In the park, lines of bright yellow tape cordoned off the vicinity around the bushes where the boy's mutilated body had been found. Inside the temporary barricade, detectives meticulously scoured the area for evidence. Some distance away, seated upon a swing in the children's playground, Jemma watched the painstaking search for clues. Her expression was despondent as she swung slowly back-and-forth, the toes of her sneakers cutting grooves in the sand. Lost in deep thought, she failed to notice the shadow that approached from the rear until a tall outline obliterated the pale light of the sun.

"Eddie!" she gasped, looking up in astonishment as the motion of the swing was abruptly halted by a sharp tug on the chains.

Eddie towered over the frail girl and would have easily done so even she hadn't been sitting down. Well-built with broad shoulders and a powerful upper body, Eddie was a little over six feet tall, every square inch of which appeared to be solid muscle. With more than a day's worth of five o'clock shadow gracing his chin, his appearance was disheveled and scruffy. He appeared to have been on the road for some time.

"Hey baby doll," he whispered.

Jemma's eyes opened wide. "I ... I can't believe you're here!" Her voice was laced with apprehension, but she sported a brave smile.

"'Course I'm here," assured Eddie as though there could never have been any doubt. "You an' the kid get all bewitched and seduced by that band ... runnin' off, leavin' me worried sick about you. You think I was gonna leave you in the hands'a those freaks?"

A flash of resentment invaded Jemma's eyes but she quickly disguised it by looking down. "They're not freaks," she replied softly.

"Baby doll," patronized Eddie with a condescending smirk, "'course they're freaks. Goin' around, actin' like they're normal people." Releasing his grip on the chain, he knelt down and peered into her face. The girl flinched involuntarily. "But they're not normal people. Are they?" he asked harshly.

Jemma twisted her hands in her lap. "They just- Something happened to them. To Toby. It's not his fault," she insisted quietly.

Eddie laughed, but the sound lacked any true mirth. "I know that," he snorted. "I don't blame Toby. I've looked after him since he got attacked, haven't I? Haven't I been the only one that understands? That can help him? Help you?"

Jemma sniffed and fought to suppress the tears. "But he wasn't getting better."

Eddie ran his fingers through his dark wavy hair. "There's no gettin' better from this," he sneered. "There's only control. He doesn't have, we have to have it for him."

Jemma voiced a meek protest. "But ... But Oz, he says—"

The expression on Eddie's face grew ugly. He got to his feet and jerked angrily upon the chains of the swing. "'Oz'. That the one who made you run away from me?"

"He didn't make me, I ..." responded the girl, cowering beneath the looming presence.

Eddie's eyes narrowed. "What? You what?"

Jemma sat very still. "Nothing," she muttered fearfully.

Blowing out a huge sigh, Eddie stroked the girl's hair. The gesture wasn't particularly gentle, being more possessive and domineering. Jemma smothered the urge to instantly recoil from his touch.

"Baby doll," said Eddie firmly, "you know I love you. I've only ever loved you. An' because I love you, I'm here to give you a choice."

He jutted his chin toward the crime scene and forced her head to turn in the same direction. "I know what happened here. An' you do too. Don't you?" Not replying the girl struggled to look away from the miserable sight.

Reluctantly, Eddie dropped his hand. "He can't be allowed to run free. I can stop him from huntin' an' killin', you know I can." He massaged the back of her neck, his forceful fingers causing scarlet welts to appear on the delicate skin.

Jemma swallowed nervously. "He's a good kid, Eddie. He doesn't like what you do to him. He doesn't deserve—"

Violently jerking the swing backward, Eddie clenched his hands into tight fists and held them close to his sides. The knuckles shone white and the girl cringed. "Doesn't deserve!!" he roared. "He's a freak. He's a monster! He's—"

From the vicinity of the crime scene, a couple of the detectives looked over at the pair with inquiring glances, their attention from the task at hand broken by the disturbance.

Eddie returned the stares for a moment and then relaxed his body. "The only one here who didn't deserve what he got was that kid your brother ripped to shreds." His tone was calm, but nonetheless accusing. Jemma hung her head, guilt shining from her eyes.

"I can give you until just before sundown, baby doll," Eddie told her, low and menacing. "You meet me here – you an' Toby – an' we'll go back and never talk about this again."

