by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: The television series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters and material belong to Joss Whedon and UPN.  All things Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling.  I claim ownership solely of the story idea - no profit will be made by this.

Author's Note: Well, since I've had numerous assurances that I'm not posting too quickly for you, here's another chapter to whet your appetite! ;p And because you asked so nice, here's a nice chapter chock-full of what Buffy does best!  And as always, a huge thanks to DragonGal, Claddagh, X-Lander, Mountain William, WhiteWolf3, Angel (bruised?? yikes - feel better!), Midnight, Harry, Tara, Jeanne, Susan, Lala, Lady Lana (good Lord!  Let's finish this one before we start worrying about a sequel! ;p), Jedi Buttercup, Rosie, Lynn, and lastly, Saturn Maiden (I just don't want to spoil anything for you, that's all - really not trying to be that cruel... or at least, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it!).  Also, a thank to Juliet316, Sharon, SailorPikaAngel, and KaylsDaeAlMon for finishing ToF and for vowing to make the journey over here.  Welcome, welcome!  And on that note, on with the show!

"After all, there's a reason they say that love is a two-edged sword -
Because love is sharp, it pierces - 
And love is a needle that sews shut the holes in our hearts -
That mends our soul - 
But it can also cut, cut deep, wound, kill."
-Dean Koontz -

    With a soft sigh, Harry absently rubbed his aching scar as he settled on a window seat, slowly leaning forward and allowing the burning skin to rest against the cool glass.  Ever since Voldemort had used Harry's blood to resurrect him and return him to full strength, the unwanted bond between them had intensified - both a blessing and a curse.  Harry would never have warning as to when the connection would be made - usually only when Voldemort was angered to the point of being in a rage.  One moment he would be fast asleep, or even mid-conversation, and the next it was like he was transported instantly to Voldemort's side, watching through unseen eyes for what could amount to seconds, other times hours.  In the end the link would always be severed when the pain became too much.  Oh yeah... did he mention the intense pain that went with this... connection? 

    He hesitated to use the word vision simply because of the relation that would provide to Professor Trelawney - the woman who had managed to predict his death consecutively every year since he first began taking her class.  In the end, his connection and ensuing 'fits' would always land him in the Infirmary for the night as well as earn him the occasional odd and suspicious look from his fellow classmates.  Then again, in Harry's mind, the pain and the stares were worth it as long as it kept providing Dumbledore with some inside information that no one else could provide - especially since Snape's disappearance.  They had no one on the other side, feeding them desperately-needed information as to who Voldemort would target next.  In the end, he wouldn't always learn something useful... but those rare occasions when someone was helped because of it.  Well, it made it all worthwhile... except for the one time when he was made to witness something he wished he could have done without.  Then again, that was just one of those things that they didn't talk about.  And to be honest, he had almost become used to the constant ache that he felt in the lightning shaped scar - excepting for the times when it would explode in agony and send him to the floor in seconds flat.  But hey, such was life for the Boy-Who-Lived.

    Smiling softly, Harry couldn't help but be reminded of one of the newest additions to Hogwarts' corridors with that thought.  Buffy Summers.  The Slayer.  The Chosen One.  A lot of titles for one so young - even more than he had accumulated.  Then again, for what she did, she deserved some recognition.  Fighting evil night after night to make the world a safer place.  Risking herself every single night for those who didn't even know that evil existed.  That didn't even know that she existed.  It was a thankless job, but she seemed to have accepted that as her role.  It was a feeling that he could relate to.  After all, in every respect that Harry could see, he was just an average, normal wizarding boy... well, rather a teen, now.  Almost a man.  Yet the fact remained that he was so ordinary.  Okay, so yes, he did have a rather nasty habit for finding trouble, but with his friends' help and a whole lot of luck, they always found their way out in the end.  He wasn't remarkable for having defeated Lord Voldemort when he was just a baby for his defeat was his mother's doing, and all her doing.  It was her love for him and her sacrifice so that he may live that saved his life that day and which transformed Voldemort into nothing more than a ravaged spirit.  Nonetheless, the entire wizarding world looked at him with an awe that was akin to Dumbledore, somehow believing that Harry could save the day once more and banish Voldemort - this time forever.  After all, if his blood could give rise to him once more, surely he could figure a way to stop him.  Too bad that all Harry had ever wanted was just to be a normal kid with his normal friends.  It seemed now that he would never get that chance.  Just as Buffy Summers had her chance for normalcy ripped away the moment that she was called.  They had a lot in common, he and the new American girl.  Maybe too much.

