painfully teasing and all too brief, it wasn't much more than a soft, slow nibble at his bottom lip that was over before he could react. He barely grazed her with his tongue before she turned to leave, "We really should get back," she told him.

The bad shit...

That night, Rick lay restless in bed, staring into the dark and listening to his wristwatch tick away into early morning. As he stared into the darkness, images and sensation of that moment flashed chaotically through his mind over and over…the taste of her mouth, the feel of her smooth delicate chin beneath his fingers, her skin and hair, slightly scented with something akin to roses, the feel of her soft lips, the fluttering of thick lashes like tiny black folding fans…The tiny sprout that sprang into existence earlier that day had already undergone an explosive growth spurt within his mind and had taken on a life of its own. It took root, and wormed its way through his mind, tickling, stimulating parts of his personality he was sure had died with his marriage, long before Lori's betrayal. In that moment that they had shared, all of the bad shit had been forgotten, had just dissolved away in an instant, and he knew this because he felt it too. He got up, not bothering to put on his boots, and headed up to the next level after checking on Judy.

Michonne stretched out comfortably alongside Daryl Dixon as they gazed up at the spring night sky, groaning as she felt the bones in her lower back pop, releasing the pressure of standing upright and walking around all day long. They both lay with a bent arm tucked behind their heads, almost mirror images of one another. They looked on as the sparkling pin points of light danced about in the sky.

She tried to focus on what Daryl was saying, but she couldn't seem to keep her mind away from home. She hadn't known what to expect of her visit to Rick's cell that morning. He'd wanted her to talk, so she went with her instincts and indulged them both. Without the threat of judgment, he often pushed her to share her thoughts, just as he'd pushed her when teaching her to ride horseback or to fire a pistol. His expectations of her quickly escalated, but Rick made it clear through demonstration that he'd be there if she were to stumble, figuratively or literally, and together, they discovered that in fact, she was a horse person. Her first time riding Flame had been unexpectedly successful, and Rick, in his excitement, had grabbed her just as she'd botched her dismount, catching her and pulling her into a tight, sprawling hug.

Her heart ached for him that very first day. The anger she'd felt quickly faded away when she saw baby Judith for the first time, a helpless, motherless newborn, and when she witnessed Rick's tearful reunion with Carol. She looked on as Carl stood there, jaded beyond his years and stoic in the face of such grief. She couldn't stop herself from sharing in their joy and pain, and still, even after Rick's infuriatingly half-assed attempt at torturing her, it had been difficult to muster any ill feelings towards him. She recognized that he was like her somehow, and had understood his predicament. It felt to her as though as soon as their eyes locked, his emotions somehow intermingled with her own. Her father called this a gift. It was something that she'd been able to do since childhood. She'd always been able to tell if someone was lying or sincere. If they were hurting, she could usually fix it, but it was so different with Rick. More intense than ever before and so much easier. This man, this stranger who'd saved her life, stood out to her amongst the crowd, and in turn, he'd been the first to spot her. As he stood there staring at her, studying her with a look of disbelief on his face, she was able to glean from him that he was not quite sure if she were real, and that this uncertainty had become a common one for him back in those days. She could easily see the contrast between Rick and Philip, who's tightly controlled demeanor barely contained what he really was. Rick's attempt to hide his near-madness was for the benefit of others, and not to deceive or to manipulate. She'd stood there, watching from the outskirts, as their leader broke from his sudden loss just a few days prior, yet he had not been ashamed of his pain, and did not seek to hide it then, not even in front a of possible hostile stranger. She'd come to love Rick and Carl, all of them really, at a dizzying pace, and although she tried her best to look on the bright side of things now, to not be frightened by what she was feeling, she couldn't help but notice a sense of impending doom. What would she do if this life too crumbled? She feared she wouldn't survive it this time, but really, she began to wonder if there would even be a reason to…

…After they'd brushed her down, and tacked her up, Michonne lead the red mare towards the center of the grassy field for riding practice.

"So, do we have a name yet?" She asked Rick as he walked alongside her.

As they slowly made their way through the tall, wet grass, frigid beads of dew dotted their clothes and exposed skin with droplets of moisture. Rick squinted as the sun began to climb the sky, bathing them all in golden light. Michonne studied his handsome features as they were both illuminated and shadowed by the soft orange glow. The mare's mane sparkled brightly in the intense sunlight as its golden-auburn tail whipped contently through the air.

Rick had allowed Carl to sleep in again. Not only had he been too excited by Michonne's return to go to bed at a decent hour, he'd likely stayed up even later just to read. Rick smiled at her, "Carl calls her Flame."

"Flame. I like it."

Although winter had been pleasantly mild this year, it was still a bit chilly, especially this early in the morning. Michonne removed her finger-less gloves and jammed them into the pocket of her vest as Rick verbally reviewed a few basic rein commands and safety tips. She flexed her stiff fingers, trying to get some warm blood back into them.

