For hours he had pored over the prophecy, translated the monks' vision, snapped images of the mural with Willow's digital camera. He was no closer to understanding what secrets lie in Zeke's past than he had been before he'd begun. Giles pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and decided to take a walk.

His door creaked ominously as it shut behind him; apparently the monks didn't receive enough visitors to keep the guest quarters in tiptop shape. The ancient stone walls, with their grooves and dents, flickered with shadows from the torches along the hall. Giles turned left, towards what he hoped would be the courtyard, and tried to quell the knot of apprehension that was forcing it's way up from the pit of his stomach.

The metal gate swung silently outward under his hand as he walked cautiously past the stones of the courtyard, the warm scent of night-blooming flowers tingling his nose. He found Oz crouched on the ground, the full moon reflecting blue off the young man's pale face. Giles paused to marvel at the change, or rather, lack thereof. A werewolf, sitting 'neath the bane of his existence, unaffected.

How very amazing.

Giles lowered himself to the ground beside the werewolf, following his line of sight. The children were dancing round a pyre, tossing handfuls of twined branches and incense. Their voices lilted a chant, something spiritual.

"They're thanking the spirits of the worls for the gift of Change," Oz explained. He handed Giles a sprig identical to the children's. "Second generation werewolves. They can Change at will."

"Fascinating," Giles whispered, turning the pagan offering in his hands.

Oz hugged his knees and rested his cheek on them, eyes catching the glow of the firelight as he contemplated the ex-Watcher.

"Frederick told me about this place. He thought they could help. Teach me to control the Change." The little red-haired girl broke from the group of worshippers and ran full-tilt towards the two men. Stopping abruptly before them, she held out a hibiscus bloom in the open palm of her hand.

"It's good luck to receive gifts," she said to Giles and dumped the bloom into his lap. "I wish you good luck." She stared intently at the older man, as if awaiting something…

"Oh, yes! Thank you. It is very lovely." He tucked the flower into his breast pocket. "And whom shall I tell the others is the bearer of good luck?"

The girl ducked her head shyly and glanced at Oz for confirmation, who nodded to her.

"My name is Autumn, sir."

Giles smiled at her charming manners. "And so polite, too!" he praised.

As if his compliment were an approval of sorts, Autumn plopped herself between the two men and looped her arms through theirs. Her delicate head rested comfortably on Oz's arm, and he placed a gentle kiss to the top of her hair.

"Do you know why my name is Autumn?" she asked Giles.

"Oh, do tell."

"It's a-cause my hair is the sames colour as turning weaves." Autumn tipped her pixie face up to her father's. "Right?"

Screams pierced through the night, interrupting Oz's answer. He leaped to his feet, dragging Autumn into his arms, and took careful steps down the embankment. The children were fleeing the square, the firelight twisting their frightened faces into masks of horror.

A gong sounded somewhere in the monastery, and suddenly Oz was pressing his daughter to Giles' chest.

"Get her inside. I need to find Ryker."

Autumn clutched tightly to the collar of Giles' shirt as he ran back to the compound. Feral snarls echoed behind them and he prayed they would be able to fend off whatever was besieging them. Ryker rushed out of the doors ahead, changing into the deadly wolf as he ran. Giles caught the door before it slammed and nearly collided with Lowena.

"Mr. Giles," she greeted, but the tremor in her voice betrayed the beast fighting to escape. "Please, take the children to the great hall. It is easier to fortify."

He nodded and slipped past her. At Lowena's heels he found a handful of children staring up at him fearfully. Their pack mother reassured them that Giles would take care of them, but the call of the wolf and the screams of her family were already overwhelming her.

Giles set Autumn on the ground and shooed the children to the hall. He turned to the girl's mother. "What's happening? What are we fighting?"

Her hands trembled as she received children escaping the horrors of the battle beyond the compound. "Ryker believes they are the sightless brothers. This used to be their church, until the Brethren ran them out." She paused to take a deep breath. "Please, Mr. Giles. I cannot remain."

But he was in no position to stop her. The implications of her words hung ominously in his mind; the sightless brothers, the two prophecies, the blobby-rock-thing and the werewolf clan…

"Mr. Giles!" One of the older boys was corralling the children and having them collect weapons. The children, yes- they are my responsibility right now.

"Is that all of them?" he asked, gesturing at the few dozen boys and girls huddled trembling in the centre of the hall. The older boy exchanged a glance with a girl of about thirteen who was clutching a squalling child to her chest.

"Yes," she answered. The boy turned expectant eyes on Giles.

"What are your names?"

"Owen," the boy replied, "and that's Rashan."

"Are you the eldest?" Giles demanded.

"Yes."

"Can you fight?"

