On the crater's edge, Willow pressed her hands against the scorched earth. She came back every few years to do this. Hoping that the ground would suddenly come alive.

She felt nothing.

At Stonehenge, she had been able to feel the Druids' love for Nature. At the Tower Of London, she had been overcome by the pain and hopelessness. The ground in LA pulsed with life. In Westbury, it was calming - life cycling quietly through as it had done since the beginning of time. Cleveland's earth felt dark - evidence of the Hellmouth.

But everything in Sunnydale felt dead.