In the booth of a small local restaurant, Tara and Xander sat across from each other and watched the waitress deposit their meals on the table: a hungry-man sized burger with a double order of steak fries for the carpenter, and a bowl of vegetable pasta for the blonde. Laying bare his beef patty, Xander grabbed the nearby bottle of ketchup and began to shake vigorously.

"Busts all around," he sympathized. "Big letdown."

"Yeah," admitted Tara with a slight frown. "Who knew that Trillium had such a housing problem?"

Xander grinned. "Well, maybe the sixth or seventh time's the charm."

"Let's hope," sighed the witch.

Unscrewing the cap, Xander held the bottle upside down over his burger and waited expectantly but no glob of tomato-y goodness materialized.

Tara tilted her head. "It's a good thing you're with me," she told the carpenter thankfully. "Who knows what I might've already settled on without you."

"Hey," replied Xander, squinting down the neck of the bottle, "helpin' out my friends? It's what I live for." With a frown, he wishfully suspended the ketchup over his burger again. Still nothing.

Tara stifled an amused chuckle as Xander began to pound on the bottom of the stubborn bottle with his fist. His efforts were suddenly rewarded with a large splooch of red paste that landed partly on his meat patty but mostly on his shirt. With an exasperated puff, the carpenter slammed the bottle on the table.

"Great," he grimaced as he glared disdainfully at his chest. "That's just great. Very manly."

"No, it's fine," the blonde assured with a twinkle. "We'll tell everyone it's, uhm, blood. From a fight."

"Can well tell them I was defending your besmirched honor?" asked a hopeful Xander.

"Absolutely, Tara confirmed. "I'll even clasp my hands together and bat my eyelashes at appropriate intervals." She proceeded to give him a live demonstration.

With a broad grin, the carpenter selected a large fry from his plate and used it to scoop some of the ketchup off his shirt before popping it into his mouth. While chewing happily, he grabbed a wad of napkins and started to scrub at the stain. Tara's expression was one of fond indulgence as she watched the vain attempt.

"Thank you," she told him, her tone sincere.

Xander shot her a brief glance. "For defending your besmirched honor?" Picking up another fry, he waved it dismissively before committing it to the same fate as the first. "Don't mention it. There will be no smirching of any kind, be- or otherwise, while Xander Harris is on the case."

Tara smirked. "Not for that."

"Oh, the apartment thing?" queried the carpenter, still scouring away at the fabric of his shirt. "It was all a clever ruse to get a free lunch and be seen in the company of a pretty lady, think nothing of it."

He regarded the now shredded napkins and then scowled at the stain that seemed to have spread even further. Tossing the used serviettes aside, he seized the bottle of tomato sauce and dangled it over his burger. An expression of delight crossed his face as a thick but cooperative dollop of ketchup fell neatly in the middle of the patty.

"For Willow," Tara stated. Xander glanced into her earnest face and arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"For saving Willow," the blonde clarified. "A-And the world too," she added wryly. "But mostly Willow."

Xander returned Tara's smile with one of his own, but appeared embarrassed by the declaration. He averted his eye and ducked his head. Still squirming under Tara's affectionate gaze, he looked up and shrugged, apparently uncertain of what to say.

"She's Willow, you know?" he finally managed.

Tara nodded, making the carpenter aware that she understood only too well. An awkward silence reigned as Tara absently-mindedly twirled her fork into the pasta and Xander jammed his bun back onto the beef patty. Both seemed at a loss for words.

Eventually, Xander spoke. "I had to sign for you." The statement was made in a quiet, painful voice, and the blonde glanced up, confused. "Your- The body. Dawn was ... " His voice trailed away and he shook his head, reluctant to expand upon that train of thought. "And Buffy was too busy trying to keep Dawn together," he continued. "I figured, hey – not useful for anything else, might as well get the paperwork."

Tara was openly affected by the information Xander had provided – the actions and reactions surrounding her death – but she fought to keep emotion at bay.

