The vampire's fangs glistened wet in the moonlight. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he prepared to launch a final, deadly assault, but it never came. There was a flash of movement from behind the vampire, and suddenly he was gone.

Buffy whirled instantly, the scurrying shadows forgotten in favor of the sudden rustling from behind. One of the larger sticks was poised in her hand like a weapon, held aloft in strike position. She blinked at the raised stake, which she apparently didn't remember brandishing, and a strange expression crossed her features for a moment. Regardless, however, she pushed cautiously forward, parting the bushes and peering into the dense foliage. She waited for several heartbeats, her senses straining, but there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Still on alert, Buffy stepped back and began re-gathering the dropped firewood. With a final inspection of the surroundings, she made her way back to the campsite.

The silent trees remained vigilant in her wake, but not all were uninhabited. Loitering sure-footed -on a sturdy branch some fifteen to twenty feet above the ground, stood Oringo. In his fist, he clutched the lapels of the vampire who, only moments before, had been preparing to attack Buffy. The miserable creature was suspended like a rag doll that had lost most of its stuffing. Oringo's darkly piercing eyes followed Buffy as she moved away. He paid no attention to the muted gurgling of his captive, the only sounds possible from a throat that had been ripped to shreds.

Oringo gave the wretched vampire a shake. "Chad. Who do you think that is?" he asked, seeming to be disappointed.

In helpful fashion, Oringo rotated the vampire a few degrees so Chad dangled in Buffy's direction. For Buffy's part, although still proceeding with due caution, she was unaware of the events transpiring some distance behind.

"Think hard," said Oringo patiently. "I'll wait."

Finally, Chad managed a strangled splutter that may or may not have been an answer. With a sigh, Oringo returned the hapless vampire to his former position and hoisted him a little higher so they were face to face. He looked vaguely offended, like an instructor accustomed to only the best and brightest being forced to tutor a sub-par student.

"A Slayer, Chad," he told him, frustration beginning to creep into his voice, laced with an undertone of anger. "A Slayer. And if you'd killed her, what do you think would have happened, hm?" He waited and shook Chad again for good measure. "Lots more Slayers. The whole bloody Watcher's Council, that's what! Here! Now!"

Taking a deep breath, Oringo battled to regain his composure.

"This, Chad," he said calmly and quietly, "is why we have briefings."

Origino's prominently etched features gleamed like polished ebony by the light of the moon. He stared for a long while into Chad's eyes, as though he were probing the brain to see if any of this was getting through. The prisoner kicked his feet feebly as wet sounds bubbled sickly from a gaping hole where his throat used to be. Plainly unimpressed, Oringo allowed the vampire to drop unceremoniously from his hand.

Chad's descent was rapid, but abruptly halted about halfway down the trunk when he became impaled, with pinpoint accuracy, on the dual tines of a forked bough. He exploded into a cloud of dust, which was still spiraling as Oringo, with the agility of a panther, leapt from his perch and passed through its core. He landed with confident grace, disturbing not a single leaf lying on the forest floor. Straightening, he brushed himself off with an air of disdain and made his way deeper into the woods, away from Buffy.

He eventually arrived at a large clearing, three or four times the size of any campsite. A small group of robed figures, perhaps six in number, were slowly circling the perimeter of the clearing, their lips moving in silent chant. Scattered at strategic intervals were individual vampires, positioned to stand guard. These vampires were clothed in the same uniform worn by the now departed Chad. Indeed, Oringo was similarly dressed, except that his attire sported a distinctive ribbon of slim gold braid decorating the lapels and cuffs of his jacket.

Ignoring the posted guards, who kept their eyes diverted and their spines straight while maintaining an ever-watchful vigil, Oringo proceeded directly to the robed individuals. As he moved closer, it was clear that these too were vampires, although the symbols on their dark green garments suggested an association with the magickal arts. All were in a deep trancelike state, heavily involved in the process of a complex ritual.

"We're pulling out," Oringo announced with authority.

At the declaration, the uniformed vampires immediately sprang into action. With silent and swift efficiency, they set to work clearing the site. The robed individuals, however, did not seem to have heard the urgent command.