Jemma's gazed at him, her expression unsure and very confused. Her unwillingness to make such a commitment was readily apparent. Eddie smiled, his mouth crooked and cruel.

"If you don't ..." His voice trailed off but the unspoken warning hung in the air. "You know what a Slayer is?"

The girl blinked and regarded him with wide eyes.

"Slayer kills monsters. Monsters like your Toby," he confided. "Don't even bat an eye, just another day on the job for a Slayer. Got Slayers in this town, baby doll, an' believe me, they ain't so much interested in reformin' murderers."

Stretching, Eddie straightened his shoulders and made ready to leave. Jemma watched him with dread.

"Sundown," he reiterated, cracking his knuckles. "Or I find me a Slayer. Toby's gotta be stopped one way or the other. I know you won't let him kill again."

Clinging desperately to the chains of the swing, Jemma watched him stride away until he was swallowed up by the elongated shadows cast by the trees. Her glance traveled back to the policemen within the bright yellow confines of plastic tape. Her lips trembled and her quivering fingers flew to her mouth in an effort to stem the sob rising in her throat.

Her nose buried in a book on herb usage, it was a wonder that Willow didn't collide with any one of a number of obstacles in her path as she moved through the halls of Slayer Central. Her ability to walk and read was well honed, however, and she deftly skirted aside Slayers, tables, and piles of boxes lining the halls. When she reached her Sanctum she pushed open the door, still not bothering to look up from the volume in her hand. She entered, reading all the while, and it was only after she had closed the door behind her and fully entered the room that Willow bothered to tear herself away.

Immediately, she jumped, a startled gasp ripping from her throat as her hand instinctively went up to her rapidly beating heart. Kennedy was in the room also, perched on a stool by one of the tables lining the far wall. There was no way of knowing how long the Slayer had been waiting, but from her posture, it had been some time.

"Kenn...?" Willow questioned cautiously, setting the herb book aside.

Kennedy regarded the witch with an intense stare. "We need to talk."

"How've you been? Have you been good?"

The conversation had been relocated to outside. Kennedy and Willow strolled through the huge open field behind Slayer Central, walking together at a casual, seemingly directionless pace. Willow was swinging her arms nervously, while Kennedy had simply shoved her hands as deep as possible into the pockets of her leather jacket.

"Getting better," Kennedy replied coolly with a shrug of her shoulders. "Taking a while, but getting there."

"Good. That's good. Me too. Good, I mean. I've been good too. And that's ... good."

Willow frowned at her apparent broken record, but Kennedy grinned at the flustered redhead. "Breathe, Will. We're okay."

An expression of pure hopefulness appeared on Willow's face as she turned to the Slayer. "Yeah?"

Kennedy gave the question careful consideration. "Yeah," she finally agreed with sincerity.

Visibly relaxing, Willow let out a puff of air and let her hands clap against her thighs in relief. "Oh yay. Because I've missed you, you know." The leer was obligatory and Kennedy's heart wasn't really in it, but Willow chuckled appreciatively at the gesture. "For more than that. I miss you." She bumped her shoulder against Kennedy's affectionately. "I actually miss having to clean that icky sword polish stuff off the carpet."

"I got some spare tubes if you want," the brunette offered helpfully.

"That's okay, I don't miss it that much," Willow hastened to assure her. "I miss how you never really let me get too ... Willowy though, you know? You're always first in line to give me that swift boot in the you-know-where when I need it."

Kennedy regarded Willow seriously. "If you're having second thoughts ..." There was just the slightest wishful note in her voice.

But the witch shook her head sadly. "No. I'm not. It was right, and we both know it was."

Sighing, Kennedy reluctantly agreed. "Yeah. But hey, you can always rely on me to kick your ass, day or night."

"Thanks," responded Willow with a smirk.

"Anytime."

The two continued to walk through the tall, browning grass. Willow gnawed her lower lip for a moment. "I–I've been ..." She trailed off and fished around in her jeans pocket instead. Kennedy watched curiously as the redhead produced a shiny silver stone – the butterfly tear. She glanced at it, then offered it to Kennedy.

The Slayer stared at her hand for a moment then pushed it back toward Willow. "I gave that to you," she stated.

"I know," agreed Willow. "That's why I'm, y'know, giving it back."

"But I gave it to you," Kennedy repeated, as though this were all the information needed. She frowned at the witch. "Don't you want it anymore?"