The carpenter prodded at his untouched burger. "That was the worst day of my entire life." He rubbed at his forehead. "First Buffy, then you and Will ... The worst."

After a long pause, Tara reached to gently grasp Xander's hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. He engulfed it with both of his own and treated the blonde to a smile of immense gratitude. They remained that way for a moment, then pulled apart.

"She loves you, you know," the carpenter stated matter-of-factly. "She never stopped."

The witch cast down her eyes. "I know."

Silence reigned once more. This time, it was Tara who broke the tense hush.

"But is that enough?"

Barradon moved slowly through the undergrowth, stopping periodically to examine the forest floor and inspect the foliage around him. His air was almost casual, but there could be little doubt that he was engaged in tracking and stalking. Leaning over, he scrutinized something by the base of a tree that had caught his eye and then smirked. He looked up expectantly into the branches, and was met with a solid kick to the face. The impact caused him to stagger, more from surprise than force, although he struggled to regain his footing.

With a perfectly executed flip over the tree limb from which she had been dangling, Buffy somersaulted in mid-air and landed securely on the ground just behind the demon. Still somewhat unsteady, he turned to be greeted by a vicious uppercut to the jaw that caused his head to rock slightly backward. The blonde frowned at Barradon's reaction, obviously hoping that the attack would have been more devastating. Ducking swiftly, she evaded the returning blow.

"You know," she mused, "I was wondering ..."

She paused to avoid a powerful punch.

"... have you considered stamp collecting?"

Balling her fist, she rammed it into his stomach, but the resulting effect was minimal at best.

"All the thrill ..." she continued, refusing to be dissuaded as she carefully aimed another jab which scored no more success than the first.

"... none of the violence."

The ensuing swing caught her a little off-guard, but she managed to swerve out of harm's way.

"Cuz this 'killing people for sport' thing?" Apparently Buffy had no intention of being silenced any time soon.

She leapt nimbly to one side – another near miss.

"Not really socially acceptable."

Springing from her hands into a series of neat back flips, the blonde dodged a flurry of onslaughts.

"Seriously," she added, standing upright once more, "I think you and philanthropy have a promising future together."

"That's 'philately'," corrected Kennedy, watching the fight over the top of a nearby thicket. She looked at Faith with a scornful twist of her mouth and rolled her eyes.

Although the dark-haired Slayers were some distance from the ongoing combat, they had secured themselves a clear visual of the battle area. The pair's posture was virtually identical with legs astride and arms crossed, as were their expressions – a combination of boredom and irritation. It appeared they were less than satisfied with Buffy's valiant attempt at dominance which, given the sounds of shuffling feet and occasional grunt, was still continuing.

"Gotta say, her way? Not impressed," commented Faith.

Kennedy sneered. "What's she gonna do, banter him to death?"

A resounding crack emanated from the entertainment arena, and an obviously blasted Buffy skidded across the ground on her back, coming to a halt at their feet. They peered down curiously.

"Told you we should'a come with," Faith told her.

"I didn't want it to be too confrontational," confided a breathless Buffy.

"He's trying to kill us," Kennedy pointed out with unnecessary emphasis. "Odds are good there'll be confrontation."

Three pairs of eyes drifted toward the former area of altercation, where the sounds of Barradon regrouping could be heard. "Talk time's over," Buffy decided.

"Never thought I'd hear those words outta your mouth," retorted Faith, quickly joining Kennedy in the other woman's efforts to haul Buffy up into a standing position. Mission accomplished, all three promptly disappeared deeper into the forest.

Barradon watched their departure with much enjoyment.

"It's not just a game," he murmured delightedly, "it's a show, too."

Ensconced in the Sanctum, Willow had adopted a lotus position, body relaxed and eyes closed. Giles sat across from her, leaning forward on the edge of his chair, elbows resting on his knees and chin cupped in his hands.

