Sometimes the things that slip through the cracks are your friends…Missing Heroes.

Text by Calypso Woodhaven

Book 16: Call of the Wild


"All that stirring of old instincts which at stated periods drives men out from the sounding cities to forest and plain to kill things by chemically propelled leaden bullets, the blood lust, the joy to kill -- all this was Buck's, only it was infinitely more intimate. He was ranging at the head of the pack, running the wild thing down, the living meat, to kill with how own teeth and wash his muzzle to the eyes in warm blood."*


Oz chuffed happily at this.


Cordelia smiled. “You always love this part.”


“Do I?” Oz asked, surprised.


“Yeah.” This time her smile was forced. He never remembered her visits.


She’d been poking around in pocket dimensions, looking for something even marginally exciting to do. If she thought being a higher being had been boring, living in Paradise was almost more so. There was only so much perfection a girl could stand before she went insane.


Part of her had hoped that Wolfram and Hart had tucked away a Neiman Marcus or Prada or something, just in case of an apocalypse.  She’d been shocked to run across Oz.


After that first visit, she came back again and again.  It was always the same. He was excited to see her, but every time it was like the first time. It had taken her a long time to realize how he’d been trapped here, and by whom.


“Why do you come here?”  Oz asked.


How could she explain that she couldn’t just leave him here to rot?  “Should I stop coming?”


Oz shook his head, and then looked at her appraisingly. “Sometimes…I think I remember.  Your hair, your laugh, Buck,” he laughed.  “Guess it’s not surprising that the dog stands out.”


Cordy felt tears prick her eyes, but she forced them back and smiled. “Hey, I learned something new since my last visit.”




Cordy pointed toward the window.  Snowflakes had begun to sprinkle down. At first it was simply a few fat, delicate flakes floating lazily, but soon more began to fall.


“That’s beautiful.” Oz rubbed absently at his hand, trying to stroke a talisman he no longer wore. “It makes me think of Tibet .”


She lifted the book. “You want me to keep reading?”


“I’d like that.”


Some day, she’d find a way to really get through to him. Some day, he’d be out of here. And then she’d make Willow pay.




*Quote from Call of the Wild by Jack London.  Buck is the canine protagonist in the tale.


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