Willow rapidly shook her head, anxious to dispel any possible offense. "No, i–it's not that. It's ... I know it's means a lot to you, and—"

"That's right. It means a lot. And I gave it to you. So unless you totally hate me now or something ..."

Her eyes wide at the mere suggestion, Willow exclaimed, "No! Of course not!"

"Well okay then, so keep it." The brunette's tone was final with no room for argument. "I wanted you to remember that someone thinks you're special. And someone still does." Her voice softened. "So keep it, Will. Please."

Willow hesitated, and for just a second, it appeared as though she was going to insist. But then she instead slipped it back into her pocket reverently, patting it securely for good measure.

As soon as the stone was safely tucked away again, Kennedy spoke. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately." The Slayer laughed then, and it wasn't an entirely bitter-free sound. "You know, cuz not a whole lot else takin' up my nights."

Willow immediately looked down at her feet, at the grass crushed beneath her shoes with every step. Only Kennedy's gentle but demanding nudge brought her gaze up again, to find the Slayer's reassuring smile that let her know it was still okay.

Continuing, Kennedy declared, "I've come to some conclusions." This peaked Willow's interest, and she tilted her head to one side. The Slayer took a deep breath – clearly whatever she was about to say was far from easy. Finally, she found her voice. "I pushed. I pushed you too hard, too fast."

The witch digested this information thoughtfully, but said nothing.

"Which is entirely your fault," Kennedy added. Willow gaped in disbelief, but Kennedy simply shot her a look that said 'come on, you know it's true'. "Those adorable big baby seal eyes," she explained, gesturing to Willow's eyes which were, undeniable, large at that moment. "How you're all intense when you read. The way your forehead gets that wrinkle when you don't understand." Grinning, Kennedy studied Willow's features. "Like now."

Entirely flustered, Willow tried to force her face into a different look, but her emotions were simply too erratic and her face too expressive. What she wound up with was a jumbled heap of expressions, a Frankenstein's monster of emotion.

Kennedy laughed, finding the whole thing tremendously endearing. "See what I mean? I was supposed to resist all that?" She shook her head at the ludicrous suggestion, like someone had demanded she force her heart to stop beating. "I'm only human."

Willow's blush spread from her hairline down her neck and she ducked her head. "Kennedy ..."

"It's true," the Slayer shrugged, her observations rock-solid fact in her mind. "And it's okay." She sighed magnanimously, resting a hand on her chest dramatically. "I forgive you."

Still rattled, Willow shook her head, trying to sort out her thoughts. "I don't ... I don't know why I couldn't ... Why we—"

"I do." Kennedy finally stopped walking, and Willow halted as well. They turned to face each other, neither paying any heed to their surroundings. Willow's expressions had finally calmed down and she was left with open searching, a desire to hear Kennedy's explanation.

It was easily summed up in one word. "Tara."

Instinctively, Willow jerked back as though she'd been shocked. "No. I–It's not—"

"It is. You're not over her." Willow shook her head a little too emphatically, and Kennedy raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You think I'm wrong? I suppose it's possible, there's a first for everything, right?" Her tone made it clear that she felt she was on the opposite end of the globe from 'wrong'. The Slayer crossed her arms and looked at Willow, challenging. "So. Tell me right now that you don't still love her more than you've ever loved anything and it doesn't rip your heart out every day that she's not here with you."

Willow didn't. She didn't even try. Instead, she stared miserably at her feet, and Kennedy's hard features softened. Willow glanced up again as Kennedy rested a hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay, Will," the Slayer assured her. "You never really got the chance to mourn. Part of that's my fault, and I'm sorry. You have to let her go before you can move on, and I get that now. What you need is time." Kennedy dropped her hand, letting it rest at her side. "So time's what you'll get."

Speaking the words aloud seemed to infuse Kennedy with conviction, and she straightened. Her eyes flashed as though she faced a new challenge that must be defeated, and the Slayer had every ounce of confidence that she would do just that.

"I'm patient," announced Kennedy, before her lips curled into a cocky smirk. "I mean, I'm not gonna live a nun's life while I'm waiting, you know? Life's too short."

Willow couldn't help but grin and roll her eyes at that, but there was nothing reproachful in her reaction to the proclamation.

