Lifting the flap of the tent, Dawn peered inside. The kettle had now been removed from the hob and two steaming mugs sat invitingly on the table. The tarot cards had been fanned out and there was a warm and expectant atmosphere. The teenager was about to enter when a head thrust itself through the opening and turned toward her.

"What are we looking for?" asked Buffy.

"The fortune-teller," replied Dawn without thinking.

There was a sharp, disdainful exhalation. "Fortune-teller?" Buffy repeated, withdrawing her head. "I don't believe in that stuff." She lifted an eyebrow at Dawn. "You shouldn't either. Fortune is for other people."

Dawn also emerged from the tent. "But fortune's also luck and stuff," she pointed out.

"Maybe that's for other people too."

"I don't believe that."

Buffy nodded, taking the teenager's denial in stride. "You get that purgative."

"Prerogative," Dawn corrected.

Nodding again, Buffy simply accepted the rectification, along with the scrutiny under which she now found herself. Dawn surveyed Buffy from tip to toe, checking out the gleaming armor of golden chainmail and the equally gleaming cap of blonde hair, which had been braided and coiled tightly around the skull. The teenager stifled a giggle.

"And what are you supposed to be?"

With a great deal of pride, Buffy puffed out her chest. "I am Buffy the Bold, Buffy the Brave. Protector of the Realm and Queen's Champion." Her pontification complete, she regarded Dawn coolly. "And you are ...?"

The teenager ignored the question, asking instead, "The Queen? You know the Queen?"

"Intimately," affirmed Buffy.

"Could you take me to see her?" asked Dawn hopefully.

Shaking her head, Buffy rejected the proposition. "Sorry, can't arrange that."

With a sigh, Dawn glanced over and noticed a figure hovering a few yards away. Enveloped in black steel plate, only his brooding eyes were visible through the visor of his helmet and they were focused intently on the blonde. Dawn frowned and motioned toward the loiterer.

"Who's that?" she queried uneasily.

Buffy turned. "Oh, that's the Dark Knight," she informed Dawn. "He likes to watch out for me, help protect me from stuff." She leaned closer and confided, "I don't need it, but I don't have the heart to tell him. Besides," she added with an excited grin, "isn't he a hottie?" Buffy waggled her eyebrows and straightened, once more regaining a semi-dignified air.

"Why is he all covered up?" asked a confused Dawn.

"He burns easy," replied the blonde with a shrug. She slipped an arm into the crook of Dawn's elbow. "Why don't you come and watch me fight over on the Dueling Mound? It's really fun. There're lots of challengers, but I always win." Once again, she puffed up with pride. "Nothing defeats Buffy the Bold. Not forever."

Dawn shook her head. "There's something I need to find right now, but maybe I can come by later."

"That'll work," Buffy told her cheerfully. "Just listen for the herald. The bugle blows every hour or so to announce the beginning of a new tournament. I'll see you there. We can wait for you if you like."

She sprinted toward the nearby trees, the Dark Knight following in her footsteps. Dawn blinked as they both disappeared and the bard made yet another appearance, strumming tunefully. This time, he sported a cap of russet brown and Dawn lifted her hand in greeting, but the musician had already blended into the undergrowth before she had a chance to wave.

Becoming increasingly despondent, Dawn continued her search for the wren. Birds chittered merrily from the overhanging boughs but none of them proved to be the fledgling she was seeking. Without realizing where she had been wandering, the teenager suddenly found herself in a completely different area of the park. It was serene here and the gentle breeze was considerably warmer. The area was devoid of trees, except for one lone sapling located in the center of the clearing. Willow sat nearby, cross-legged with palms upward on her knees. A fast-melting frozen mocha had been laid atop linen napkin at her side.

"I thought you wouldn't need this place any more," commented the teenager, picking a spot on the grass next to the redhead and joining her on the ground.

Willow slowly opened her eyes and regarded Dawn with a self-effacing smile. "Habits are hard to break," she mused.

"I can't seem to find the wren," Dawn told her ruefully. "Couldn't you cast a spell or something so I know where it is?"

