Willow Rosenberg was feeling good. Her morning classes had gone well, she had the rest of the day to do whatever she wanted and there weren't any apocalypse things scheduled for at least a few months.
She'd once asked Giles why it was that evil always seemed to take a few months off in the summer. He'd immediately begun cleaning his glasses like he'd never cleaned them before, stammering something about how some things were better left unsaid, scooped up his guitar and began playing a late-period Hall & Oates song. It was a transparent attempt to distract her, but she rarely found Giles sexier than when he was stammering or singing, so she went along with it, and she and Tara had swayed and danced together.
Tara. Best of all, her baby was home, safe, and in her right mind. The two had been making up for a lot of lost time together, and the thought of another session in their warm bed had been occupying the rear rooms of her brain all morning.
"Don't forget," she'd said, kissing Tara goodbye that morning, "We have a play-date tonight."
"I won't forget," said Tara. "Just don't be late or I might have to start without you."
Willow had immediately begun calculating just how late she should be to walk in on the most delightful scene imaginable. She smiled just to think of it. Glancing at her watch, she saw that her girlfriend would still be in classes now, and was trying to decide what to do to kill the hours until they could meet. She had just about decided to drop by the Magic Shop and see if Xander was up for anything when a scruffy stranger approached her.
"Excuse me, lady," he said. His voice was rough and raw, as if he hadn't used it in so long it had grown dusty. "I haven't had a bite in days."
Willow could hear Anya's voice in her ear. That means you're supposed to bite him, Willow. That's the correct humorous response. Oh dear. She really had spent one too many nights at their apartment playing charades. But it was just too good to resist, especially when Tara had to act out Yurtle the Turtle.
She favored the stranger with a smile. "I'm sorry, I have nothing on me."
He just stared at her for a moment, and Willow felt guilty. Suddenly she heard herself saying "If you want to come with me downtown I can get you a sandwich with my ATM card." A 'which from a witch, she thought.
"That's very kind of you," said the stranger. "I will walk with you, if you don't mind."
Willow started heading downtown, thinking how proud Tara would be of her for helping this man. She must be sure to ask for a reward.
They were passing by the entrance to the woods.
"I'm Willow," she said. The stranger was silent for a long time and then said,
"Mike. Mike Gray Dog."
"Native American?"
"I was. A long time ago."
"Willow Rosenberg. Jewish. Well, I was. I guess I still am, but, oh hey, you don't want to hear all about me, do you?"
She hadn't run on like that in ages but there was something about this stranger that was suddenly making her nervous. She was glad it was broad daylight, she was a witch, and heading to a place where there were lots of people she knew.
She was glad of it even as she suddenly felt his hands on her body, pulling up her shirt in the back.
"Hey! Hands off, buster! What do you think you're…"
But then his rough, dirty fingers with long nails had found a pressure point known only to the oldest of the people at the base of her spine, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she lost consciousness.
The man who had called himself Mike Gray Dog hoisted her body over his shoulder and ran double-time deep into the woods to wait for night to fall.