"Imagine a lake," he instructed. His voice was even and low, the tone comforting and calm. "A still body of water. The surface undisturbed, the waters clear. There is peace here. There is you here. There is only you."

The redhead inhaled deeply. Her expression became almost serene as she entered a trance-like state.

"Do you see it?" prompted the Watcher gently.

Willow nodded slowly and her affirmative response held a dreamy quality. "Yes."

Giles inched closer. "Tell me," he urged softly.

"I see the waters," mused Willow. "The magicks."

The Watcher seemed pleased. "Good."

Willow continued. "There's so much. So clean. But ..."

Her voice trailed away as the aura of serenity wilted. A tiny frown of concern followed in its wake.

"There's dark," she murmured. "Just over there. So deep, I can't see the bottom."

Giles was quick to offer reassurance. "It's all right. I'm here; I won't let it hurt you."

The wavering air of distress was replaced with one of tranquility again.

"What else do you see?" encouraged the Watcher.

"There's a channel," the witch told him.

A deep crease established itself firmly on Giles' forehead. "A channel?"

"For the water," Willow explained. "It flows away. It flows to ..."

Her body snapped to attention as the redhead's eyes opened wide.

"It flows to Tara."

She regarded Giles with alarm, but the Watcher simply nodded sagely almost as though he had anticipated such a revelation. His composed reaction, however, did little to soothe the redhead's rattled nerves.

"I'm freaking out," she declared in an accusatory tone. "You're nodding and I'm freaking out. Why aren't you freaking out too? That's totally unfair! There should be a two-part freak out here!"

Leaning back in his chair, Giles smothered a small smile at her peevish recrimination. "I was beginning to suspect as much."

"Well don't!" commanded the redhead sternly. "Stop suspecting bad things! Why can't you suspect things like ... like ... things that aren't bad and scary!"

Giles allowed his smile to emerge. "This isn't necessarily bad or scary, Willow."

"Giles," began Willow firmly. "We're talking about the magick. You know, the magick I have to fight with, like, always? I don't want that for her. She has enough going on."

Crossing his arms, the Watcher carefully formulated a reply. "I'm not sure we'll be able to do much about it. When you severed the connection Tara had to those who raised her, you had to tap directly into her essence. There's no way of knowing exactly how far or- or how deep those spellcasters were linked to her." He shook his head in wonder. "The powers you must have exercised in order to do such a thorough job all on your own would have been tremendous."

Willow shook her head. "I don't really know. I just ... I couldn't let her ..."

"I understand," Giles stated kindly. "But I don't know exactly what this means. This may require considerable study, with both you and Tara."

"I don't want her having to deal with this," the redhead told him with authority.

"Perhaps you should let Tara decide what she does and doesn't 'deal' with?" suggested the Watcher.

Conceding the point, Willow hung her head and appeared a little ashamed at her demand. Then her eyes grew round as fear crept across her features.

"What about the dark magick?" Her tone teetered on desperation. "It can't infect her, Giles."

The Watcher gave the implication some thought. "I'll make some phone calls and double check, but I don't think you should be overly concerned. Tara is a generational witch, she's been brought up to adhere to very strict and specific guidelines when it comes to magick. Even if she is able to access your darker powers, I doubt very much that she would succumb to such impulses to use them."

"I don't want 'doubt very much'," insisted the redhead. "I want 'won't happen ever'." She shook her head adamantly. "It can't happen. Not to her."

Giles stood up and laid a consoling hand on Willow's shoulder. "We'll make every effort to ensure it won't, I promise."

"Okay," agreed the witch, taking a deep breath. "Okay, so meantime – what can I do? I can't just ... sit around and wait and hope for answers. I have to do something."

"I'm not altogether sure. This is new territory, for all of us," Giles said with some hesitancy.

To the Watcher's mild amusement, Willow took it upon herself to assume control of the situation.

"Alrighty then," she stated matter-of-factly. "Let's put the wagons in a circle and figure out how to keep everyone safe. I, for one, am buying extra stock in 'safe' this year."

