Song of the Nightingale 

How many nights would pass before he would return home without one of them?
Each passing day pushed them closer to the end. Cutting off pieces of their
lives like a string - the frayed edges, unraveling toward the inevitable.

Giles stripped out of his clothes and took a warm shower, hoping to purge
himself of the painful memories and tormenting visions of the future.

The evening was warm and deathly still. He opened his bedroom window, praying
a gentle breeze might move through his room and breathe life into it again -
into him again.

He climbed into bed, the sheets cool against his skin. He closed his eyes,
but the images of the evening past haunted him.

They'd come so close. Each in turn had faced the evil and each had vanquished
it. And each had suffered. The wounds would heal, given enough time. Time.
How it seemed to pursue him. At once closing in and running out.

How much longer could they last?

So much death, so much pain. Too much for ones so young. No longer children,
but still his: a woman with the weight of the world on her slender shoulders,
a boy becoming a man, and an angel here on earth.

How much longer could he bear witness to their suffering? How could he bear
the burden of their lives... of their deaths?

He needed to escape the horrors, never to see the fear or the pain in their
eyes again. It was too much. He closed his eyes tightly and swallowed down
the bile that rose in his throat.

Something inside him was breaking.

He couldn't face the next day, knowing it could be their last. He hadn't the
strength to go on.

And then he heard it. A soft sweet trill. He opened his eyes and gazed with
wonder at the sight.

He saw the beautiful bird perched on his windowsill and listened to its song.
So tender and sweet, the soft lilting melody carrying hope to the forlorn.

In its song he found redemption.

In silent awe he lay, letting the nightingale's serenade cleanse his very
soul.

Far too quickly, the song was done. A gentle wind blew past and the
nightingale rode it into the darkness.

His heart full, Giles drifted into a sleep more peaceful than he had ever
known.

In the morning, he greeted his friends with strength, a faith renewed.

The children were bowed, but not broken. The resiliency of youth personified.

Willow seemed worried and pulled him aside. "Are there any new big prophecies
brewing, Giles?" she asked.

He smiled with gentle reassurance. "Not today."

She gazed back up at him. "Good."

She turned away, but stopped and looked back at him with something he
couldn't quite define. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

He nodded and looked at her quizzically, "Why do you ask, Willow?"

She smiled sweetly with just a hint of embarrassment. "Well, last night I
dreamt I was a nightingale..."

The End