    BANG!

    Startled, Harry turned and watched as one of Ron's knights viciously turned on one of his older brother's rooks, smashing him into pieces.  It seemed that Ron was winning - again.  Once the school had closed its doors to the public and scared families began moving in, Hogwarts had become a refuge to those targeted by Lord Voldemort.  These families were then given various rooms, suites, and towers to be made their own until they no longer needed them.  In the case of Harry and his friends, they had, predictably, been given the Gryffindor Tower.  He, Ron, and Neville still shared their 7th year dorm while Ginny and Hermione had become roommates in the girl's dormitory.  Likewise, Sirius and Remus shared a room in the boy's tower as well as Percy and Bill while Molly and Arthur shared the prefect suite.  

    In the end, out of two hundred and eighty students, only twelve now remained at Hogwarts: six Gryffindors, four Ravenclaws, and two Hufflepuffs.  Not that the remainder of the students were bad or anything, even in the cases of the Slytherins.  Instead, about a quarter of those students were muggle-borns that fled the country with their families.  The rest, while perhaps working against Voldemort behind the scenes, hadn't announced their sides publicly, allowing them the freedom of living beyond Hogwarts' protective gate.  Sometimes, those that were sequestered in the castle weren't even those that were actively working against the Dark Lord - like the Longbottoms, for example.  However, seeing as how Neville's parents were aurors and victims of the Lord... well, it was easy to see why his Grandmother would relocate the family to Hogwarts.  In times like these, to do otherwise was simply foolish.  At least Harry and the others had the good fortune of having the remainder of the Longbottoms staying in other parts of the castle - leaving the tower just to themselves.

    Despite the earlier dinner excitement, things had quickly settled down into the familiar routine followed by the group each night.  Once more everyone was gathered in the common room, Molly sitting before the fire, darning one piece of clothing or another, Arthur and Percy at one of the tables working on Ministry papers, Hermione and Ginny working on their homework at another table, and Ron and Bill playing wizard's chess to the death.  It was a comfortable routine - one that helped to block out the noise, pain, and uncertainty of the outside world.  For a time they could settle into this familiarity and forget about the horrors that were taking place outside of the castle walls.  It was nice, even if it was only for a short time.

    Sighing softly, Harry turned his face back towards the frosted glass, his eyes trailing over the dark night beyond.  Sometimes the feeling of claustrophobia was almost too much to bear.  It had been years since he had been allowed off of the castle grounds, and to ensure that he didn't try to stray, Sirius had confiscated both the Marauder's map and his invisibility cloak.  It had angered him at the time, still did occasionally, even though he understood why he did it.  Sirius was his godfather and he was just trying to look after him - to protect him.  But after the many years Sirius had spent as a prisoner in Azkaban, couldn't he understand this torment?  In his worst moments, Harry had to remind himself of the times he was forced to sit in his darkened cupboard beneath the stairs at the Dursleys.  Compared to that little hole, his new prison felt quite roomy.  He felt lucky in those moments.  Other times he just felt bitter about yet another thing that made him the freak known as the Boy-Who-Lived.  At least this time he wasn't alone in his prison.  He wasn't the only one who was forbidden to leave the castle.  Although from the looks of it, Buffy Summers, at least, was spared of that sentence.

    Leaning forward, Harry pressed his face against the window, cupping his hands around his glasses as he watched the two small figures move away from the castle and towards the dark depths of the Forbidden Forest.  It seemed that the Slayer and her Watcher were wasting no time in doing what the Slayer was meant to do.  Sighing softly, he couldn't help but think back once more on the cold facts that Hermione had detailed on the Slayer.  The Chosen one.  Everyone in her world expected this small girl to give up everything that she loved so that she could risk herself night after night to save their world.  Idly, he wondered how much she had already given up to this cruel thing some called Destiny.

    They did indeed have much in common, he realized, and he couldn't help but wonder how Buffy dealt with the thought that she would never grow old and have children of her own.  That she'd never get a chance to fulfill her dreams.  Idly he wondered if maybe, like him, Buffy had changed her dreams to simply living a day longer and making the most of each day that came their way.

