“Dude, where’s my horse?” Mal asked the empty field (he was rather fond of that critter — for all the chances the mare’d had to dump him in the mud and drag him through worse, she’d only ever done it once, and considering how drunk he’d been at the time, it might not even have been her fault).

“I don’t think that’s what you oughta be worried about,” muttered Jayne (as usual, too late to be of any help).

“Where,” began Kaylee, gesturing dangerously with a wrench, “is my SHIP?”