"Hey," said Oringo sharply, seizing one of the mystics by the arm. She stared through him as though he didn't exist, lips continuing to form the words of her soundless incantation. He snapped his fingers in front of her face, and eventually she emerged from the depths of her spellbound reverie. "Pack it up, we're leaving," he told her.

She blinked, slowly at first and then more rapidly as his words sunk in. "But we've only barely started." She was quite indignant "The location of the nexus must be precise. Even one millimeter off and—"

"I know," Oringo told her, grabbing another mage by the scruff of the neck as he glided along. "I don't care. Slayers are here."

The second mystic, having been so rudely awakened, recovered from his trance much faster than the first and when it became apparent that the ceremony had been disturbed, the remainder also quickly reentered the realm of reality.

"Slayers?" queried the first vampire sage with something of a sneer. "But ... surely you can handle a few Slayers."

Oringo refused to be goaded.

"My orders are not to 'handle' them," he said briskly. "And neither are yours. They'll learn of us when we're ready, and not one second before."

"But the nexus—"

"—will still be there. Go."

Unwilling and even somewhat fearful of crossing Oringo any further, the mystic signaled for her companions to gather their paraphernalia. With narrowed eyes, Oringo surveyed the clearing, his gaze coming to rest on the direction Buffy had taken.

At the campsite, Faith was in the process of telling a story. The Scoobies were gathered around attentively, all except Tara. Her ear's attention was definitely elsewhere. She sat off to one side, leaning over, her head mere inches from the ground as she listened intently. Nearby, Willow stood watch.

"You. Are so. Right!" declared Tara without warning. She straightened, but over-compensated. Still, she managed to retain her balance and seemed inordinately pleased with herself for doing so. She glanced around the immediate area.

"WillWillWillWillWillWill—" she began to chant.

Despite having devoted her full attention to watching Tara and seeing nothing wrong, Willow was instantly alarmed. "What? What is it?"

Tara blinked in Willow's direction but apparently failed to register anything.

"—WillWillWillWillWi—" She abruptly stopped and peered up into Willow's anxious face. "There y'are, finally. C'mere!"

By bending at the waist, Willow was already face-level to Tara. But that was clearly insufficient, as she suddenly found herself being wrestled all the way to the ground. Tara's arms were firmly clamped around Willow's neck and there was no escape. The pair tumbled backward and Tara giggled with glee.

Willow stared disconsolately at the overhead stars. "When's Sober Tara coming home again?" she asked with a plaintive sigh.

"Mr. Grass has a secret for you!" Tara confided in a loud stage whisper.

Struggling to sit upright and pulling Willow with her, she carefully scoped out her surroundings to make sure there were no unwanted eavesdroppers. She needn't have worried. Everyone else seemed perfectly content to leave the Tara Wrangling to Willow as they continued to listen to Faith's tale.

"Weebles wobble but they don't fall down," murmured Tara with a knowing nod.

But her neck bones appeared to turn to rubber at the movement and she was unable to maintain her equilibrium. Lurching sideways, she flopped into Willow's lap.

Arching an eyebrow, Willow gazed at the snuggling Tara with an indulgent smile. "Hate to break this to ya, baby, but I think you fail at Weeble."

With a short and barking laugh, Tara acknowledged the sentiment with a broad grin and a hiccup.

"I looooove you."

Willow shook her head with amusement. "Okay, okay, Drunk Tara can stay a little bit longer."

Faith, meanwhile, was fully engaged in her story. "So we wind up at some recycling plant, right," she said, leaning forward, "and I tell the guy, 'For the last time, buzz off!' Well you can guess how that went down, and he comes runnin' at me. I'm ready for him this time though. So I wait 'til just the last second and pull one'a those judo body flip things? Bam!" She punched a fist into her open palm. "Right in the crushed glass. Do my thing, and that's that." Sitting back, she let out a most contented sigh. "Hell of a night. Sure learned my lesson though."

Giles turned to Xander with a puzzled frown. Xander shrugged. He had nothing.

Polishing his glasses, Giles threw Faith an inquiring glance. "And, uhm, what- what was that exactly?"