"Can't help you with that," the redhead replied with a sorrowful shake of her head. "Takes more power than I can use."

Dawn blew out a frustrated puff of air and cast her gaze around the clearing. Just beyond, she spied the ever-present darkness, and noted with a shudder that it appeared even gloomier than before. "What's out there?" she asked nervously.

Willow didn't even follow her gaze. "Can't say," she replied, reclaiming her mocha. She took a huge sip and licked her lips. "Want some?" she offered the teenager with a bright grin. "Very yummy."

But Dawn wasn't to be so easily deviated. "Can't say or won't say?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes.

Willow shrugged as she rose to her feet. "You get the same result either way."

Craning her head back, Dawn looked up at her. "Have you seen the Queen?"

The redhead nodded emphatically.

"Today?" asked Dawn hopefully.

Willow shook her head. "Oh no, not today."

"Do you know where I can find her?" Dawn persisted.

"Where's the wren? Where's the Queen?" she echoed with a mournful sigh. "I don't have those answers. You'll have to look somewhere else."

"But I thought you knew pretty much everything," challenged the teenager.

Willow agreed. "That's a popular misconception." She held out her hand to help Dawn up. "Have you considered maybe asking me something else? Like square roots, maybe? I'm good at square roots, and those answers never hurt anyone."

"Wait." Concern bubbled to the surface and Dawn affixed Willow with a worried frown. "Something's going to hurt me?"

The redhead's expression melted and she regarded Dawn with great sympathy. "The truth always does." Then her face lit up with the brilliant glow of a new idea. "Oo! I know what you need! How about I take you to get some cotton candy!" She obviously found the thought absolutely delightful, and did her utmost to infuse the teenager with her enthusiasm. "There's this place I know – best stuff around. You can eat all you want, and it'll never fill you up. Whadda ya say?" Willow nudged Dawn encouragingly with her elbow. "My treat?"

"I need more than that," Dawn attempted to explain, but Willow waved her hand dismissively at the statement.

"You shouldn't pass this up," she advised with an air of authority. "It's never the same twice."

Dawn opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of a bugle being blown echoed in the distance and she cast a hurried glance over her shoulder. "I don't have time," she apologized, beginning to jog away, toward the sound.

"You'll change your mind!" Willow called after her, but the teenager had already disappeared from sight.

As she hurried toward the Tournament Grounds, Dawn suspiciously eyed the tall figure of a young man leaning casually against the trunk of a sturdy apple tree. Arms folded across his chest, he wore the uniform of a high-ranking Roman Centurion. Bronze studs decorated his leather breastplate and his helmet sported a stiff brush of bright blue. He pushed away from the tree as she approached and fell to one knee in her path.

"Ah, beautiful damsel." Dawn blushed as he gazed up at her adoringly. "Please honor this, your humble servant, by bestowing upon him a favor so that he might fare well in the battle ahead."

Dawn stared in confusion while the gallant Centurion shifted uncomfortably as a sharp stone jabbed into the flesh of his kneecap.

"A favor," he insisted. Dawn continued to be perplexed. The Centurion struggled to his feet. "A scrap of fabric," he suggested, "or a ribbon?" He grimaced as he rubbed his knee.

Dawn's face lit up and she pulled the circlet off her hair. "What about one of these?"

He nodded enthusiastically and Dawn tugged at one of the green silks until it slid free. With a happy grin, the young soldier wrapped it around his arm and motioned for Dawn to secure it. She tied it neatly into a bow and then stood back to admire her handiwork. His grin broadened. "Cool," he told her, all pretense of formality discarded. "Gonna come watch me fight?" She nodded enthusiastically and, with a pleased grin, he hurried away. The summoning bugle sounded a second call as Dawn followed.

She soon reached the Tilting Yard where two jousters balancing heavy lances faced each other from either end of the course. One she recognized immediately – it was the Dark Knight mounted, not surprisingly, upon an ebony horse. The other, she hadn't seen before, but he was apparently the antithesis of his opponent, astride a white steed and decked out in shiny silver chainmail. Both had a strip of gold braid fluttering from their helmets. Searching out higher ground to watch the upcoming confrontation, Dawn found a nice spot beneath a nearby alder. William the Seeker nestled comfortably in one of the low-lying branches, resting his back against the trunk.