Deep in the wooded area, the trio was moving low to the ground. Assuming semi-crouched positions, they crept rather than ran with former full-tilt acceleration. Kennedy had taken point with Buffy and Faith on each flank. The posture was deliberate and determined – the Slayers were now stalkers and hunters.

Kennedy's voice was hushed when she spoke. "We've been going about this all wrong. This thing's stronger and tougher than we are, but everything's got a vulnerability. If we gouge out his eyes, he can't see us. Bust his kneecaps, he can't follow us."

"Might be looking at the exception here," Faith told her. "This guy seems pretty solid."

"If you stick to just strength, sure," admitted Kennedy. "What's clearly called for here is finesse." She glanced briefly at her two companions with only barely disguised derision. "Which at least I have." Buffy and Faith glared, but if she noticed, Kennedy didn't appear concerned. "He's got a weakness. All we have to do is find it."

Buffy's cheerfully snide response was overly simple. "Maybe he's a chocoholic!" She snapped her fingers. "Darn, and me without my Whitman's Sampler."

Kennedy chose to ignore the barb. Her eyes narrowed as she spied a figure in the distance. She gestured to Buffy and Faith, instructing them to hold off. "There he is," she whispered.

Less than fifty yards away, Barradon was slowly proceeding in their direction, intently scrutinizing trees and studying the ground as he progressed toward them.

"Alright, stay back and watch," hissed Kennedy. "I'll show you how it's done."

Plainly irked at the aura of suggested superiority, Buffy and Faith simultaneously straightened, took an exaggerated step backward and threw their hands in the air. The action seemed to scream, 'you want it, you got it.'

Kennedy began to creep stealthily toward her target. With a quick glance at each other, Buffy and Faith returned to their former crouching positions, but they made sure to keep Kennedy in their sights. As the predatory Slayer moved out of earshot, Buffy leaned toward Faith.

"Bet you she doesn't last a minute."

"Demon dude must'a stamped 'sucker' on my forehead if you think I'm takin' that one," scoffed Faith. "She ain't gonna last thirty seconds, forget a minute."

Both craned their necks for a better view. Kennedy had just about reached Barradon and he seemed to be as yet unaware of the imminent danger. Drawing back her arm, Kennedy launched a massive punch directed where the demon's kidneys would be located – if he had any, which was far from a sure thing. This certainly grabbed his attention but otherwise, had little effect. Ostensibly, the Slayer had been prepared for such since, by the time Barradon turned, she was already in full swing with a kick that sideswiped his left leg at the patella. Hoping to hear the satisfying crunch of disintegrating bone, Kennedy registered visible disappointment at the ensuing thud, but a degree of triumph snaked into her eyes as he audibly grunted and fell heavily to one knee.

Pressing her advantage, Kennedy followed with a hefty boot to the solar plexus. Still in the process of struggling to his feet, Barradon was unable to effectively counter the well-aimed kick and Kennedy managed quite successfully to knock some of the wind from his sails.

Back at the observation point, Buffy turned to Faith with a smirk. "Maybe you should have taken that bet." Faith shrugged ruefully, but then their briefly jovial air fast dissipated as Barradon snarled at the Slayer who faced him.

Well on the road to regaining his balance, he surged with surprising speed. Executing a forward flip, Kennedy somersaulted over the demon and landed behind him, her feet avoiding his outstretched hands by no more than a centimeter. It had been a close call, but the Slayer remained unruffled. Turning on the proverbial dime, she speedily wrapped one arm around his head while the other gripped as much of the hulking neck and shoulders as was humanly possible.

"Game," she murmured victoriously into Barradon's ear, "set and—"

The muscles of her arms tightened as she delivered a savage twist in opposite directions, expecting to be rewarded with a gratifying snap of the neck. To Kennedy's dismay, the demon's head didn't move – not one solitary inch. A tiny frown crossed her forehead. Gritting her teeth, she made another attempt. Still nothing. Her eyes widened.