Rick abruptly stopped talking and stepped closer to her, rubbing his own hands together. "Come're," he murmured as he gently cupped her hands between his, massaging and blowing warm air onto them until her dexterity returned. He massaged her hands and each one of her fingers until they were warm again. She glanced away shyly as he tilted his head up to gaze down at her with half-lidded eyes and a slight smile on his face. The stiff whiskers of his beard tickled her finger tips a he brushed them against his soft lips. "Better?" Rick asked.

She smiled, "Much…"

…Dragging herself out of her reverie Michonne's gaze followed Daryl's free hand as he pointed at a cluster of stars. It was early spring now and brisk, but not too cold for them to sleep outside with only their light-weight jackets plus a few light layers. The star configuration he'd indicated looked vaguely familiar to her, almost appearing to be a rather common geometric shape that she didn't care enough about at the moment to recall the name of. She struggled to remember what he'd told her, as he'd just given her a rather generous hint only moments ago. She glanced at him uncertainly, "Um. Cassiopeia?"

"Naw, she's a bit further north right now," he said, lowering his arm to rest it against his chest.

"Hmm. Draco?"

He looked at her, laughing, "You are terrible at this."

"Well, that's the Northern Star, right?" She asked, gesturing noncommittally.

"Ok, stop. Just…stop," he said as he began to laugh, clutching his abdomen and curling up on himself, gasping for breath, "I can't'-"

She sat up and rolled her eyes at him.

"That," he finally said, "Is a satellite, I mean, look, it's moving even."

"Whatever," she said softly, "I don't even wanna think about what happens once those things fall into disrepair."

"Me either."

"We'll watch them. They'll rain down on us one day. Set the night sky ablaze when they do. Just another reminder of what all we've lost.

"Not for a long time," he glanced over at her when she remained silent, "You ain't usually this gloomy," Daryl said, propping himself up onto his elbows. He looked her over for a brief moment, "You miss your boys."

She smiled sadly, "That obvious?"

"Yuh huh. Hey," he tapped the tip of her boot with his, "You got first watch, right?"

"Sure," she watched as he turned away from her and curled up, closely studying the wings on the back of his vest.

Every time they went out now, or so it seemed, he'd accuse her of trying to extend a pointless search that she was using it as an excuse to stay away from the people that loved them, angering her with his uncanny accuracy when he told her she was frightened. Their home was secure now, he'd reasoned, and there were now plans put into place to help protect them from attacks or intruders. They had a chance at real lives now. She'd been outraged when he first suggested giving up the search for Philip, but now, she admitted to herself reluctantly, that what he'd told her was beginning to make sense. She would try to see it his way, but only after a few more attempts, they were so close. She could feel it…

…"Cold as shit," Daryl murmured under his breath, rubbing his hands together vigorously as he held them out over the small fire.

"You know, Andrea and I…we'd always huddle together," she offered, "for warmth," she added quickly.

He turned his face away from her and shrugged dismissively before getting up and walking to the edge of their little encampment to light a cigarette. Daryl said nothing, only glanced at her a few times as he puffed away. Her eyes unabashedly followed his hand as he adjusted himself through his pants.

After a short while, she simply gave up and shrugged it off, "Suit yourself."

"I'm gonna piss," Daryl informed her as he turned his back.

They had followed the footprints of a man who Daryl believed to be roughly the same size as Phillip. It was the first promising lead they'd come across after days of hiking through the mucky Georgia wilderness, and they were so close now, but it was almost time to head back to the prison. Rick had made Daryl promise that they'd check in every couple of weeks.

"So," Daryl said casually as he turned to look at her after zipping up, "What's up with you and Rick?"

… Do you trust me?...

She stared at him, visibly rattled, when he spoke Rick's name. The very mentioning of his name conjured vivid images and sensations in her mind and body that she'd tried so desperately not to dwell on. They distracted her, made her question her priorities and set her on edge, making her anxious to get back home despite the importance of their current mission. Rick had gone to her cell late that night when neither of them could sleep… it was something she tried to put out of her mind for the time being, yet that memory would play itself out in her mind day after day…

…Bewildered, she sat up quickly when she heard someone gently rapping the bars of her

cell. It was past midnight, and everyone was expected to be either asleep or on watch.

A moment later, she felt the tension in her chest ease up as she made out Rick's form

peering into her cell, spilling dim moonlight into the tiny room as he pushed the curtain

aside,"You awake?" he called softly.

"Yeah what's up?" she answered, only slightly alarmed now. She placed her feet onto

the floor.

"Nothing…nothing like that, just stay there. Relax," he said. He glanced around before

Dropping the curtain, cloaking himself in shadows as he leaned against the corner wall.

Neither of them bothered to turn on a lamp, giving their eyes a chance to adjust to

the scant light.

"Okay…"

He could hear the uncertainty that tinged her voice, but was at a loss for how

to say what he needed to say.

After a few moments of silence, Michonne became anxious, "What is it?" she asked,

keeping her voice low, "Are you OK?"

The concern in her voice made him smile, and feel like a complete jackass all at once.

"I'm fine," he said, still speaking to her from the dark corner, "it's just that, I've been

thinking. Couldn't get myself to stop. Yesterday, when we went to check the snares,

what you said, about killing walkers? That it gets the bad shit out. It makes you feel

something, feel alive, am I getting this right?"

