Bonnie meticulously scoured the area where Damon had fallen the previous evening. She was betting—hoping really—that no breezes had disturbed the place where he had been fried like a French fry—or rather, Italian fry—by Klaus. He had hopefully left some trace of himself there, and that trace was the most Bonnie was hoping for. If she had some of Damon, she could summon him at any time if she so wished. Which she figured would be a highly useful thing to have at her disposal, in the future.
The clearing was musty with the smell of sodden wood-fire, but that was to be expected because of the Heaven-sent rain from last night. Bonnie found she quite liked the smell. It reminded her of the hyper-tense moments outside of Vickie Bennett's window when Damon had tried to kiss her. Bonnie knew there was no reason to associate the two, but somehow her brain made the connection and she let it be.
However, so absorbed was she in her work that she missed the whisper of wings in the air and the gentle thuds of two boot-clad feet hitting the ground shortly thereafter. Bonnie didn't notice the other presence until a long fingered hand appeared in her line of sight—and caught between those long fingers were a few locks of straight, dark hair.
Just a cookie I found on my computer.