"What does that mean? What is she talking about? Someone say something." Buffy was in a panic. Although she too was in a bit of a trance for the tree and bird, Angel and Caela seemed to be completly lost in the vision. She shifted to stand directly in front of the two, hoping to dislodge their focus. When Angel blinked and shook his head to clear it, she continued. "Angel, tell me what's going on. This is starting to freak me out!" If she wasn't so pumped up for hearing something that would end with violence, she would be deathly pale for what she feared the meaning of the word to be. Faisneachd.

"It's here, Buffy." Caela whispered before Angel could even try to do so himself.

"What do you mean here? Details." Taking Caela by the shoulders she turned her around, as well as herself, to keep her gaze away from the oak and raven.

"Here. Now. Today. The fight is now. In this spot. We only have to wait," she said, blinking her eyes furiously in order to clear them from the dry haze that was developed from her stare.

"Wait? Wait for who?" Angel was rubbing his eyes as well when Orin came stepped to stand beside Buffy.

"Tharsian." Caela obliged.

"Once again," a voice boomed from above them. Around them. Reaching to the depths of their souls. "I have managed to gain a great intrance." Smoke, or mist rather, came together above their heads and floated for a second. Hovering. As if enjoying their feel of their shock and running nerves bouncing off their skins. Then, with more patience then meaning, it glidded, or floated, however you wanted to see it, the the base of the ancient oak, spreading and lengthoning to a great heigth. A image was made of the mist. A figure and molding of a rather large form. It began to take on a thicker mean and matter. Brown and black leather of thick quantities started to flask off shoes, legs, in a lighter colored material. Thighs and a torso built to it's voice, large and thick, but appearing to be as mobile as any other of the four younger beings that stood watching, with their hearts in their throats. Finally, with a finish of complete vanishing of the mist and smoke, the body was topped off with a head of dark skin, possibly burned by the sun too many times over it's years. It's hair was a deeper brown than Angel's and brushed his shoulders. And his eyes, although they were brown as well, the four could swear by the flash of orange and gold that they saw in them. All of them recognized him. All of them knew his name. But not all of them feared him. At least not those who were just a spirit and watching.

"Where's your robe, Tharsian?" Caela's voice took on the pertrinizing accent of the goddess Gabrielle. "The least you can do is wear your best atire when doing something this important. We deserve it." Caela's lips formed a well embellished pout.

"Ah," Tharsian said. "But that would mean that I would get it dirty while fighting you." An devilishly smug smile actually put in an equally devilish twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh," Caela moved forward as she spoke, pausing at a near five feet in front of him. "But that would mean that you would have to put some effort into defeating us." She glanced over her shoulder for emphesis. "The Buach. Your...obstacle into reestablishing the demons that have been taken down in history."

Tharsian sneered at this. She had always known how to make him itch to stike her down, he thought. Even when he was courting her.

"Doesn't take much, effort that is. But some. Yes. What reveling can I obtain when I do not know that I did something for it?" He thought he had her their.

"Ah, just like you. Being the hypocrite. Who would believe you, one of such low intellegence with fighting, would be able to take down a powerful group of warriors." It was Gabrielle's, of Caela's, turn to be smug.

He tossed his head back and roared to the world for her being in it. Again. Then, throwing his hands in the air, he took on a medium sized swoard. One that looked to be extremly new and polished. Perhaps only meant, and stored, for this purpose alone. To kill The Buach. The sleeves of his shirt only covered the tops on his shoulders and let the inferior see the bulging muscles that propelled along the arms, veins in tow.

"Oh," Orin started while he oggled over the sight, "my God."

"Not my God." Caela and Buffy responded together without noticing the humor in it.

"So, what do we do?" Orin hurried on, looking to Buffy first, then Angel, then Caela, who had transfered her attention back onto Tharsian, who seemed to be waiting for them to decide defeat or advance.

Buffy looked over to him herself and shrugged at the sight. "Size and numbers." Recieving a knowing look all around she took the advance approach and the four started with their own blows, punches, kicks. Although they were able to stagger him for the first three minutes, forcing him to take on another area and stance, he was able to bounce back with his own strength and philosophy. His swoard was used wisely and percise. Taking what hits he knew he could take and deal with with minimum damage, he gave them all their own rounds of kicks, jabs, punchs and sucker knock outs.

