. . . “Gorramit, crazy, give that back!” Jayne lunges across the empty dining table, sending a lone tin cup clattering.

Dancing out of reach, River uses both hands to pull the bright orange hat lower on her head. “She would be warm.”

“You’ll be a damn sight colder if I shove you out the airlock.” He starts inching around the table. “Now give me what’s mine.”

“Not that kind of cold.” River rolls her eyes. “The more important kind – the inside kind. Cold of eyes and cold of heart …” Staring off into some other space, she shivers.

“Hell, girl, if you’re so all fired up about being cold, put boots on like sensible folk.” He dives towards her again, his foot tangling in a chair’s legs so that he stumbles. “Fei-fei de pi-yan!”

River’s legs swirl in her flowing skirt as she runs out of the hatch, two orange tassels flowing behind her with her hair.

Jayne follows, a bellowing, stomping monster of old tales eluded by a laughing sprite who taunts by staying just out of reach.

Pretending to head for the engine room, she sidesteps down the back staircase, bare feet making scarcely a sound. Throwing glances over her shoulder, she leads on toward the cargo bay, skittering through the common room as Jayne yells, “Gou huang tang! I don’t care if you are feng le.”

The catwalk clangs with the pounding of his boots as he chases her around and around and up and down the stairs of the large space.

After multiple circuits, Jayne gives up shouting, puffing heavily, and even River’s laughter has become fairy-faint with breathlessness.

He slumps onto the stairs, leaning forwards, arms on knees.

River returns to sit a few steps below, turned sideways to half face him.

Their breathing eventually calms to quietness.

Gesturing toward her with one hand, Jayne says, “My mama made me that hat.”

“I know.” All playfulness gone from her face, River pulls it from her head and lowers it to her lap, eyes transfixed upon the orange handiwork. “She used to sing me lullabies.”

“What?” His brow furrows. “Who?”

“My mother.” River turns the hat over and over, petting the soft yarn. “She used to sing that I was her precious baby and she’d always love me.”

Jayne looks down at the hat in River’s hands.

“It’s warm,” she says, holding it out to him.

“Yeah, well.” His arm half raises before dropping to his thigh, and Jayne clears his throat. “I … hell, I think all this here running’s done got me warmed up enough for the time being, so why don’t you go ahead and hang on to that there for a bit.”

Her smile, as she pulls the orange hat firmly down over her ears, speaks nothing of cold. . . . fei-fei de pi-yan – baboon’s butt crack gou huang tang – enough of this nonsense feng le – loopy in the head . . .