"Never use blue ink," Faith advised, tapping a cigarette from her pack. Then, sensing a swift approach through the gloom beyond the camp, she quickly turned.

Everyone immediately tracked Faith's gaze, eyes straining to penetrate the darkness. Everyone that is except Tara, who was focused solely on Willow and busy informing her with no small amount of wonder that she was, "Oooooh sooo verrrry special."

Within seconds Buffy emerged into the firelight, her arms laden with assorted kindling. Casting a brief look over her shoulder, she frowned and then joined the group.

Xander stood to relieve Buffy of her load. "Finally," he said, tossing a handful of dry twigs into the sputtering flames. "What'd you do, grow your own tree?"

But Buffy chose to ignore the jibe. "Hey, has anyone felt like maybe there's something weird going on?"

"I want sixteen pecans! Not fifteen, sixteen," demanded Tara.

Willow looked at Buffy with a blank expression. "Yes."

But Buffy impatiently waved that aside. "I mean, something weird without a reason. Something US-weird."

"I can't say I've noticed anything particularly unusual," pondered Giles. "Faith?"

Faith puffed on her cigarette and shook her head. "I ain't seen a 7-11 in like eight hours. My concept of weird's waaay off."

Both Willow and Xander also shook their heads, but the negative assurances did little to ease Buffy's nagging instinct.

"I just got serious vibeage in the forest," said Buffy soberly. "I think there's something out there."

Giles was somewhat doubtful. "It is possible you're simply not used to being in this environment," he offered. "The open air, the- the lack of traffic, the sheer number of creatures that must inhabit this area ..."

"Yeah," agreed Buffy, "and it's the creatures I'm worried about. There's a lot of people up here with no clue what could really be out there."

Xander was eager for a little action. "I've got a marshmallow stick and a day's worth of stubble," he announced. "Let's do this."

"All right," agreed Giles, pushing up from his log. "I suppose a quick patrol of the surrounding area wouldn't go amiss."

The others also got to their feet, including Willow but not so much Tara. She was making a valiant effort and Willow was doing her utmost to help, but it appeared to be a losing battle.

"Will, maybe you and Tara should hold down the fort?" suggested Buffy.

Willow's expression plainly indicated her divided loyalty. "But if there's big nasties out there ..."

"Don't come much bigger an' nastier than this," grinned Faith, jerking her thumb at the group in general.

Giles adjusted his glasses. "Thank you. I think."

"I'm sure it's nothing," said Buffy, dismissing her own concern. "Don't worry. And hey, if nothing turns into something, we have our witchy-powered backup posse."

"She said 'posse'," snorted Tara, breaking into a giggle.

With an amused roll of her eyes, Willow situated Tara safely back on the ground in front of the fire and then sat beside her.

"Me and Giles, you and Xander?" asked Buffy, looking to Faith for verification.

Faith was agreeable. "Works for me."

Giles checked his wristwatch. "We'll meet back here in half an hour?"

There were nods of acknowledgment all round as Buffy and Giles exited to the left, while Faith and Xander veered to the right. The pair remaining behind watched their departure.

"Okay, bye!" called Tara.

At the edge of the clearing, Xander turned to give her a wave. With much enthusiasm, Tara waved back. And then, the two groups were swallowed by the darkness.

Willow patted Tara's hand. "So! What'cha wanna do now?"

"Tell me a story."

Willow was rather pleased with the suggestion. "You got it." She settled herself comfortably. "Once upon a time there was a little—"

"Not you! Silly billy!

Confused, Willow frowned as Tara's attention turned to the campfire.

"You!" she commanded, pointing to the flames and promptly listening with rapt attention.

A dubious expression crossed Willow's face for a moment as she observed the scene. Then she sighed, grabbed the open bag of marshmallows and popped one into her mouth.

The fire blazing in the living room hearth filled the area with a warm and comfortable intimacy. Dawn and Grip sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fireplace grate. The coffee table to the side held an abandoned and forgotten SAT study guide, together with an untouched peanut butter-and-pickle sandwich.

