After hours of still and sleepy silence, Milasia makes an announcement. She rises from the log with a dramatic stretch and yawns out her words.

"This is seriously boring the crap out of me," she mutters. "I'm going for a walk back to camp to search for something to drink. Might be a while."

"Alright," I say. "Take your time, I got things covered here."

She doesn't respond, she just walks away. I sit sideways on the log, my legs astride the wood. I don't blame her for giving up, Sam picked the wrong Slayer to sit and do nothing all night. I imagine she probably protested it to the best of her ability like always, but resisting an order from Sam is like being branded by a hot iron on your back.

I listen to the wind for a while. It's enjoyable the way it whistles around the rim of my ears and carries the tune along the branches of the swaying trees. And then, all of a sudden, my heart begins pounding as my nose picks up a scent of something impossible. I smell him like a dog would smell out meat, and I feel him as though his blood is running through me.

I stand up, checking the camp to make sure Milasia isn't returning, and then I follow the scent through the trees. A tingling begins in my chest that radiates all over my body as I edge closer and closer towards unknown danger.

Through the small clearing of trees, I hear a familiar incantation. Someone is chanting. Not just someone, but a boy. A young boy. I rest myself against a tree as the boy crouches on the ground, his hand reaching out in front him, his voice becoming more desperate with every chant of his spell.

"Please!" the boy cries. "Please come to me. Please, mother!"

He recites the same spell. It's an old incantation, and one that I screamed over and over again when I lost my mother. Unfortunately for both of us, our mothers are just a little too much out of reach.

I decide to step out, mainly because his cries are breaking my heart. The moment he hears me, his head snaps up and he's on his feet, treading backwards in fear.

"I-I'm sorry," the boy says in a panic. "I wasn't doing anything I promise! Please don't kill me. I'm sorry."

I walk closer towards him and he falls to his knees, rocking back and forth in tears.

"Please don't kill me, I don't want to die. Please. I'll never do it again. I promise I'll never do it again."

The boy can't be older than nine or ten, and already he's terrified of being caught out for being something he can't control.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I whisper. "What's your name?"

"David," he says, his eyes pinched closed. "You aren't going to kill me?"

"No, David, I'm not. It's okay, you can stand up."

Very slowly, the boy gets to his feet. He wipes the tears from his cheek and he gently takes his hood down. His face is pale, tainted with grief and loss. His red cheeks are wet and sticky and his brown hair is long enough to blow against the wind.

"H-how did you find me?" he asks. "I can always sense them."

"You have a tracker gift?"

He nods.

"I'm new to the camp," I say. "You haven't placed your tracker upon me yet." I move towards him unexpectedly and he doesn't know how to take that. He stiffens as I forcefully roll up his sleeves and examine his wrists. "Interesting."

"I was never branded," he says.

"You were raised outside of a coven. How?"

"My m-mother hid me from them. She said they were dangerous, that the Elders were dangerous. They found her and killed her, I hid nearby and the Slayers found me and brought me here. You're going to tell them, aren't you? They're going to kill me."

"That's not going to happen," I say, crouching down. I lift the end of my sleeve and I show him my tattoo. "Look. I'm not one of them. You can trust me."

His eyes become brighter and his arms wider as he embraces me suddenly. I hug him back for a few seconds, before he rips himself away.

"Why are you here?" he asks. "Are you spying?"

I blink. He's smart.

"No. I'm here because the Slayer leader, Sam, sent me here. I'm posing as one of them to protect the humans, but I promise you, I am not working for Amara. Your secret is safe with me, but you've got to be more careful. There are Slayer guards all over this camp and if it was one of them that found you. . ."

"I know," he says. "I won't do it again. How did you find me?"

I smile. "Your magic reached out to me. It called to me, led the way. Wiccans are bound by blood, with the right training one day, maybe you'll sense it too."

"There is no one to teach me," he says quietly. "All I know is what I remember reading from my mother's spell books. She didn't know I read them. My mother hated talking about magic."

"Then your mother was smart. Magic is overrated."

"The children in the camp say that magic is the only thing that can save us. If only a wiccan with bravery would stand up to Amara. I wanted to be that wiccan. I wanted to get better so that I could save them because I couldn't save my mother. But having magic is a curse and it only brings bad things."

"You're wrong, David." I drop back to my knees. I hold out my palm and I conjure a small, dim light. "Magic isn't a curse, and it certainly isn't bad. There are those that abuse it and use it for bad purposes, but magic comes from the purest, good source of all. If you trust it-" I let the small light float away through the trees until it disappears. "-then it will never let you down. And it will be a part of you, just like your mother, always."

"Really?"

"Really. You can't blame yourself for not being powerful enough to save someone, I wrestled with that burden for a while and it was pointless. We live in a world where bad things happen, but magic doesn't cause that, the people that abuse magic do. We can only strive to do better, and use our gifts to help, because that's what defeats the bad."

"But if I use my magic then the Slayers will kill me."

I sigh. "The Slayers won't touch you; I promise. Nothing bad will happen to you again. You won't be in a refugee camp forever, one day you'll be free to do as much magic as you want and be whoever you want to be. Until then, like me, you'll have to hide it."

He nods gently. "What is your name?"

"Theresa Harmon," I say. "But I'm known here as Nala. You should go now, before they notice you are gone."

"Good night, Theresa."

"Good night."

I wait until he's safely back inside the camp until I begin walking towards my post. I walk slowly, letting it all sink in. The last thing I expected was to meet a warlock at a human camp guarded by Slayers, but now that I've met him, I won't be able to rest for worrying about him. The boy has lost everything, his entire world has crumbled around him, and he now must hide what he is from everyone around him, including his friends. All because of bloodlines and ancient wars that deem us and the Slayers irrational enemies. Would Sam spare the boy if he found out? I'm unsure. But I feel as though I need to get him out of here before he cracks and exposes himself without Sam being here.

When I arrive back at the log, Milasia is back and is drinking from an oddly shaped cup.

"It's a good job the camp wasn't under attack while you wandered off to talk to some trees," she hisses. "Nature freak, should have guessed."

"I just went for a walk," I say, taking my seat. "I wasn't far."

"Whatever. The sooner the sun rises the better. I can't wait to get out of this place."

"Me too."

A few hours ago, that was true. But now, leaving is the last thing I want to do. I can't afford to get distracted, the world depends on it, but I also can't ignore my natural instinct to protect my own kind. It's a trait I hate bearing and no matter how much I try to disregard my feelings towards it, I can't escape it.

Maybe the path to doing better, starts here.