Kennedy was on a roll now, and she continued. "But one day, you'll actually be ready to start again." Leaning in, Kennedy's face was mere centimeters away from the redhead's. Her voice dropped to a deep, husky timbre, full of promise. "I'll be watching you, Rosenberg. And when that day comes, you better believe I'll be asking for the first dance."

To seal the vow, Kennedy closed the distance entirely. Her lips captured Willow's in a move that was possessive, yet soft and loving – a reminder of what was waiting. She pulled back after a lingering moment and smiled, charming and certain. Spinning on her heel, Kennedy walked away without a glance, leaving Willow simply standing rooted to the spot, a bubbling cauldron of emotions.

A moment passed, where she simply stared at the place the Slayer had been, and then glanced around to take in her surroundings for the first time. Immediately, she recognized that Kennedy had led her to the memorial site, and her eyes filled with tears. None spilled, however.

Infused with magickal energies, the grass here was green and lush, as though it were the first days of spring instead of the onset of winter. Willow settled herself down before the sapling and smiled.

"Hey," she began.

Wood made his way down the concourse of the busy airport terminal, his black leather suitcase-on-wheels trailing behind. Carefully skirting a woman struggling with an overloaded Smarte Carte, he made his way to the "Cloud Nine" coffee shop. The café was packed and after much searching, he finally spotted a hand waving above the crowd. With murmurs of, "Excuse me," accompanied by a charming smile of apology, Wood pressed through the herd.

Upon his reaching the table, he stared pointedly at the chair where Hannah was resting her feet. With a grin, she swung her legs down and went back to nibbling at her humongous poppy seed muffin. Placing his cup of steaming tea on the saucer, Giles rose and extended his hand. "How was the flight?"

Wood sank into the now vacant seat with a heavy sigh. "Bumpy, but I'm getting to the point where I don't even notice it any more. You know, I think I have enough frequent flier miles to take a trip anywhere in the world now. Pity all I want to do is curl up in my own bed and sleep for the next week." He treated Giles to a sharp and wary glance. "I will get to just sleep in my own bed for the next week, right?"

Giles and Hannah shared a knowing look. "Possibly," muttered Giles. Then, changing the subject asked, "Can I get you anything?" He gestured toward the counter, his smile overly bright.

Wood shook his head before groaning, "It's so nice to be home. Okay, so what's up?"

"First, why don't you tell us what you found out," suggested Giles as Hannah skimmed a spoonful of whipped cream from the top of her hot chocolate.

"Mmmmm," she murmured ecstatically with eyes closed, licking the spoon front and back. She cast a sideways glance at her ex-husband who rubbed his forehead wearily.

"That good, huh?" queried Wood.

"This or ..." began Hannah then, taking note of Giles' heavy sigh and apologetic nod to Wood, continued, "Okay, okay. It's quite ... striking news."

"Well mine's not much better," announced Wood. "I checked all over the storage locations you gave me, and there's nothing. No trace of anything that might've been misplaced by our guys. Also, no evidence of any theft. Whatever was taken, it looks like it was an inside job. The inventory log copies clearly show the items being placed in those safe house locations. Knowing how meticulous the old Council records were, I think we can assume it wasn't a data entry mistake and the items disappeared sometime between being placed there and our removal."

Giles pondered the information for a moment. "That still gives us a fairly large window of opportunity ... Twenty, thirty years?"

"Twenty-six, yeah," confirmed Wood.

"I don't suppose the Council could've just cleaned up any evidence?" queried Hannah and then dismissed the statement with a wave of her spoon. "But there still would've been records of the items being stolen. So they never knew," she added thoughtfully, handing Giles a napkin. He glanced down at the dollop of whipped cream that had been flung onto the lapel of his jacket and scrubbed at it fiercely.

"It certainly seems that way." Giles grimaced as the stain ingrained itself more firmly into the fabric. He forlornly tossed the napkin onto the empty plate in front of him. "Could you find any indication of what exactly was stolen?" he asked of Wood.

"Aside from what's listed in the log? Not a thing. Not there, anyway. If these are big-time artifacts, they're probably mentioned in several places."

Hannah cocked her head at Giles. "It would be a good idea to know exactly what was stolen."

He agreed with a pained expression. "I'll get some people working on that. Could take some time ... I have rather a lot of books."