Grip stared into the flames. Deep in thought, he didn't look at Dawn. She had inched as close as she felt appropriate, while still giving Grip plenty of space. She waited patiently, silently, for him to speak, her eyes never leaving his profile.

"A god?" asked Grip eventually.

"A hellgod," Dawn eagerly clarified. " God of Hell. So ... yeah, basically a god, but with extra features."

Grip could do nothing but blink and shake his head a little as he continued to focus forward.

Still, it was a question, and Dawn took her little bit of encouragement and ran with it. "But she'd been reborn and had to share her body with this guy Ben who turned out to be an even bigger slimewad than Glory (if you can imagine it) so she was sort of de-powered from normal hellgod levels."

"And you're a key."

"The Key," Dawn corrected, babbling nervously again. "Capital-K. I know, sort of uncreative. I think I'd rather be, I dunno. The Parmposet. Or some other weird word those Dragon Dungeon geeks use."

She attempted a smile as Grip turned toward her. He searched her face with his dark brown eyes, apparently seeking something. Dawn willingly bore the scrutiny, returning Grip's gaze with a candid expression until he looked away again.

"Are you ..." He swallowed. "Are you human?"

For most people, an easy question to answer, but Dawn wasn't most people. Wanting to be as honest as possible, she gave it serious consideration.

"Yeah," she finally stated with conviction. "But ... more."

Grip's voice became hushed. "Are you a god?"

"If I was a god," Dawn replied with a wry grin, "do you think I would punish myself with Chemistry?"

Her joke succeeded in lessening the tension somewhat, and Grip couldn't help but chuckle.

"I'm not a god," she assured. "I'm the Key." She frowned and shook her head. That wasn't quite right. "I'm Dawn."

Grip focused on Dawn once more. He seemed to be committing her features to memory, perhaps even comparing them to the mental picture of the girl he had first met. There were no visible differences between then and now. As for the differences he couldn't see...

Sighing, Grip faced the fire. "So this god ..." he prompted.

Picking up on the cue, Dawn continued with her story. "It took a while, but she finally figured out that I was the Key. Actually, Tara kind of told her— But accidentally," she was quick to defend, "because she was all mindsucked at the time and—"

She stopped as Grip began to massage his forehead, now even more lost than ever.

"Less details, less confusion. Got it." Dawn hurried back on track. "Glory found out it was me. Me was the Key. And she needed the Key real bad for her ritual to get back to her home hell dimension."

Grip's brows knitted as he made a supreme effort to reconcile within his brain the fantastical details he was hearing. Still, he maintained his silence and listened without interruption.

"We'd been fighting her for months," Dawn explained. "But nothing was really working. She was just too powerful. So Buffy decided we'd run for it. She just, boom, dropped everything to try and keep me safe."

A tiny smile crossed Dawn's lips and the words were delivered with no small amount of affectionate pride. But the mood didn't linger.

"Unfortunately we got caught by these Knights of Byzantium guys – think way obsessed Dragon Dungeon geeks – and cornered in this old smelly gas station in the middle of the nowhere. That's when Glory found us."

Grip turned sharply to Dawn, looking at her with great concern. Dawn tried to smile reassuringly, but despite herself, she seemed to become smaller and more vulnerable.

"I've never been so scared in my entire life. She was just ..." She tried to laugh, but it came out more like a choked sob. "Really freaking crazy, you know? And all she could talk about was bleeding me to death, a-and saying it like it was a fun thing, like- like we were going to the carnival or something."

Biting her lip, Dawn stared at the ceiling, fighting to keep from reliving that night any more than she already was.

Deep as she was in her own thoughts, it was with surprise that she felt something warm and familiar. She looked down to see that Grip had taken her hand in his own and was gently squeezing her fingers, offering whatever comfort he was able to give. She turned her head toward him to find his expression no longer reflecting anger or hurt or disbelief – only caring.

Another sobbing laugh bubbled from Dawn's throat, but this one echoed with gratitude. Rubbing her nose and giving a huge sniff, she took a deep breath and continued.