"Couldn't hit the broad side of a barn," he heckled, following the jibe with, "Betcha my lance is twice as long as either'a yours." He grinned down at Dawn and pulled a tin of tobacco and packet of rolling papers from a pocket inside his cloak. He tipped a goodly amount of the shredded dried plant onto one of the thin papers, spread it evenly and then ran his tongue along one side before rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. He tucked it behind his right ear and then repeated the process.

"Can I bum one of those?" asked a passing duelist wearing a very nice armored suit of black leather. A small knife was fastened at her belt.

William considered the request. "It'll cost ya."

The female fighter appeared put out at the response. "Any idea what 'bum' means?" she queried sarcastically.

William nodded. "Still gonna cost ya," he smirked.

"Screw you," responded the fighter with a scowl as she stomped away.

"You wish," taunted William. The only response he received was a rude gesture.

Dawn watched the exchange with some interest and chuckled. She cocked her head. "Don't suppose you've ever met the Queen, huh?" she asked, not really holding out much hope.

"Sure have," answered William. "Lovely lady. Always ready with a nice hot cuppa and a chocolate biscuit or two – and some decent conversation to boot. Don't minding listenin' to your troubles neither."

"Does she ever come to the Tournament?" the teenager queried expectantly.

William thought for a moment. "Sometimes," he admitted. "Violence ain't really her thing though, y'know?"

"Suppose she'll be here today?" asked Dawn.

"I wouldn't think so," he pondered. "Why? You wanna see her?"

Dawn nodded emphatically.

"Could be arranged. Maybe. If you got the coin." As though he didn't much care one way or the other, William cast the teenager a sideways glance.

Ruefully, Dawn shook her head.

He gave a resigned sigh. "Oh, well. Probably couldn't have set it up anyway."

Hiding her disappointment, the teenager regarded the two jousters. "Who do you want to win?" she asked.

William shrugged. "Suits me if they finish each other off, to be honest, pet. Last thing I need ‘round here's extra competition."

Dawn gave the statement some thought as she eyed the two jousters speculatively. "The dark guy looks more determined."

"He's not half the bloke he used to be," scoffed William, "and the other one, well he's nothing but a poor man's Sir Galahad." He jumped down from the tree branch. "I don't think I'll bother to watch. It's a foregone conclusion, ain't neither of 'em gonna be there at the finish line." He sauntered away, pulling the hood over his head.

"Wait," called Dawn. "Do you know where I can find Buffy the Bold? I promised to watch her fight."

William stopped mid-stride. He pulled a flint from his inside pocket and struck it against the bark of a nearby tree, using the spark to light his cigarette. Taking a deep pull, he turned and faced Dawn with a sneer. His words were interspersed with wisps of gray smoke.

"Buffy the Bloody Irritating?" He jerked his chin past the Tilting Yard. "She'll be down there at the Dueling Mound." Shaking his head scornfully, he swaggered in the opposite direction, boot heels leaving deep grooves in the soft earth. "Always gotta have an audience," he griped as he walked away.

Dawn stared for a moment and then headed off in the direction William had indicated. As she passed a small field, she noticed the Centurion standing toe-to-toe with a hulking Barbarian-type swinging a wickedly spiked club. Although he was giving away a good few dozen pounds, the Centurion had the advantage of speed and agility on his side – not to mention a superior level of intelligence. Dawn watched proudly for a second as the green ribbon, still tied in a neat bow, fluttered gaily each time the Centurion bobbed and weaved, wielding his broadsword with elegant grace. A besotted bevy of young girls had gathered by the fenced area and exhaled deeply with admiration each time the Centurion executed the slightest move.

Dawn scowled at the group until she heard one of them ask the other, "Whose favor do you suppose he's wearing." Another one sighed heavily. "Dunno. I just wish it was mine." A smirk of immense satisfaction plastered all over her face, Dawn moved on.