Hannah leaned across the table to Wood. "Understatement of the year," she whispered, bringing her hand up to her lips in a secretive motion. Wood nodded vehemently as though she had just taken the words right out of his mouth. He turned and smiled encouragingly at Giles who was doing his best not to appear curious at the obvious conspiracy.

"Moving on," said Wood with a conviction that vetoed any possible questioning, "while I was over there I ran through the list of new Slayers you gave me."

Immediately, Giles' demeanor perked-up. "Oh, yes? How many were you able to recruit?"

"None," came the curt reply.

"No one?" inquired Hannah incredulously. She adopted a woebegone expression. "I suddenly feel tremendously unpopular." She grinned, first and Wood and then at Giles.

"Well, I– What–," stammered Giles. "What did they say?"

"Nothing." Wood rocked in his chair. "That was part of the problem. I couldn't find them."

Giles frowned and leaned across the table, his left elbow landing squarely in a puddle of spilled tea. Hannah handed him another napkin. "The addresses were wrong?" he asked anxiously, absent-mindedly wadding up the serviette without using it and placing it neatly on the plate, next to the first. Hannah rolled her eyes and gazed up at the ceiling.

"The girls weren't there," stated Wood matter-of-factly.

Hannah was instantly all business. "Where'd they go?"

"That appeared to be a question a great many parents and not a few policemen would like the answer to," Wood told her.

"You're saying they vanished?" Giles' tone was riddled with puzzlement and no little concern.

"Without a trace," Woof verified.

Hannah's eyes narrowed. "Is this like before?"

Wood linked his hands behind his head and rocked back and forth some more. "Before, we had evidence of at least half the girls having spoken to someone trying to recruit them before they disappeared. Someone besides us, that is. But this time, nothing. One minute they're going to their room, walking to a friend's house, leaving for school ... and then nobody hears from them again."

Hannah mulled this over for a brief second. "So either whoever's behind this is getting better ..."

"... or they've stopped bothering to talk first," finished Giles.

Wood massaged the nape of his neck. "Nice and ominous, huh? So that's me out. What's your good news?" He peered at Giles inquisitively and then tapped him on the arm when no response appeared to be forthcoming.

Giles started slightly as he emerged from his reveries. "Hm? Oh. Oh, yes. Erm ... Do you remember Sunnydale ...?"

Wood allowed the legs of his chair to hit the floor with a thud. A look of surprise invaded his face. Breaking off a piece of muffin, Hannah popped it into her mouth and lifted her eyebrows. She didn't have to say anything. The 'how about that?' expression said it all.

Faith had laid possession to the big comfy couch in the rec room. As with before, it was empty, save for Faith and another Slayer, a Junior, who had entered with a book in her hand. She smiled at Faith and went to sit on the opposite end of the couch, then suddenly seemed to feel a cold, icy stare boring into her. Glancing up again, she realized such was indeed happening. Quickly, the Junior claimed a nearby chair instead, and proceeded to bury herself in the book, casing occasional sidelong glances to see if Faith had stopped glowering yet.

Moments later, Hazel quickly entered the room. "I'm here! I'm here!" she announced unnecessarily.

"You're late," pointed out Faith with a grumble.

Hazel came to a halt before Faith, her hands behind her back. "I know, but I had to stop off for something."

The older Slayer glanced up hopefully. "Beer?"

"Underage?" Hazel reminded, indicating herself.

"Oh. Oh yeah. Keep forgettin' those booze-buying laws."

With a smirk and an eye roll, Hazel returned to bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, only barely containing her excitement. "Not beer. Better than beer." Faith raised a skeptical brow at that one, but Hazel ignored it. "Nemo!!"

With a flourish, Hazel produced the DVD from behind her back and presented it to Faith proudly. She wiggled the case slightly, trying to urge the other woman to take it.

Faith could only stare. "This is better?" she questioned dubiously.

"This," Hazel declared with authority, "is awesome."

Not waiting for the inevitable derisive retort, Hazel spun around and bounced to the DVD player. The Junior sitting in the chair nearby happily lowered her book. "I love this movie!" she exclaimed.

Hazel glanced over her shoulder from where she was kneeling. "Isn't it great? Those seagulls just crack me up!"

"Oh, and the sharks?"

They both started giggling at the shared memories.

Faith looked on, thoroughly disenchanted. "I'm pretty sure I said get a fighting movie," she groused.