"I tried so hard to be brave." Her expression took on one of defiance. "I kept telling Glory that Buffy was coming, that Buffy would kick her lame-o god ass all the way to hell personally. Even when they made me put on the ritual gown, even on the top of that tower, even after they started slicing me open—" Alarmed, Grip squeezed her fingers even tighter, but Dawn didn't notice. "I knew Buffy would save me."

Dawn lifted her chin and treated him to an extremely proud smile. "And you know what? She did."

Her eyes were shining wet, and Dawn swiped her free hand across them. "Buffy beat a god for me. Buffy di—"

But she stopped short, unwilling to jump straight to the end. Calming again, she continued in a more sober tone.

"Like I said, they cut me up pretty good. With the blood already flowing, there wasn't anything anybody could do. The walls between dimensions were falling, and everything started spilling in and mixing together. Demons and monsters and every nightmare you've ever had. And it was growing. The ritual needed blood, and until it had enough, it was going to get worse."

Realizing Grip was still squeezing her fingers, she reciprocated with a smile. He nodded encouragingly, providing her with support to continue.

"I should've died on that tower, Grip." His face displayed open anxiety at that statement. "And I tried, you know? I was ready to do what I had to, to save the everybody. But Buffy saved me from that, too. Buffy died for me."

Having made it that far, Dawn blinked with some surprise. Telling the whole story, to someone who didn't have their own overriding memories of that horrible night, seemed to have been a unexpected catharsis. Bolstered by both that sensation and the fact that Grip hadn't already fled the scene – was, in fact, still there and holding her hand – Dawn continued. Her voice adopted a distinctly lighter tone.

"That summer was just, oh my god, the worst. We had to make sure nobody knew that—"

But Grip was not sharing her enthusiasm. Far from being freed from a burden, he looked as though he'd just been told to carry the entire Library of Alexandria through an obstacle course. And there seemed to be one focal point in particular, one hurdle that he couldn't quite leap.

"Buffy's dead?"

"Oh, well, not now, of course," replied Dawn, still obliviously riding her cathartic high. "Willow brought her back."

Grip's complexion grew even more pallid. For some reason, he now felt compelled to talk in a whisper. "Willow can bring back the dead?"

"Not all the dead," admitted Dawn. "It's pretty complicated, trust me. Like, she couldn't bring Tara back when—"

The small amount of blood that still colored Grip's face dissipated in its entirety. "Tara's dead?"

Dawn chafed his hand sympathetically.

"These are really a bunch of different stories we're kinda mashin' into one here." She tossed him something of a self-depreciating smirk. "I have a lot of stories."

Grip remained shell-shocked. "Yeah, I'm seeing that."

Slowly, he disentangled his fingers, and Dawn began to realize that Grip was not sharing in her jubilant mood. As quickly as she rose, she crashed.

Running his newly-liberated hand through his hair, Grip tried to organize his thoughts.

"I meant what I said, Dawn," he told her, and there was no doubting his sincerity. "I want to understand. Not being with you ..." He shook his head slowly. "It feels like I'll never be happy again if you're not around. But—"

"Can't we just forget the 'but's and focus on the first part?" Dawn asked, but without genuine hope.

"But," Grip insisted, "all this. Gods and vampires and Slayers and ... and Keys. I don't— What am I supposed to think?"

Despite everything she had said, everything he had heard, one thing remained clear. "You still don't believe me."

"I want to believe you, I swear I do," Grip insisted. "Just that—"

"Proof," Dawn finished for him.

"What?"

"You need proof."

"I ..." Grip puffed and thought about it. "Yeah? I dunno ... Maybe? Maybe something to—"

"It's okay," Dawn said soberly. "I get that. You need proof?"

Extending both hands in front of her, palms upward, Dawn closed her eyes and began to concentrate, her brow becoming deeply furrowed. Grip watched the theatrics with an unmistakably skeptical eye. But then a green glow materialized, hovering over Dawn's hands. Instinctively, Grip leaned back, regarding Dawn with nervous anxiety. She continued to focus as the glow intensified. Across the room, a similar radiance emanated from inside a large wooden chest. Slowly, deliberately, and with perhaps a touch more drama than was entirely necessary, Dawn's fingers began to curl as though she was grasping the light itself. Just as both her hands formed fists, the dual glows escalated to their highest points of illumination. Just as quickly as they had flared, they dissipated, and Dawn was left clutching two sharpened stakes, one in each hand.