"Uh-oh."

Kennedy scrambled to disengage herself, but it was far too late for salvation. Leaning forward, Barradon threw back his head as though it were a wrecking ball. With a sharp crack which echoed through the wooded area, the Slayer soared into the air and traveled for at least a dozen feet before landing like a stone. There was no motion whatsoever – Kennedy was out cold.

Faith blinked at the sharp turn of events. "So much for finesse."

She didn't have time to indulge overly long on the failure, however. As Barradon advanced on the unconscious Kennedy, both she and Buffy sprang into action and hurried to the rescue.

"You grab her, I'll take a rematch," yelled Faith.

Buffy was wary. "Don't do anything stupid."

Faith turned to her with a maniacal grin. "Who me?"

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Right."

At the sound of their approach, Barradon turned to face the pair, presumably deliberating on which one to take down first. Faith made the decision for him. She closed the distance while Buffy continued to move toward Kennedy.

With a narrowed and threatening gaze, the dark-haired Slayer jabbed an infuriated finger in the demon's direction. "We got unfinished business."

"Not for long," came the crisp reply.

Moving in, Faith began to exchange blows with the intrepid Barradon, sneaking in an attack when and where an opening presented itself, while attempting to dodge everything he threw at her. Keeping a cautious eye on the proceedings, Buffy hoisted Kennedy onto her shoulders in a fireman's carry and started to make good her escape.

"You say that now," snorted a disdainful Faith, "but ..."

Hauling back, she clocked Barradon across the jaw, but he wasn't even momentarily stunned. As his beefy fist swung with alarming velocity, Faith barely managed to roll to the ground and scoot safely out of the way. She sprang to her feet with a condescending grin.

"... I learned some stuff since our last fight."

With a quick glance, Barradon turned to watch the retreating Buffy and then, apparently indifferent to the departure, refocused his attention on Faith. Cashing-in on the brief lapse of concentration, Faith seized the opportunity to lunge and plant a balled fist into the demon's chest. She was rewarded with a clip to the head which made her stagger as she successfully skirted the heftily-aimed returning blow.

"First of all," the Slayer informed him with a snarl, "don't trade punches with you."

Her footing now secure, Faith pressed the point home by launching a spinning kick that packed sufficient force to knock the demon's head sideways – the movement was slight but to Faith it held significant satisfaction. She jogged nimbly in place, hopping from one foot to the other. Quite obviously, the Slayer was relishing the moment. As Barradon's neck swiveled once more in her direction, he adopted a crouching position, poised and ready to attack. But Faith was more than prepared.

"An' second?" Swiftly reaching down, she scoped up a large mound of dirt and gravel. Then, with impeccable accuracy, tossed the entire gritty handful directly into his eyes. "The Brat has good ideas sometimes."

Roaring in surprised agony, the demon clawed at his face, desperately trying to clear the particles of sharp grit and stinging dirt.

"But don't tell her I said so," smirked Faith. Glancing over her shoulder, she spied Buffy making her way through the trees, Kennedy still thrown across the blonde's shoulders. Faith favored Barradon with a final, parting sneer, even though he was unable to appreciate it, and ran at full-speed after them.

The Penn State banner in Meghan's bedroom, complete with the head of a Nittany Lion, bore the slogan "I Bleed Blue And White." The proclamation might easily have been close to the truth given that the room had been painted antique white and decorated with bright navy furnishings. A poster of Jeremy McGrath, expertly maneuvering his bike in mid-air and aptly entitled "No Fear," dominated the wall over her bed. On a computer desk, next to the monitor, was the framed photograph of a much younger Meghan, hair in pigtails and sporting a "Mighty Mouse" t-shirt. The image clutched a rod and reel in one hand and triumphantly held aloft a freshly caught trout in the other. Next to her stood a man who, judging from the family resemblance, was probably her father. His face glowed with pride as his arm hugged her shoulders.