"Perfectly, but Rick, I-"

"And when you go out looking for-for him. That's part of it too, right?"

"Maybe, but Rick, I've never really thought about it like tha-"

"I think there are much, much nicer ways to deal with it. The bad shit, I mean. Something

you won't hate. Is it really worth going out there and needlessly endangering yourself?

If you get hurt or captured…I don't think that's the answer. I just don't think more bad shit

is the answer. I don't think that's what you need at all."

"Hmm," she said after a few moments of silence, "and what is it exactly that you think

I do need, Rick?"

He stepped closer to where she sat and stooped down, nearly causing her to jump out

of her skin when he placed his hands on her thighs, firmly squeezing, and smoothing

them towards her hips.

"Oh…"

The surprise Rick detected in her voice gave way to a playfully seductive tone,

causing his pulse to quicken.

She leaned down towards him, feeling a mischievous grin spread across her face,

"Are you gonna give me a thigh massage now?" she whispered into his ear.

He felt the light, scratchy texture of her dreads tickle across his neck and shoulders

as she brought her face close to his. He chuckled softly, "Maybe…."

he said, kissing her. "Do you trust me?" he asked quietly.

"You know I do."

She could hardly even remember how they'd come to mutually agreeing

to this but it was done wordlessly as they fumbled around in the dark. She made no

protest when he sat on her bunk next to her and proceeded to untie the drawstring

of her pajama pants as he kissed her, she helped him even, although he stopped

her when she tried to unbutton his shirt or reach for his zipper. He palmed her

through her flimsy night shirt before she pulled it up and over her head. His beard prickled

against her neck as his kissed her, pressing her onto her back. Rick's hands and lips moved

down her abdomen to her thighs. He tried to find a comfortable position on the tiny bunk

before deciding it was better that he kneel, pulling her to the edge of the mattress.

What Rick couldn't quite express in words, he expressed skillfully using his hands, mouth

and tongue.

Her mind went completely blank when the rhythmic motions of his fingers and mouth

drove her over the edge. She felt as though parts of her became feverishly hot and liquid,

melting into his touch as she gripped his hair and ground her body into him, her

breathing heavy yet controlled as to not make too much noise.

His touch, every carnal caress, transported her to another place, a safe place where

they could carelessly indulge in such a way as much as they wanted to, a place far from

walkers or violent psychopaths and the constant threat of death and loss.

She found him gazing fervidly up at her when she'd finally opened her eyes, not knowing

how long she'd kept them squeezed shut, her chest hitching as she caught her breath.

He slowly moved to kiss her, dragging his mouth up her body as he did so.

When their mouths met, she sampled her own salty-sweetness, thrilling her to no end.

Not quite panting, Rick's chest rose and fell heavily against her, the

heat and the weight of him pressing into her roused something dangerously unbridled

within her, and she very nearly preyed that he wouldn't ask to stay. There was no way

she'd ever be able to say no to him. Not right now, anyway.

They stared at each other, both shocked that they'd allowed themselves to indulge in each

other this much, and so, so soon.

"I'd better go…"

She nodded, albeit hesitantly. She wanted nothing more than to have him to lay next to

her as she came down from their little tryst, but she knew that would lead to a very, very

long night for the both of them. They'd likely never want to face reality again.

Rick stared down at her for a moment longer, perhaps waiting, hoping for her to change

her mind. When she didn't, he helped her back into her night clothing. She lifted her

bum as he pulled her panties and pajama pants over her hips. He stood

carefully, his movements slow and stiff-legged, for obvious reasons.

He stepped into the shadows of her dark cell as he watched her push herself into a

sitting position to finish getting dressed.

"Goodnight, Michonne," he murmured before once again spilling soft moonlight into

her cell as he exited.

She watched him leave in shocked silence as she concentrated on slowing her rapidly

beating heart.

"Goodnight, Rick," she breathed, although she knew it was too soft for him to have heard her…

…Sudden movement in her periphery brought her back to the present as Daryl waved his hand and whistled softy, "Hey, U still here?"

She merely cut her eyes over to him, irritated by the interruption. How much had Rick told him?

"You gonna answer my question?"

"Forget about it. I'll just sit here and freeze," she snapped. "Asshole."

Her sudden shift in mood caused Daryl to glance curiously at her. He flicked his cigarette into the fire, and knelt, rummaging through his knapsack. He tossed a wool blanket towards her, barely missing her head, but she caught it, and wrapped it around her shoulders. It smelled of him, stale cig butts and body soil, but it was warm and comforting.

"Get some rest," Daryl said gently, "I'll take first watch…"

…She'd never admit it to anyone now, but in a previous life she had spent enough time on to know that the bleached denim wings were hand-stitched onto Daryl's vest, with the black outlines of the feathers carefully done with heavy black thread, and not embroidered at all, as she'd first thought. The edges of the wings were left unhemmed and frayed, giving them a rough, rugged appearance.

"Quit starin' at my ass," Daryl quipped loudly over his shoulder, startling her.

Michonne sighed and quickly scanned their surroundings. Still uneventful and quiet, she thought lamely to herself as she continued to occupy her mind with thoughts of home.