She gave one to Grip, who accepted it more from automatic courtesy than anything else. He stared at the pointed stick with amazement while Dawn hefted the one she held in a very business-like fashion. She nodded with confidence.

"I'll give you proof."

In the depths of the forest, the silence was shattered by the sound of footsteps running, accompanied by much huffing and puffing. Tree branches rustled violently at the rapid approach, and it wasn't long before Xander and Faith galloped through the foliage. Rounding the nearest tree, they hid behind the thick trunk, each peering out from either side. After a second or two, they threw each other a quick glance and nodded. The coast was clear.

The immediate danger past, the two burst into gales of laughter. Folded almost entirely in half, Faith fought to regain control. For his part, Xander slid down the trunk and collapsed onto the forest floor, kicking his legs and making a supreme effort to stifle his booming laughter for fear of attracting unwanted attention.

"Did you— Did you see her face?" panted Faith, still doubled over.

Xander threw himself wholeheartedly into a fresh bout of hilarity. "That wasn't all I saw!" he wheezed.

Faith roared and leaned on the tree for support while Xander clutched as his sides and rolled back and forth on a blanket of leaves.

"Oh man, and the—" Xander wiped his streaming eyes. "The way you went chargin' in there!"

Faith brandished her stake high and, her voice deepened due to the weight of the extra bravado it now carried, heroically announced, "Don't worry, I'll save you!"

This set them both into a fresh bout of uncontrollable laughter.

"Serious— Seriously," choked Faith struggling for composure. "I thought he was gonna kill you."

Inhaling deeply, Xander managed to sit up straight, his chuckles beginning to subside. "Me too, for a second there." His eyes began to well up again. "Until he fell tryin' to get his pants on and brought the whole tent down!"

Within seconds, it was as though the laughter had never stopped. No longer concerned with keeping a low profile, they both gave up trying to keep the noise to a minimum, and just allowed the giggle fit to run its course. Eventually, when it seemed like much less of a losing battle, they were able to exert some control.

Leaning over, Faith offered Xander a hand, which he graciously accepted. With Faith's help, he brushed himself clean of dry twigs and dead leaves.

"Ahhhh," sighed Xander contentedly. "So, evil?"

Faith shrugged. "Got another five minutes to kill, why not?"

In amiable silence, they made their way along the overgrown path, alert but casual about it. Xander was the first to break the hush.

"So Faith," he broached, capitalizing on the jovial atmosphere. "We haven't really talked a whole lot lately. How've you been?" He gave her a sideways glance. "With, you know ... Hazel and everything."

"Forget me," Faith was quick to dismiss. "What's this I hear about you finally hoppin' back in the dating pool?"

"What?" he exclaimed, obviously taken aback. "How did you hear about that? And hey, don't change the subject!"

"Heard she's a helluva looker too," smirked Faith, twirling her stake like a baton.

Xander gave a soppy grin. "Yeah, she is pretty— Hey! You did it again! Stop that!"

"Firefighter too, huh?" Faith pushed. "Bet she can put out your flame any time she—"

"Faith, I mean it," warned Xander.

With a sigh of aggravation, Faith pulled up short and turned to Xander.

"Look," she told him. "It's as much a surprise to me as anyone, but I'm actually having fun this weekend. I really don't wanna take a crap all over that right now, okay?"

With no small amount of reluctance, Xander nodded his agreement. "Okay. But later, we're talking about this."

"Rain check, signed, sealed, delivered," confirmed Faith, and the patrol continued.

"So this new girl," she resumed. "You two all serious?"

"Not all serious," Xander replied. "Maybe one-seventy-fifths serious."

"Little too serious for my tastes, but whatever rocks your boat."

They continued for another few paces.

"She rockin' your boat yet?" asked Faith with a sly grin, oblivious to Xander's much-suffering groan.

In a different area of the forest, Giles and Buffy were exploring and investigating without much luck. Giles checked his watch and surveyed the surrounding quiet.