The floor was littered with overnight slumber party paraphernalia, as well as several bags indicating that the girls had probably just returned from a trip to the mall. It was a cheerful, typical teenage girl arrangement, the illusion of which was completely shattered by Meghan and Jackie's bickering.

"It's very simple: you don't win because she's not new," stated Meghan firmly.

"But she's Willow's!" Jackie vehemently protested.

Meghan shook her head. "But you said Willow's new girlfriend. You said it, and you said it multiple times at that. Not new, not a win."

Jacked scowled. "But I just meant—"

Much to her dismay, Brenda became dragged into the argument. "Brenda," demanded Meghan, "did she or did she not make the 'new' part very specific."

Brenda shuffled her feet and threw Jackie a rather apologetic look. "You kinda did," she admitted hesitantly.

Meghan tossed her hand at the smaller girl. The gesture screamed 'There you go', but she followed it with, "Thus spake Miss Photographic Memory," just to drive the point home.

Jackie visibly huffed at Brenda. "Thought we agreed that you were on my side on all things?" she accused.

As Brenda made a valiant attempt to splutter some sort of neutral answer, Dawn rolled her eyes, snagged the remote for Meghan's TV and then threw herself into a beanbag chair. Jabbing at the "on" button, she began to scan the channels. Ginny joined her on the floor, sitting with her back against the side of the chair and resting her head on Dawn's arm. She watched the conflict taking place in the center of the room with some distress.

"I hate it when they get like this," she complained.

Dawn continued to flip through the programs. "They're always like this," she said as though it were an irrefutable fact unlikely to change.

"Yeah," agreed Ginny with a pout. "I hate that."

Over the head of an anxious Brenda who was stuck in the middle of the dueling pair – perhaps trying to make peace or possibly seeking a way to extract herself from the fracas, it was difficult to tell – Jackie and Meghan continued to squabble. Dawn glanced up at the shrill voices steadily increasing in volume and then shrugged. The scenario was nothing new and certainly failed to hold her interest.

"I dunno," she confided to Ginny. "Sort of reminds me of me and Buffy."

Ginny's eyes grew wide. "I'm glad my older sister just pretends I was never born."

"Some days, I think that's the preferable sibling reaction," Dawn replied, eyes returning to the television screen.

A bad kung fu movie appeared as she switched to yet another channel. The altercation seeming to have died a natural death for the moment, the three participants crossed the room. Dawn watched with some amusement as Jackie threw herself on the bed and Brenda, with a sigh of relief, flopped down next to her. Digging deep into one of the many shopping bags, Meghan extracted a can of Pizzalicious Pringles. Popping it open, she shoveled a small stack of chips into her mouth before also claiming a spot on the floor.

"World War Three averted?" Dawn ventured cheerily.

Jackie nudged the back of Brenda's head with her foot. "Switzerland abstained," she stated.

With a sheepish look, Brenda attempted to redirect the focus of attention. "Hey, look," she announced pointing to the television. "Fake martial arts."

The ruse was successful. All five girls watched intently for a moment. Meghan continued to munch noisily and then, through a mouthful of Pringles, declared, "No way. That's impossible."

"Which part?" queried Jackie. "It all seems pretty ridiculous to me."

"The thing he did, off the wall?" came the reply.

Ginny at least was impressed with the move. "I liked that a lot, I thought it was neat."

"Neat, yes. Realistic? No," scoffed Meghan.

Brenda felt obliged to set the record straight. "I don't think the point of these movies is to really focus on the realism, Meghan."

"And anyway," added Dawn, "it's possible."

Four pairs of dubious eyes turned in her direction.

"No way," insisted Meghan.

"Really?" queried a marveling Ginny. "You can do that?"

"Well, no, not me," Dawn replied with some reluctance. "But I know some people who can."

"You're full of it, Summers," Jackie told her scornfully.