    Sighing softly, Buffy slowly leaned her forehead against the cool glass, unknowingly mimicking the actions of one Harry Potter scant hours earlier.  As her breath fogged against the glass, she felt her mind begin to wander.  Her watch, last she checked, said that it was eight pm, which, if her calculations were correct, meant that it was only four in the morning at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  The witching hours, she realized idly, an amused smile lifting her lips.  If she were back in Sunnydale she would just be prepping to go out on patrol with Faith... tonight Faith would be going alone, as she would from there on in.  Just as Buffy was bound to do, sooner rather than later.

    The night had been a waste in Buffy's eyes, the dark woods as forbidding as their namesake, yet hiding nothing more threatening than a few vampires.  Vampires.  Buffy had laughed at that.  After all of Giles' big talk about these dangerous and unknown creatures that lurked in the forest's depths - creature that were unlike anything she had ever seen on the Hellmouth... well, she hadn't exactly let him down easy when the worst that they had encountered were vampires.  Oh yeah, like they don't have those on the Hellmouth.  And they hadn't even been that difficult to dust.  Apparently, these forest-y vamps had nothing on the ones that the Hellmouth dished out.  In the end, they hadn't even been out for very long when Giles had all but insisted that they end patrol early that night and return to the castle.  His excuse had been viable, that they should both try and get some sleep and attempt to adjust to the time difference, yet she found herself unable to do as he asked.  While Giles was snoring away in the other room, Buffy found sleep evading her.  Perhaps she was already adjusted to the time difference for she was never able to sleep come this time in the morning.  It was at these hours that the memories plagued her the most - when the rest of the world was dead and asleep and she was all alone with the past...

    Sighing once more, her breath fogging the glass before her, Buffy felt the cold seep through her bones through the cold brick - a cold that was so familiar that it was frightening.  Some days, she wondered if she'd ever feel warm again.  Even when layered in clothing and heaped with blankets, it seemed that the cold never really went away.  Like it was there to stay.  In that regard, Buffy had so been looking forward to the warm California sun that summer would bring, even though secretly she feared that not even that would be enough.  But here in the dark, drafty castle... the cold wouldn't be leaving her here.  If ever.

    She wondered if Xander and Willow would be accompanying Faith on patrol that night.  The three had become closer in the months since.. well, since everything.  They were adapting and adapting well.  She wished they were here.  It was lonely here.. lonely, cold, and dark.  And so strange.  Then again, the people were nice, once you got past that whole threatening their lives bit.  They were warm and comfortable here, with each other and those around them.  They had a family.  They belonged.  Smiling softly, Buffy thought back to Molly Weasley and the love that shown in her eyes for all of the children that sat at the table with them - even those that weren't her own.  She seemed like a good woman.... like a good mother.

    As tears burned at her eyes, Buffy couldn't help but wish that, for the thousandth time, her mother was there with her right now.  All she needed was to hear her voice one more time.  To feel her hand on her head.  There were so many things that she would have done differently that last time if she could do it over again.  So many things.  Then again, Buffy knew that if she had those last few moments and could do only one thing differently... she wouldn't say goodbye.

    Look away.  Oh Baby, please just look away.

    With a shuddering breath, Buffy angrily wiped away her tears as her thoughts drifted to the man that had taken her mother away.  That had taken her away and had made her the person that she was today.  As hot, angry tears burned at the corners of her eyes, she looked down at her small hands, inspecting them.  As they began to shake, she imagined that she could still see the blood that had stained her skin.  She had never told the others this, but it didn't take long for her to remember everything that had happened.  It was as though she was being held back, further than ever before with no choice but to watch her hands as they moved of their own volition.