"We ought to be heading back now," he advised. "I don't think there's anything particularly strange out here ... save for the incessant need to put food on sticks."

"Yeah, all's quiet on the wooden front," Buffy confirmed and then shook her head. "I swear I felt something."

"Well, perhaps you frightened it away with your remarkably vibrant jacket," said Giles dryly.

With an offended expression, Buffy regarded her jacket – perfectly normal by Buffy-standards – and glared at Giles' retreating back for a satisfyingly long moment before following.

They had gone no more than a few yards before Buffy reached out and grabbed his sleeve. Giles had heard it too, a distinct rustling in the undergrowth. Buffy gestured for Giles to move to one side. He complied, picking up a sturdy branch in the process. Buffy moved across from him, makeshift stake at the ready. They waited in silence for the rustling to come closer, which it did. Closer and closer until the foliage eventually parted.

Stepping out of the gloom came the Ranger. He blinked at Giles, tree branch reared back to strike, and then at Buffy, stick aloft in her hand. He nodded affably to both of them.

"Hey. You two playin' a game?"

Giles looked at the hefty branch he was holding and quickly hid it behind his back.

"Yeah," said Buffy. "We're playing ... hide and go stake."

The Ranger nodded and gave them the thumbs-up. "Most excellent."

"I assume you are the, uhm ... primary authority for- for this area?" asked Giles, settling his glasses on his nose.

"Huh?" queried the Ranger in jovial but puzzled fashion.

Giles sighed. "You're in charge?"

"Oh, yeah!" came the reply. "11 to 6, every night!"

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Have you noticed anything ... weird?"

The Ranger considered the question for a moment. "Saw a bunny rabbit playin' blackjack with an anchovy. That was pretty weird," he offered.

Giles regarded the other man with an extremely odd expression. He looked to Buffy, who promptly made a flapping motion by the side of her head, while gazing heavenward and making an "ooo" shape with her lips. Giles turned back to the Ranger.

"Have you perchance come to observe anything especially untoward with regard to this forest's temporary human inhabitants?" he inquired politely.

"Huh?"

"Now you're doing it on purpose," hissed Buffy under her breath.

"Maybe a little," Giles admitted, also under his breath.

Buffy translated. "Have you noticed anything weird about the campers?"

"Oh!" He thought long and hard. "No, not really. They don't stay too long, but Uncle Max says ..." He frowned and seemed to be probing the mysterious depths of his memory bank. "'That is to be expected during the bitter winter months and shouldn't be a concern'."

He grinned, extremely pleased with his powers of instant recall.

Giles ignored him utterly. "I really don't think there's anything here, Buffy."

"You need snacks or somethin'?" asked the Ranger in friendly fashion, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. "I got a mini-fridge back at the cabin."

"Your generous offering is most cordial indeed," Giles told him. "Nevertheless we must regretfully decline in lieu of an exceedingly crucial engagement elsewhere."

The Ranger looked from Buffy to Giles and then to Buffy again. "Huh?" he queried.

"Maybe next time," said Buffy.

"Cool!" he declared happily. "Catch you later!"

They watched him continue on his merry way before going off on their own.

Buffy was obviously amused, but she tried to hide the fact. "You are such a snob sometimes."

"I'm a Watcher," said Giles with an air of warranted superiority. "We're trained to be."

Upon their arrival at the campsite, they found that Xander and Faith had already returned. The pair was sitting close to Willow, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. Providing stark contrast, Tara was utterly inanimate. Sprawled on the ground with her head cradled in Willow's lap, her mouth was wide open and, at regular intervals, a soft snore escaped from her lips.

Willow turned to Giles and Buffy. "Find anything?"

Hands in his pockets, Giles looked up at the moon. "No intelligent life to speak of."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "We found the guy in charge of the campsite. No joy luck there either." With a sigh, she threw herself down next to Willow. "Just another case of paranoia Buffy."

"Better paranoid than paradead," said Willow firmly.

"Yeah, it's all good," agreed Xander, resting against a log with his legs stretched out in front of him. The open bag of marshmallows was in his lap. "Now we can enjoy a wiggins-free weekend."