"No, for real!" defended Dawn. "Kennedy? She's been teaching me some stuff. She can do that. She's, like, a black belt in stuff she can't even pronounce. I'm learning some cool moves, though." Her tone drifted into disappointment. "Mostly defensive." She perked up. "But still. I can throw, like, anybody."

"Anybody?" asked a doubtful Brenda.

Ginny regarded Dawn with no little admiration and some excitement. "Could you throw me?"

"Ginny, an emaciated smurf could throw you," sneered Meghan. "You're, like 25 pounds soaking wet."

Deflated, Ginny's chin dropped to her chest.

"I could totally throw you," Dawn assured her. It was a genuine effort to buoy the smaller girl's spirits, even though the inference itself was less than flattering. Regardless, Ginny's expression brightened considerably and she beamed with delight.

Pleased, Dawn focused on each of the other three teenagers. "I could throw any of you."

"Prove it," challenged Meghan.

Dawn rose to her feet. "Alright, I will."

She began to arrange the beanbag, assorted sleeping bags, pillows and other cushiony items to provide a soft landing place as Ginny moved to the other side of the room, out of harm's way, and Brenda's face assumed an expression of worry.

"Are you sure, Dawn?" asked a concerned Brenda. "Meghan's like twice your size."

Jackie snorted. "Please. Have you seen her inhaling those chips? She's gotta be at least five times Dawn's size by now."

Meghan's eyes narrowed and if looks had the ability to kill, Jackie might well have been six foot under already, but nonetheless, much to Meghan's consternation, Jackie continued to breathe with annoying regularity. Crossing the room, Meghan thrust the can of Pringles at Ginny, who accepted them with great pleasure and tipped out a handful. Meghan made her way to the center of the room and faced Dawn.

"Now come at me," Dawn instructed with a quick glance behind to make sure that the quilted area was sufficient. "But try not to fight it too hard, or you might not land on the soft bits."

With a sharp nod of understanding, Meghan lunged at the other girl. Seizing Meghan's outstretched arm, Dawn took a quick step forward and then deftly flipped Meghan into the air. She landed on the makeshift mat with a heavy thud and her lungs expelled oxygen with a resounding and audible "whoof!" She lay there for a second as the room spun and tilted her head to regard a slightly smug, upside-down Dawn.

Meghan's eyes shone with appreciation. "Wicked!" she puffed.

By now, the other three girls were chatting amongst themselves in an animated fashion, all regarding Dawn with a newfound respect. For her part, Dawn basked in the implied praise until a deep frown crept across her forehead. Raising a hand to her temple, she shook her head sharply just once before the frown increased in its intensity. She stumbled unsteadily to one side, eyes rolling backward, before collapsing in an untidy heap.

As she ran, Buffy puffed a little and struggled to keep the dead weight that was Kennedy balanced equally on her shoulders. Being unburdened in such a fashion, Faith led the way and quickly stole a look behind.

"No sign of him," she told the blonde.

"Good," breathed Buffy. "Excellent. I'm entirely in support of this new development."

Faith frowned. "This the way out?"

"No idea," admitted Buffy. "But the forest has to end somewhere. If we keep going in the same direction ..." She paused mid-stride to shift Kennedy's bulk. "One thing I know, I could run faster if Princess Critical Strike here woke up."

"Want me to take her for a while?" asked Faith, slowing down.

With a sharp inclination of her chin, the blonde urgently conveyed the necessity of perpetual motion. "No time. We've gotta keep moving. That guy could catch up with us—" She huffed and repositioned Kennedy's body again. "—any moment. Last thing we need is something slowing us d—"

The next word was effectively lost in an exclamation of surprise as she and Faith abruptly fell through a camouflage of twigs and leaves. Buffy cursed as she scrabbled to maintain her hold on Kennedy, but to no avail. Slipping from the blonde's grasp, the unconscious Slayer tumbled headfirst into the dismally dank pit. She disappeared into the darkness below, Buffy and Faith not far behind.