With Orin just standing from being kicked back onto his butt, Angel on his hands and knees trying to catch the breath that he had lost for a little longer than healthy, and Buffy's back being thrown against a tree across the clearing, Tharsian took Caela by surprize and snapped her back against his chest, the blade of the swoard angled at her throat.

"No!" Orin yelled, even as he charged towards them. And, just as they had alread played out, twice before, in dreams and with a possessed vampire, Orin was replaced with Caela. The swoard, layed on the ground while Tharsian used his bare hand to encircle his neck.

"De ja vous, eh, Gabrielle." He glanced over to see her face, her expression of desperation. "You know what I must do. And you know what you must do." He looked to her again. Irgoring the other two, who simply watched, too stunned to do anything else. Their parts had ran out. It was a play. This whole event has been staged since the very begining, even before they were born. "But you are too cowardly to act upon them. Your emotions run you. That is why I will rule." He squeezed Orin's throat to provide his meaning.

"That," Caela started, no longer runned by Gabrille's spirit and force. Now it was simply a shadow in her mind. One that gave encouragment when ask. One that sat on the bench and watched, just as Buffy and Angel were doing. "Is where you are wrong, Tharsian." She spared a small glance at the swoard that layed on the ground and then shifted her eyes back onto the Tharsian. Catching the movement, Buffy and Angel both shifted and stired as quickly and unexpectedly as they could. At the same instant, Caela grabbed up the weapon and plunged it into the side of the enemy. Her eyes danced as Orin was released and tumbled to the dirt in a coughing heap. Holding the swoard in place, jabbing it in once, Caela met Tharsian's eyes. "Go back to where you belong. Your kismettin damns you to your final destination." With that said, his legs collapsed on him and forced him to rely on just his elbows, staring wildly and unbelievably up at Caela and the rest of The Buach. "Go to hell." Her expression was sarcastic and meaningful even as she shrugged with the suggestion and watched him return to the form of mist and smoke.

Still staring at the spot of which Tharsian dissapeared, the four of them concentrated on evening their pulses and breathing.

"What do we do now?" Orin broke the silence. Upon hearing his voice, Caela was simply reminded that she had deffeated destiny and Orin still lived.

Without a word, Caela turned around and walked into the immediatly understanding arms that Orin used to fold her in.

Without warning, Caela suddenly sagged against him. "Caela?" Orin supported her, watching as her color faded to a shocking white.

"What you do now," a paled and beautiful, slightly transparent as well, woman started. "Is go to sleep." With this said, they all collapsed, in the comforting embrace of their beloveds.

"Buffy, you're going to be late for your morning class." Willow complained as she stepped in from brushing her teeth.

Still in a groggy statem, Buffy sat up on her elbows. "I'm up." Folding an arm over her eyes, she fell back onto the pillow and yawned while willing the sun to go back down. "I swear, I'm up." Rolling over she closed her eyes and pulled the covers back over her head.

"No, no, missy," Willow tsked. "Besides, your mom called last night while you were on patroll. She wants to know if you're still going to dinner with her and that you should invite Riley." She now began to dig through her dresser for her outfit of the day.

For some reason the mentioning of her mother brought Buffy a somewhat thrill of relief.

"Here you are, hun. Your first class is right down the hall and to your right. Have a good first day of school at Eastern High." The secretary passed on a small stack of papers and pamphlets to a girl with red-gold hair that had been placed in a neat and tight ponytail.

"Thank you." Her voice was soft, but it floated clear and even. Turning around, a glimpse of those green eyes, straight from the mountains of which she was born in was all it took for heads to turn and forget their reasons for being in the principles office. Shifting her backpack she mad her way out of the office and into the hall. Standing in the middle, she took a few moments to absorb it all.

A new country.

"Hey." An oddly familiar but warm smile interupped her line of thinking. "Orin." He held out his hand, his eyes mezmorized by hers.

"Caela." She switched the papers from one hand to the other and accepted his.

"Can I walk you to class? It'll give me an excuse for being late." He turned in the direction he heard the secretary explain.

With this she chuckled and let him tuck her hand into his arm. "Yes, thank you. 'Tis a bit overwhelming." Her cheeks continued to blush, from the moment he smiled.

"Irish?"

"Yes. My parents and I just moved here because os some...conflict." She smiled up at him.

End

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