The Dueling Mound was a mass of activity, although nobody was actually on the mound itself apart from Buffy who was overseeing the surrounding low-lying area like a general. Pairs of paladins, weapons gripped tightly in fists, attacked each other with ferocity. Among the combatants was the female who had asked William for a cigarette. She was locked in a particularly intense showdown with a woman wearing a suit of forged bronze who sported a ragged strip of purple fabric tucked into her gauntlet. The pair surveyed each other cautiously as they warily circled.

"You know that's not yours," accused the one in black leather, jabbing disdainfully at the favor with the tip of her sword.

"Not really anyone's right now, is it?" the other retorted, nimbly evading an openly telegraphed lunge. "And you know I hate losing."

Swords clashing fiercely, the two women were locked in a moment of intense battle, the attacks and counter-attacks coming so quickly they appeared to Dawn as a blur. In the wake of the frenzy, neither seemed to have gained an advantage, though the leather-clad warrior shot her opponent a cocky grin.

"Better start learnin' t' love it. You an' losin' are about to have a whole lot in common."

Rolling her eyes, the other woman blocked a sword swing aimed for her head. "You know, maybe if you'd try shutting up now and then, you'd actually hit me."

The squabble-slash-battle continued, but Dawn's attention was diverted by Buffy, waving from atop of her tiny hill. "Hey, glad you could make it," she called out. "Stick around. I'm fighting the winner of all this. Maybe if you watch, you can learn something."

"I already have," Dawn confirmed with a smile.

"Doesn't mean I don't still have a lot to show you," countered Buffy assuredly. Crossing her arms, she peered down at the dozen or so battles raging around her. Before long, her face assumed a somewhat bored expression and she shrugged in Dawn's direction. "Might take a while though," she admitted. "If you maybe got something else you need to do in the meantime ..." Her voice trailed away, lost in the depths of a yawn.

Dawn looked back toward where the group of girls had gathered to watch the Centurion, but they had vanished so, presumably, that altercation was over and done with. She glanced around, looking for something to occupy her attentions while she waited for Buffy's turn at battle. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took note of the fortune-teller tent suddenly behind her.

Mouth agape, she pointed an accusing finger toward it. "That wasn't there just now, was it?" She half-turned for Buffy's confirmation – or otherwise – but the blonde seemed to have dozed off while standing upright, her chin drooping down to her chest. With a halting stride, Dawn approached the small pavilion, just as a gypsy emerged from the side of the tent. The dark-haired woman struck an exotic figure dressed as she was in a multi-colored, multi-layered skirt and white muslin blouse. There were gold hoops dangling from each earlobe and a she wore a shiny silver chain around her right ankle. She lifted the flap and then paused, glancing pointedly at Dawn before entering. The teenager's pace quickened.

The gypsy was already seated at the table when Dawn arrived. The woman's smile was warm, and it was reflected in her brown eyes. "Sastipe," she greeted. "Welcome, please do come in." She motioned toward the chair across from her. "Would you care for some lemon verbana tea?" The spout of the kettle was poised over one of the already steaming cups.

With a tiny murmur of, "No thank you," Dawn shook her head and curiously inspected the interior of the tent.

A small bookcase had materialized since the teenager's last visit, some of its shelves lined with volumes which had no titles displayed along the spine. The remainder of the shelving was littered with an odd assortment of seemingly unrelated items, including a little bowl of acorns, a pewter shaker of salt, an eel skin, an owl's tail feather, and a pair of bone dice.

"You come in search of answers?" asked the gypsy gently, although it truly wasn't a question.

Dawn glanced at the sign suspended above the glass bead curtain. It read: 'Cross my palm with silver.' She perched on the edge of the chair and twisted her hands in her lap. "I don't have any money," she admitted.

The woman laughed and the sound was reminiscent of tiny tinkling bells. She waved a dismissive hand, laden with heavy rings, toward the monetary demand. "That," she confided, "is reserved for non-believers." She smiled encouragingly. "No non-believers here today."