    She had watched as her hands struck Jarod, beating him, choking him...  She had watched as her hands had torn at the flesh of the men from the Watcher's Council, as her hand punched through Quentin Travers' chest, past skin, bone, and organ until she felt his body shudder around her closed fist...  She had been unable to stop or control her hand from doing any of these things, yet that thought didn't prevent her from feeling the horror and guilt at what had happened.  Because even if she wasn't in control, that had been her hand.  It was by her hand that so many lives had been ended.  Her hand.  And with Lyle.... with Lyle not only had it been her hand, but it had been her hand under her control as she had shoved that knife to the hilt in his chest.  She had stared into his eyes and probably even smiled as she twisted that knife, eviscerating him with no other feeling but the cold anger of revenge.  She had killed a man, a human, and it was the one death that she didn't regret.  The one death that still caused a white-hot anger to filter through her veins.  Her tormentor, her mother's murderer, was dead.  He had died at her hand but it hadn't been enough.  Not nearly enough.  Lyle had deserved to die slowly, painfully, and in a way that allowed him to beg for her mercy.  Mercy that she would never grant.  And it was these thoughts that she could never reveal to anyone else.  They scared her.  They were what drove her to the dark night.

    Pushing away from the window Buffy hurried over to her large bed and sat on its edge.  Without thinking she quickly slipped on her tennis shoes and hurried into the other room, grabbing the cloak in one hand and throwing it over her shoulders.  With a quick glance at Giles' closed door she quickly snagged a piece of brittle looking paper and then searched frantically for a pen or a pencil - all to no avail.  Frustrated, she angrily eyed what appeared to be a bottle of ink.  What?  Did they expect her to write by dipping her finger in the ink?  Giles would just have to deal.  Shrugging, she hurried over to the large table and grabbed her sword and started towards the door.  She needed to kill something, and she needed to do it now.  But just as she was about to slip through the open portrait hole, her eyes alighted on the dart gun.  Maybe this would help to make amends for running off without word - again.  Grabbing the small device she left the room in a quiet bustle of cloth.

    With the bright full moon illuminating the ground before her, Buffy crept through the dark woods like a predator in her element.  Even as sore, tired, and bruised as she was, she still moved with a grace that defied humanity, her green eyes glittering in the darkness as they swept the ground below, the trees around, and the dark sky towering above her, her cloak trailing past her slim form.  The past few hours of hunt had been fruitful as it seemed that either all of the weird stuff Giles had been talking about either came out later at night or else were just waiting for her to be on her own.  Whatever the case, her patrol had turned into anything but a boring jaunt through a dark wood.  Yet out of everything, the most bizarre had been when she stumbled upon a creature that was half man, half horse.  The sight which had stopped her in her tracks, and when she was certain that it wasn't going to attack, she had lowered her sword and proceeded to have a dizzying conversation with the creature.  Even now she wasn't quite sure what they had talked about - something about dark strangers and a lot of babble of the positions of the stars.  In Buffy's mind, she had never really given the stars any more thought than a brief glimpse and a side comment of ooh, pretty.  To worry about orientation and prophetic doom was more down Giles' alley - or Angel's even... he was always good with the cryptic.  Sighing softly, Buffy allowed her eyes to drift shut briefly, daring herself to think of the man who had walked out of her life close to a year ago.

    Suddenly the very air seemed to come alive around her.  Freezing, Buffy slowly lifted her sword, her dark eyes sweeping through the thick wood that surrounded her.  She sensed something in the dark night - something that screamed at her that she was no longer alone.  And then that thought was confirmed as she heard something crashing through the brush to her right.  Lifting the sword high, Buffy stayed her hand just in time as a magnificent white horse dove out of the trees before her, missing her by inches before bolting into the foliage behind her.  No, not horse.  Unicorn.  Jaw nearly dropping to the ground, Buffy slowly lowered her sword as her eyes locked on the departing phantom.  A unicorn.  She just saw a freaking unicorn.

    Yet just as quickly, her impending awe was smothered as something else flew through the foliage, obviously in hot pursuit of the unicorn - something large, man-like, green, and slimy.  Grimacing, Buffy backed away and lifted her sword just as the monster turned its glowing yellow eyes in her direction.  "Hellooo, Swamp Thing," she muttered as the thing opened its mouth, revealing a jaw full of pointed, yellow teeth.  And with that, what seemed like the hundredth fight that night quickly got underway.

    Like before, Buffy allowed herself to fall into a familiar routine, her brain working on its lowest level as she parried, thrust, blocked and moved, avoiding the monster's clawed fists, feet, and snapping jaws.  It was as though she was on autopilot, her mind focusing automatically on the beast, cataloguing its strengths and weaknesses and working to exploit it.  As always, the creature and the fight served its purpose as it drove away her dark thoughts - distracting her from the memories that always threatened to consume her.  In the end, she used it like an alcoholic used a glittering bottle of tequila.  She used it to numb the pain, even if only for a little while.  And perhaps like an alcoholic, this method of dealing with the pain may not have been the best, for in her line of work, autopilot can get you killed.  Or in this case, worse.

