This is not the place my children.  You cannot stay. Live until you can reach me, reach home.

Clumps of soil fall from her fingers along with the last of her hope.  She stands with the prongs of the children’s jacks she’s harvested from the burnt earth pressed deep into her palm.  She concentrates on the pain.  She needs it.   

My child walks slowly pass the other members of the landing parties’ unseen, until she reaches the shoreline.  Kneeling there she looks deep, searching for any signs of life.   Only her image stares back at her, devoid of the rage filling her, strangling her.   But I can feel her struggle, hear her unshed tears.

Walking back to the closest transport, her mind screams out to me that the refuge she has waited so long for is denied to her again.  Inside the Raptor she sits immobile, frozen as tears finally fill her eyes, blurring her vision. 

When you are empty of tears, look to the East, to the valley beyond the hills. 

She wipes her eyes, leans out an opening for the owner of the voice, for me.  There is no one near.  Her eyes locked on the hills a full click from her current position.   The rational part of her mind says the voice is an illusion, something her mind has made up to cope with her disappointment.  But the part of her that needs something, some hope to hold onto says the voice was real; that it is a sign from God and that she should heed its call.  That part of her that is a part of me pushes her to, go… see…reach out to the improbable.

As she reaches the base of the range of hills, my voice, a quiet whisper pushes her to go farther, to see past what her eyes tell her, that there was nothing to be found but radiated trees and dead vegetation.  She moves upward, grabbing onto what she can find to add her progress.  Dead soil rolls under her boots making each step as uncertain as she has been since stepping onto the now desolate ball of rock.  Near the top a breeze flows past her, filled with the scent of fresh water and flowers.  Her feet move faster, each step more important than the last.  Over the crest and several yards down the other side, she stops her breathing labored, her stomach tight with anxiety.   My voice fills her head again.

This requires patience.  If you can live for yet a while longer, struggle for a few more breaths then all that you see is possible. 

The images my voice imagines fill her head becoming so loud that she covers her human ears and shuts her human eyes.   Time passes and in silence she opens her eyes focusing on the terrain before her.  From where she kneels to the horizon are acres of chlorophyll filled green grasses, stands of trees heavy with leaves, and small shrubs covered in vibrant colored flowers and fruit.   The air buzzes with insect life and the sound of running water.  She’s afraid to reach out and touch what her eyes transmit as real.  Scared that it will all disappear and with it the last of her sanity.  But the smells and the feel of the fresh breeze are too tempting. 

There’s a fountain of hope…living waters for each of us.

There’s rivers of dreams…flowing heartache of this place. 

She pushes herself forward until she’s inches from the closes tree.  Her hands stroke the rough uneven bark, her arms stretch around its girth, her body presses close.   After a time she leaves her new lover to explore the shrubs near a small body of water.  Her hands reach outward; her fingers crush the moisture filled leaves, releasing a fragrance she’s only dreamed.   Falling to her knees in the soft rich loam, her fingers dig deep into the earth, bringing handfuls of the black soil to her face.  With each breath her heart fills with a new voice; the voice of a stronger hope.

With the taste of life on her tongue she rests her forehead on her clasped hands taking moments to become aware of where she really is.    Lifting her head she finds herself still in the Raptor surrounded now by those seeking the same peace as she.  The staunch warrior-Helo sits across from her, his touch solid.  Behind her the traveler-Admiral Adama and President Roslin sit in silence among their own demons.  They too need in need of peace and she begins to hum the song that I have given to her. 

There are children that flower the trees…

There are voices of people who believe in this place. 

There’s sorrow and sadness here…but there’s heaven and some sunshine too.

The spirit of peace moves free and clear making way for laughter here. 

There are children that flower the trees…there are voices of people who believe in this place…

They live and breathe in this place.

The words that have helped her towards a level of knowing; that if they allow themselves to breathe for moments longer, the children of the Galatica will become the children flowering the trees, at peace for the first time since their first frantic steps onto the battlestar.  

The Raptor rises above what is left of the resting place of the 13th tribe of Kobol, and Anastasia “Dee” Dualla-Adama is filled with the certainty that with each breath she and those around her breath, they will reach that place.  They will find me.  They will find home.

There are children that flower the trees…

There are voices of people who need this place. 

They want to be in this place.

They live and breathe in this place.

The end