Owen hefted a broadsword. "I am nearly of age and am the only child trained in the art of defense."

Giles found a repeating crossbow and handed it to a boy of eleven. "Then we must make do."

Bone crunched satisfyingly beneath Oz's massive paws. One swipe could fell three Bringers, and his jaws would tear them apart like straw dolls. Blood ran through the grass and the rocks, squishing between his wolf toes and sticking to his mottled fur. A flaming sword singed his fur and the roared before snapping the Bringer's neck. Gotta love opposable thumbs. Ryker sprang into action, swiping a path down the hill and toppling his enemies like bowling pins. Lowena loped towards the fray, watching the fluctuations of the battle warily.

A werewolf fell beside him and Oz leaped onto the Bringer, tearing into its flesh with his razor-sharp teeth and claws. As he flayed the body he didn't notice the spear until it pierced him through the back.

He was rushed, barely able to fend off the attack. Ryker and Lowena tried to reach him, but she was run through with a sword and Ryker was beheaded.

And then a warm breeze came, and with it a surge of strength. Oz pulled the spear from his back and skewered some Bringers. His jaw snapped at them and his paws popped their heads like juicy grapes. Rage and grief flowed fiercely through his veins and when it finally subsided all the Bringers lay at his feet.

The power faded, his conscience returned, and he gave one last painful howl at the moon before collapsing in human form. His wounds bled profusely but he had no energy left to reach the compound. It was over.

Several Bringers lay dead just inside the hall doors. The children had proved resourceful, throwing rocks and smashing plates against their attackers. During the height of the battle Giles had been deaf from the cacophony – now it was eerily silent.

An anguished howl and then nothing. Owen twitched nervously beside the older man, the adrenaline of the battle still working its biological magic. But Giles was getting far too old and too accustomed to death for fighting – he knew instinctually that it was over.

"Let's tend to the wounded," he told Owen, who correctly interpreted 'We must bury the dead'.

Something warm was pressed against his back. Soft, tingling. He could smell jasmine.

Oz blinked his eyes open and found himself in a sun-drenched field of poppies. "Huh. That's weird." He tried to roll over but he was persistently held down. Turning his head he caught a wisp of blond hair and one shy brown iris. But he was alone.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Here," came the reply, a soft caress of his hair. Oz struggled again to stand but he was gently pressed back. "Please be still. The magic will work faster if you don't move."

"Magic?" he inquired, but he wasn't really expecting an answer. "I know you?" Again, more rhetorical than anything, for he answered himself.

"Tara."

A gentle laugh. "Very good."

He didn't attempt to move, instead he tried to bring her closer. "Where are you?" His hands groped the air until they met soft flesh – an arm, a hip. If he wasn't so weak and delirious, he might have questioned why he couldn't see her, how she got there, why her presence was calming, why his back no longer hurt.

"It's almost time to go back," she whispered. Fingers threaded through his own.

This was wrong. "You're Willow's…"

Can you say it? After three long years denying it?

"…girlfriend." Yes. "I don't understand."

She sighed gently and brushed a kiss across his lips. "She loved us both. It connects us. The magic is using that bond to heal you."

A ripple of pleasure swept through him as memories of Willow invaded his thoughts, though he couldn't tell if they were his or Tara's.

"Loved?"

"Still loves. Deep down."

It was getting cold. The bright light of day began to fade, the poppies dimming into gore-covered grass. "Where are you?" This time he needed to know.

"With the others," she whispered, and left him.

The pack crowded around the fallen bodies of Ryker and Lowena. Autumn held her dead mother's hand tightly in both of her small ones, unwilling to leave her side. Giles ran a weary hand across his face. Wading through the bodies the Brethren blessed the corpses and marked the sign of the cross on their foreheads with holy water.

It was a disturbing image to say the least -

Somewhere on the hill a groan sounded. A shock of red hair lifted from the ground, a pale back struggling to stand. Giles moved towards him, cursing that he hadn't checked every body himself, how could they have left an injured person out there to die?

He arrived just as Oz's legs buckled and caught him underneath the arms. "Dear lord," Giles muttered, noting the angry wound that was quickly stitching itself closed. The men and women of the pack came forward and surrounded them.

One woman hung her head in supplication; then another, and another, until all the adults and most of the children had followed suit. Giles wasn't sure what was happening, but Oz was in no condition to make any kind of response.

A small hand reached up and held tightly to the wounded werewolf's belt. Autumn did not meet Giles' questioning gaze, but Owen did.

"We acknowledge Daniel Osbourne as pack leader," he explained, and bowed his head.

Regaining some of his senses, Oz wiped a tear from his daughter's face before looking around at the pack - his pack - and howling his acceptance to the moon.