Footfalls of Tara
by Les

Tara walked through a familiar thickly wooded area of Sunnydale that she nicknamed "Cradle-wood." It was often that she sought the warm arm-enfolding closeness of the trees as the wind gently blew through them. Mindfull that this wayfaring always brought solace to her deepest and most secret self, she often came there after a hard day at school or --- more often than not --- because of disagreements with her family.

The was almost personified in the trees; and the softly running brooks were the water element: always flowing, always alive. The passing of earthly time was in the rushing water.

Fire appeared to Tara as she spotted a family of holiday-makers faintly within eyesight who were enjoying the felicities of a cook-out. How wondrous it was that such a simple instance of "spellcraft" --- the igniting of a fire --- would bring joy to a family by igniting the fire and lumps of coal.

As Tara walked pensively, observantly and reverently in a slow rhythm over the earth, her booted feet made a crunching noise as they made their way over the leaves and composts and life-sustaining soil we call Mother Earth. Tara was home.

A powerful witch and a loving and empathetic soul, she found expression of her love in Willow, also of the mighty power and the unselfish ego. Tara and Willow often came to "Cradle Wood" to share wonders, thoughts, discoveries, satisfactions and always their love. But now Tara was on a quest unknown to anyone but to her.

There was a secret purpose to her coming alone. Secure in the knowledge that Willow was attending a world history class, Tara knew that her successful completion of the quest would glorify their love and purify her unsettled soul.

Tara was going to Hellmouth.

She was haunted by guilt and sadness but never told Willow about her feelings. She was too hurt even for sharing. She blamed herself for Willow's use of the "Darkest Magick" tome whose craft-knowledge was used --- sadly, in vain --- against Glory. She blamed herself for the quarrel that she had with Willow that resulted in Willow's running to class upset and that resulted in Tara's going to the fair only to become an easy target for Glory's treachery. She even blamed herself for Dawn's blood-letting; and, ultimately, for hastening Buffy's self-sacrificial death. Had Tara only not quarrelled with Willow, none of these would have happened, she reasoned.

Tara was having a crisis in faith: a crisis of belief in herself. It was gnawing inside her; and she was resolved to put herself to rights.

Tara wasn't that far away from Hellmouth now. She was full "strapped." That was a slang term that Buffy and the Scoobys used when they were fully armed and about to go on patrol. Tara wore a a russet brown flowing dress and matching boots. A pentagram dangled from its chain around her neck; and it was hidden inside her bodice. Also hidden was a dagger that was strapped to a sheath on her left thigh (her being right-handed); and inside her shoulder handbag were phials of potions, a small crossbow and bolts (she was a master in its use since childhood) and a phial of a deadly poison: strychnine. She was ready for combat, all right. She was "strapped" to the nines

The pastorale holiness of the wood changed as a dark, musty haze and aroma enveloped Tara as she approached Hellmouth. 

So armed, Tara descended down a jagged craggy footpath into Hellmouth. There was a moaning sound that droned on continually of nondescript origin. She stopped momentarily to get her bearings. She had her hands on her hips and surveyed the land and the sky. Down she went, armed with her courage and her resolve as much as with her physical weapons.

Her heart began to race and she was breathing fast and hard. She wanted to justify her existence, her self-worth and her love (as if any justification were necessary).

She climbed further downward carefully and purposefully. A loud crack startled her and she jumped aside quickly and screamed. She was shaking and looked down. She saw a skeleton and saw the broken rib cage which she had cracked. 

Stopping to regain her composure, she closed her eyes for an instant and clenched her fists in defiance. She didn't say another silent or audible word. She took another deep breath and made her way to a place that was more illuminated, relatively speaking.

Tara screamed again as she felt her arms being pulled gruffly and painfully behind her back. She could feel the heavy hands as well as the inhuman grunts and lascivious moans of her would-be captor. She withstood the pain and tried to free herself from the monster's grip, but she couldn't. She was also trying to find out what kind of monster she was fighting; and as she turned her head to see its face, she screamed again: it was an incubus.

She writhed in pain as the monster threw her to the ground and jumped on her, pinning her to the ground. She kicked him with all her might and she punched his face. Her arms were as strong as her legs from using the crossbow.

It fell back, just long enough for her to deal her death blows. She knew she only had seconds --- precious few seconds --- in which to save herself. She grabbed the dagger dipped in strychnine from its scabbard and plunged it all the up the handle into the incubus's heart. A nauseating ooze of brownish yellowish purplish blood spurted forth. The monster roared and shook uncontrollably for a handful of seconds, then fell to the ground dead.

Tara rose to her full height and looked to see what damage was done. There were cuts and bruises on her face that she couldn't see. She did see some blood coming from her calves and forearms, but she was none the worse for wear. There was no vessel that was pulsing blood, thank goodness, which would have meant that an artery or arteries were severed. Triumph!

Tara then began her ascent to the entry point of Hellmouth. When she reached ground level, she fell to her knees and folded her hands in prayer. She took the pentagram dangling from her neck in her hands and kissed it. She prayed. Then she stood up and extended the pentagram at arms' length on its chain. She first faced the East, then the South, then the West, then finally the North (the "razor's edge," the hero's battleground) and said another prayer while doing so.

About to go home, Tara saw a snake coiled not far from the North portion that she had just faced. Looking straight in front of her, she didn't see it before. She moved very slowly and deliberately. Opening her handbag and taking out her cross-bow, she inserted a bolt into its place and took aim. She let the bolt fly and it struck the snake in its head. Tara smiled and sighed.

The victor strode purposefully away from Hellmouth and walked home, wiser, confident and purified. Her footfalls crunched upon Mother Earth that she loved and revered so well. It was, after all, Holy Ground.

Greeted by an astonished and frightened Willow, Tara thew her arms around her and calmed her, explaining about her quest and her doubts and her victory. Both women washed and dressed the wounds in spoken words of consolation for each other and unspoken words of love. They smiled embraced and kissed. Some feelings and things are beyond words. They were home.

END