Settling herself comfortably on the couch Hazel picked up the remote control and pressed play. "Well this ... is a fighting movie," she responded. Faith continued to stare at her flatly. "Okay, I'm lying. But it has conflict. And ... surfing turtles! And a tidy little moral at the end."

She capped off her summary with a bright, sunny smile. Faith was not impressed.

"It's about fish," the older Slayer underlined.

Seeing that reason was getting her nowhere, Hazel waved her hand at Faith as the movie began. "Fiver, just be quiet and watch," she commanded.

Grumbling, Faith did so, but her shuffling of positions on the couch made it clear she was doing so under protest. Hazel and the Junior Slayer, by contrast, were immediately, completely engrossed.

Several minutes passed and just as Nemo was getting ready for his first day at school, Buffy rushed into the room with a cry of, "Faith!"

Instantly, Faith's head jerked up. "I wasn't watchin' this," she stated defensively.

"Fine, sure, whatever." Buffy didn't even bother to look at the screen. "Look, I need you to grab some silver weapons and get ready for my call." Faith tilted her head to one side, curious. "We're going wolf hunting."

The dark Slayer sprung to her feet, an eager grin on her face. "Aw, sweet! Never tangled with no werewolf before."

"I'd like to say you won't get to tonight either, but I've got a bad feeling." Buffy checked her watch with a concerned frown. "We've got about half an hour to sundown. Can you make it?"

"I can make it."

With a nod, Buffy ran out of the room as Faith turned to Hazel. "Sorry Haze. Catch your fish next time."

Turning and sprinting for the exit, Faith leapt effortlessly over the air hockey table in her way and was gone. With an unmistakable pout on her face, Hazel watched the older Slayer leave.

"Heh," the Junior chuckled, eyes still riveted to the screen. "Lucky fin."

Outside the Vortex, Oz sat in his parked van and strummed on his guitar. The melody was vague and wandering but then Oz, his face a study in deep thoughts, wasn't particularly concentrating on the music. He looked up quickly as Jemma rounded the corner and set his instrument to one side. She hurried toward him and he glanced into the sky, where the sun was glowing orange as it sank below the horizon.

"Oz!" she called as she came closer.

Oz nodded. "Jemma."

"Oz," she began. "I– I need– Toby—"

"I know." he told her softly. Noting the hopeful expression, he looked away briefly and then turned back " About that ... I think you should leave."

"What? Leave?" Her tone was shocked and she shrank a little as though she had been suddenly injured.

"Yeah," he said regretfully.

"But, but..." she stammered, "... leave? Why?"

"He's killed," said Oz, although the words were far from accusatory. "And they know." His eyes drifted to the side, as though expecting someone to already be there. "Or they will soon."

Distraught and fearful, Jemma twisted her hands. Apparently, this was not what she had been hoping to hear.

"They're counting on me," continued Oz. "The others. To keep them safe. I covered for Toby once, but when they find him – and they will find him – if he's with us, they'll take us all down." He swallowed hard as though the statement had become stuck in his throat.

Stricken, Jemma rubbed her upper arms as her gaze darted from Oz to the area surrounding the street. Her lips quivered and she looked like a lost and frightened child who could find nowhere to hide. Oz sighed regretfully and shook his head. Jemma stared into his eyes and blinked at the reflected pain.

"But he didn't mean to," she insisted desperately. "He doesn't want to be like this."

"No one does," replied a sorrowful Oz.

Jemma sniffed and tried to stifle the tears. "What'll happen to him?" she asked in a small voice.

Oz sighed again. "I don't know."

Reaching out, he took her hand and held it tenderly in his own. Jemma's body was racked with soundless sobs as she fought to quell the rising panic and gain control. In a gallant gesture, Oz brought the trembling hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Is there somewhere you can go?" he asked gently.

She bit her lip and nodded.

Releasing her hand, Oz looked up at the sun. "You should go now."

With beseeching eyes, Jemma peered into Oz's face, her expression conveying a wish to do anything else in the world but leave at this point in time. Downcast, he remained sad but stoic. His finger traced the outline of her cheek and she slowly backed away. Swiping at her tears, she looked at Oz one more time before she turned and took off like a startled rabbit.

Oz let out a rueful puff of air as he watched her retreat, then his gaze darted swiftly toward the boundary of trees growing nearby. A worried frown creased his forehead as a shadowy figure sprinted after the girl with a determined stride.