    Distracted as she was, Buffy didn't see the bony protrusion extend from the creature's fist until it was almost too late.  Gasping, she desperately shifted on her foot and tried to throw her weight back, barely managing to avoid the pointed spike from becoming lodged in her chest.  Instead, the edge of it tore through her cloak and clothing, tearing into her stomach and nearly disemboweling her.  Unable to stop the cry of pain as it was ripped from her throat, Buffy quickly doubled over, surprise etched on her face as her hot blood quickly soaked through her jumper and white shirt, staining her hands with the sticky fluid even as the creature took advantage of her pain.  Before she could even lift a hand to defend herself, the monster backhanded her, rocking her back and to the ground as her lip split open under the force, a stream of blood trailing down her chin.

    Grimacing, Buffy spit out a mouthful of thick, hot, red fluid as the creature grabbed her by the straps of her jeans, hoisting her bodily from the ground and carrying her until her back was pinned painfully against a tree, many feet off the ground.  Grunting against the impact, Buffy tried lifting her hands just as the creature readjusted its grip, wrapping its hard, slimy hands around her throat and squeezing for all it was worth.  Wheezing as her air supply was slowly cut off, Buffy pulled at the hands holding her, feeling her strength begin to fade as dots began to prick at her vision.  She was dying, she knew, and in that moment, she almost welcomed it. 

    Death would mean relief.  Freedom.  It would mean finally going home and returning to her mom.  Going back to a time when everything made sense.  Gasping, gagging, Buffy allowed her hands to drop down to her side, closing her eyes against the sight of the creature's demonic face.  Yet even as that visage disappeared, other faces began to take its place.  First came Giles, his warm green eyes smiling up at her as slowly Xander, Willow, and Faith's faces flashed before her - only to be replaced by Lyle's.  Even as she felt the strength leave her body, she thought back to how long the Centre had beaten her down until she began to pray for this moment.  For this darkness to consume her.  For it all to be over.  They had pushed her to that weakness, and to hell if she'd ever be pushed there again.

    As quickly as it had gone, Buffy felt her strength return to her and rush through her oxygen-starved limbs, carried forth on a wave of anger so intense that it could only be accurately called rage.  With this rage came a wild abandonment as Buffy felt her iron-clad control finally slip for the first time that night - well, second time if you considered her brief lapse earlier that night - carrying her to a place where she had only been twice before in her life: the night that she had ground the Master's bones to dust and the night that she had killed Lyle.  Nearly seething, Buffy allowed the rage to claim her as one hand slid down to her side pocket and clasp around the smooth end of her stake.  Opening her eyes, she allowed herself to become lost in the demon's hellish yellow orbs, blinking as Lyle's face seemed to become superimposed over the creatures as she jammed the stake into the thing's heart with all the force that she could muster.

    Falling to the ground as the creature fell back with an inhuman screech, Buffy gasped for air, her eyes never leaving its flailing form.  And before it had even finished its descent to the ground, she was on it like a wild animal, seizing her stake and stabbing it over and over again as the tears poured down her cheeks.  Sobbing brokenly, she continued to tear into the strange creature, long after it took its last breath, until her strength finally abandoned her, leaving her trembling beside it.  Numb, she finally allowed the stake to fall from her nerveless fingers, her hands shaking as she looked at the brownish fluid that dripped from the digits and stained her clothing.

    As quickly as it had come, the anger was gone, replaced with a wave of self-disgust and loathing unlike anything she had ever known.  Grimacing, Buffy quickly stumbled to her feet, her eyes tearing away from the dead creature and to the night beyond.  Angrily wiping away her tears, she began to stumble away, swaying slightly and only remembering her wound as she stumbled against the tree that had almost been her grave marker.  Wincing, she gently pressed a trembling hand against her stomach, hissing at the pain and pulling away a pale hand now covered in blood.  As another wave of dizziness caused spots to appear at the corners of her vision, Buffy quickly decided that it was finally time to call it a night.  Yep, definitely kicked enough ass this night - had her ass kicked enough - time to head back and recuperate.  Or so she had planned.