Dawn returned the smile shyly and took a deep breath before beginning. "I'm looking for—" Her eyes opened wide in horror and she pounded on her thigh with a tight fist. "God, I forgot again! I'm supposed to be looking for the wren." She cast a frantic glance toward the exit.

Reaching across the table, the gypsy took Dawn's wrist and carefully pried apart the tense fingers. Holding the teenager's hand in her own, she gave it a comforting squeeze. "That's an easy one," she told her soothingly. "You'll find it right where you left it. It can't go anywhere without you."

Dawn regarded her quizzically, but the woman merely nodded wisely as though there were no more to be said.

"Oookay," muttered Dawn, apparently not truly understanding at all. She blew out a puff of air. "Then there's the Queen. She sounds really cool, then there's the added bonus of being, you know, the queen, so I'd really like to meet her." Her voice took on a note of frustration. "Only nobody will tell me where she is, and every time I want to wait for her they make up some excuse, and it's, like, everyone in the world can see her but me!"

The gypsy stifled a small chuckle at the petulance, but then her expression grew sad. Her eyes traveled beyond the confines of the tent as she glanced through the opening. Dawn's head turned in the same direction. Giles was strolling past in the company of an athletically built blonde, her authoritative attire indicating that she was a member of the Sheriff's Guard. The blonde had her arm tucked into the crook of Giles' elbow and she chatted intimately as she looked at him. His face broke into a huge grin and he shook his head in disbelief at whatever she was saying. Then, he blushed slightly and settled his glasses on his nose. The woman threw back her head and laughed as she led him away.

The gypsy's smile was melancholy for a moment and then she brightened as she returned Dawn's inquiring glance. "There are people in our lives," she explained, "to whom we will be so closely attached that, even with passing, the cord cannot be severed. The one who has passed remains ever near to the one who is so cherished. Although still existing on the physical plane – still breathing, still functioning – a part of the living essence is absorbed within the spirit of the one who is gone. Such an established bond is infinite in nature. A living entity cannot perceive their spirit while life is present in the body. Likewise, they are unable to perceive the spirit of the one who has departed because the two spirits are intermingled."

Dawn frowned and tears of frustration prickled her eyelids. The legs of the chair scraped harshly across the wooden floor as she stood up and balled her hands at her sides. "I don't understand," she accused. "I thought you were going to explain it to me, to make it all make sense, but—" Angrily, Dawn gestured toward the sign hanging in the rear of the tent. "Is it because I can't pay?"

The gypsy rose and placed a consoling arm around Dawn's shoulders as she steered her toward the exit. "It's not easy," she admitted. "Sometimes we can't see the forest for the trees." With an encouraging smile, she advised, "Think about it. Eventually you will understand." She lifted the flap and gently pushed Dawn through the entrance. "If nothing else, remember that such a connection makes a person stronger. Love, regardless of the source, is a great comfort and security."

Her arms crossing, Dawn stood on the threshold for a moment. "I have one more question," she began, turning around and raising the flap. "I keep running into dead—" She gazed into the tent but the interior was empty. No table, no chairs, no bookcase, no enigmatic gypsy, no anything. Slowly, she let the flap fall back into place. Even the sign had disappeared into oblivion. She shivered as a sharply cutting wind blew in from the north.

Within the darkened area bordering the clearing where the sapling was located, the darkness loomed. Its substance – or lack thereof – did not change, however from deep within appeared a soft slowing light. Closer it moved, soon joined by another light, and then another. Slowly and methodically, the lights approached, until finally piercing through the black veil and emerging into the clearing without a sound. Six hooded figures, all young boys, moved as one, their torches held aloft.

Dawn appeared frozen, lingering fearfully in front of the tent and seemingly unsure as to where she should go next. She turned her head in the direction of the sharp and chilling breeze, straining to hear the lilting chant it appeared to be conveying: "We hunted the wren for Robin the Bobbin ..."

She shook her head. "It's just the wind," she told herself firmly as she ran in the opposite direction. "It's only the wind."