"Thanks, guys," said Buffy. She inclined her chin toward Tara. "So what's up with Sleeping Beauty?"

Willow regarded the comatose Tara with much fondness. "She conked out about ten minutes ago. This was after talking to the grass and getting into a fistfight with a pine cone for talkin' crap about me." She flailed small punches into the air by way of effect and grinned.

"Yeah, your girlfriend's weird," Faith confirmed with a nod.

Again came Willow's most intimidating glare. Again, Faith didn't appear to be overly concerned.

"I think Tara's paving the way for us all," observed Xander. "But first there are some who are shirking their storytelling duties."

Brightening, Buffy raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"So cough us up a story, Will," said Xander.

With a thinly disguised huff, Buffy slumped back to the ground, just as Willow rose to the challenge.

"Story, story ... Okay!" She stated with delight.

Clearing her throat in readiness, Willow settled herself and managed to nudge the side of Tara's head in the process. Annoyed at being disturbed, Tara gave a strange whiny growl and swatted in Willow's general direction but didn't awaken.

"Once upon a time," Willow began, "there was beautiful unicorn, who lived in the field of Evershine. All day, the unicorn would play with the butterflies, eat dandelions and drink from the Sweetwater River. One day—"

"Boo. Boooo," heckled Xander.

"Lame," sneered Faith.

"Mega-lame," Buffy agreed.

Giles didn't lend much in the way of support either. "It does seem a little ... saccharine?"

Willow regarded the group with a "hrmph", but was determined not to give up. Once more, she cleared her throat.

"Okay," she began again. "Once upon a time, there was a poor little orphan girl. Her only friend in the whole wide world was her stuffed dog Horace, and she wanted more than anything for Horace to be real. So one night, when she saw a falling star, she closed her eyes and wished and wished—"

The heckler returned with a vengeance. "Again I say booo."

"I look eight to you?" asked Faith.

"Work with your target audience, Will," advised Buffy. "Not against them."

Giles simply stared. "Horace?"

Although somewhat disgruntled, Willow refused to be brought down. She took a deep breath, thought long and hard for a moment, and with a wicked grin, prepared for another try.

"In the very heart of the Black Forest," she began, speaking slowly and dramatically while using her best creepy, low voice, "there lived a creature so vile, so evil that the local villagers refused to even say its name, for fear it would hear them ... and come for them."

There were no protestations this time. Very pleased and bolstered by the lack of interruption, Willow threw herself into the story with even more energy.

"The beast stood six— No, no, seven feet tall, wi-with skin as black as evil itself and huge hollow sockets where its eyes should be but instead there were living flames just- just shooting out." Her fingers jabbed outward from her eyes, illustrating said flames.

"And no nose! And huge, razor-sharp claws on each hand, and the teeth!" She gave a mock snarl. "Its mouth went from ear to ear, a-a-and when it opened its mouth there were tw- thr- five rows of giant dagger-like teeth that could grind bone into powder in less than a second, and when it roared, i-it sounded like—"

Everyone – except Tara, who was still blissfully dead to the world – jumped as a thunderous and bellowing growl suddenly echoed around the campsite. It was spine-chilling, ear-splitting, mind-blowing. All the horrific sounds of creation combined into one terrifying symphony.

"—that!" finished Willow in a tiny squeak.

The threatening growl was quickly followed by another. Even Tara stirred grumpily and then opened her eyes. Despite the instinctive fear the sound produced, it didn't take long for the Scoobies to move into alert mode. Scrambling to their feet – Willow unceremoniously displacing Tara's head in the process – they anxiously scanned the surrounding area, but the roar seemed to be assaulting their ears from every conceivable direction. After a few nerve-wracking seconds, Giles spied a movement in the bushes to the left.

"There!"

All eyes turned to look.

"Oh my god, that's it!" announced a stunned Willow. "That's— Hey, I made you up!" she accused the monster, offended that it had the gall to step out of her story and become real.

The creature lumbered toward them and for several agonizing moments, paralysis struck the group as a whole. Still on the ground, Tara sat up unsteadily and swayed a little as she eyed the monstrosity.

"Whoa," she observed with no little awe. "Thassa big cat."