    Grunting, Buffy barely had time to curse her luck as something plowed into her, yet again, from the thick underbrush.  Crying out, Buffy landed on the hard ground, wincing as rocks and roots bit into her back and collided with the back of her head.  Stunned, she weakly lifted her hands just in time to wrap her fingers in thick, silver fur, gagging as a wave of hot, putrid breath fanned across her face.  Green eyes quickly blinked open and locked on the dark eyes of the creature attempting to rip her throat out as her protesting muscles strained against the wolf's weight, straining to keep the muzzle away.

    Wolf.  Muzzle.  Full moon.  Werewolf.

    Grimacing, Buffy found herself reaching inside her cloak once again that night as her other hand trembled against the wolf's weight.  Gasping, she felt her hand slip around the cool, comforting grip of her weapon as she quickly pulled it loose and shoved it against the wolf's side.  "Nighty - night," she gasped as she pulled the trigger, the dart lodging itself into the wolf's side and releasing its potent drugs into its system.  Then, seconds later, the wolf was out as it sagged against her.

    "Oh God," she moaned, trembling arms pushing the werewolf off and rolling it to the side.  Alright, so maybe patrolling on her own wasn't the best of ideas, she realized as she slowly climbed to her feet, her every muscle complaining against that small movement.  Sighing, she warily eyed the wolf, taking in its bright silver fur.  It was big - bigger than Oz, and judging by the coloring, older as well.  Lifting the gun, she quickly fired again, sending another dart into the wolf's side.  After a night like she'd had, she wasn't taking any chances.  Which was why she was already pulling the trigger on the gun a third time, even as she swung in the direction that the werewolf had come, her eyes locking on the large black dog that she had downed with the dart.

    "What in the hell?" she muttered, weakly sagging against a tree as her eyes swept over the two animals.  Okay, so a werewolf and a big dog.  What next?  Sighing, she slowly stumbled over to the downed mutt and gently patted its fur.  "Sorry puppy," she murmured before turning back to the werewolf.  "And as for you," she muttered as she slowly bent down and hefted the animal's large paws.  "Just can't leave you all unconscious in the woods.  What if you're nice?" she grunted as she began dragging the creature behind her, heading towards the castle.  "Plus, you're gonna be all naked when you wake up," she added, carrying on her one-sided conversation with the wolf as the trees began to clear before her.  "We'll just let that old Dumbly guy know that he has a werewolf prob-" she began as she tried dragging the thing onto the grounds, which was when both she and the wolf were quickly expelled in a very ouchy fashion.

    Groaning, Buffy slowly stirred and then stilled as her body cried out in protest.  Her night was quickly going from bad to worse as she realized that she had just been zapped for the second time that night by the damn magical barrier.  "Hey, I've met the guy," she protested weakly as she slowly forced her body to sit.  "I'm loyal, already," she argued, her eyes darting around the darkened woods until they landed on the werewolf, still out cold.  "At least he didn't feel the zap," she muttered when understanding dawned across her features.  Sighing in disgust, she resisted the urge to slap herself upside the head as she forced herself to unsteady feet.  "Yeah, I don't suppose that a werewolf is going to be very loyal to the Professor dude," she murmured, frowning softly as she moved to stand before the wolf.  "But now what?  Can't really leave you all alone out here where you can run off or get hurt," she mused, her eyes darting longingly back towards the castle where she knew her nice, warm bed awaited.

    Sighing, Buffy finally relented and grabbed the wolf's paws once again.  "If you're nice, you're so gonna owe me for this," she muttered as she proceeded to drag the large animal as close to the invisible barrier as she dared, not willing to do another repeat zapping performance.  Then, even as her breath fogged before her in the cold night, Buffy reluctantly undid the clasp of the heavy robe and draped it over the sleeping wolf.  "There's going to be enough weirdness as it is without you being all naked," she explained before slowly turning away and stumbling a few feet onto the ground. 

    Satisfied that she must be protected by the barrier, she finally allowed herself to slip to the hard ground, wincing as the slight movement pulled at her wounded stomach.  "All I gotta say is that this freaking cold country better have sunrise soon," she muttered, glaring at the wolf for good measure before settling back against a tree, her arms cradled over her wounded stomach.  Sighing, there was nothing left to do besides wait for the sun to rise.

To be continued...