Wash notes the way she seems to trail off a little, talking about Earth. It's safe here, she says, nothing breathing down your neck -- certainly not anything like the Earth people always talked of, what they were always taught to dream of. He keeps his gaze on the horse, stroking his fingers gently over her neck, but he's watching her, out of the corner of his eye, studying her carefully.

She seems young. Too young for a war -- or worse, apparently, where she's from.

"Is it really safer for you here, than back home?"