"No."

"Why ever not?"

"Giles, I'm the Slayer, not Calamity Jane. Besides, it's winter. See the white stuff...?"

"There are no roads where we're going and it would take days to hike up there. Are you telling me you are fundamentally incapable of controlling a horse...in snow or otherwise?"

Buffy's face grew stormy. 'Fundamentally incapable' sounded a lot like 'stupid.' "I didn't say I couldn't, just that I wouldn't. My last horse-riding experience involved large teeth and a very bruised foot. And my last interface with 'horsies' wasn't exactly a friendly one either, if you remember correctly."

Giles snorted. "You weren't the one with the bloody lance sticking out of you."

The memory caused Buffy to wilt a little. "Not one of our better campaigns," she winced, remembering how preoccupied she was while he was hanging between life and death.

Giles looked sideways at her, reading her expression. "Definitely not."

She shrugged. "Okay, so show me what they're offering."

The ranch in question had been more than willing to provide mounts in exchange for the removal of whatever it was that was killing their livestock in such macabre and gruesomely artistic ways and leaving assorted mystical calling cards.

They rounded the huge barn, thankful that only a few inches of snow covered the yard, and stopped at a corral with four horses in. Buffy's eyes immediately fastened onto a chestnut of Galloway height, which, to Giles' experienced eye, was part Arabian and beautifully conformed, its only drawback being the three white stockings which made those feet softer than the fourth, black hoof and therefore would require serious attention to shoeing for most of its existence.

Buffy continued to watch it, entranced as it almost floated across the corral, its tail held like a banner, mane and forelock flowing and its nostrils flared warily.

Giles, watching her mobile expressions, smiled to himself and considered the other three choices. The pinto was too small, which left a flea-bitten grey of at least sixteen hands, probably more, and a seal black thoroughbred with long legs and a tendency towards skittishness if its reactions to the proximity of the other animals, and to the bird trying to pick up odd bits of grain around the feed bin, were any indication.

Buffy finally turned. "So hey, they're all kinda nice. Which one are you taking? It's gotta be the pretty black one, right?"

He shook his head solemnly. "If I wanted to make fast time across flat, snow-less country, possibly, but if you look at the grey it's a much steadier, stronger animal, well muscled, but wiry." He indicated its wide hooves. "And it has the sort of feet which will do well where we're going to have to go."

Her face dropped a little. "Then I guess you want me to take the pinto, because, well, it's all chunky and quiet, right?"

"It would be a good choice," he agreed. "But the warm-blood, despite its appearance, is a nimble, powerful mount, usually of some intelligence, and will serve you just as well, provided you have some skill as a rider. Bill said this one was rising six years old and well schooled. You shouldn't have a problem with him, provided you have the appropriate skills, as I said."

"Him?"

"Gelding."

"Oh."

Giles chuckled. "A mare might have been a more risky proposition. There's enough Arabian there to make it essential that you concentrate on what you're doing. It's not an animal you want to be riding if your attention is going to be elsewhere for any length of time."

"So...if I agree to do this, I really should take the pinto, then?"

He rolled his eyes and picked up a halter from the fence. "Why don't we wait until you get acquainted first? Come on."

Buffy followed Giles through the gate and watched with some admiration as he quietly isolated the chestnut, speaking softly to it as he moved to its side, and, facing its head, slid the lead rope on the halter around the animal's neck before deftly settling the halter into place. She liked how he smiled to himself when the horse threw its head up defiantly, shook it hard and snorted as if to say 'you tricked me'.

When Giles had tied the horse up outside the corral, Buffy ventured forward to stroke its neck. It really was a beautiful animal.

Giles watched her, understanding exactly what she saw in it. It was a very attractive creature, with its dish-shaped nose, and the tendency to flex too much at the poll...not to mention the banner-like mane and tail. He suspected that Bill's daughter, the animal's owner, had probably been attracted to exactly the same things.

While Buffy continued to bond with her new friend, he went back into the corral and caught Bill's own grey gelding. Unlike the warm-blood, it was unfazed about being haltered, and sedate in an, 'I choose to tolerate you' sort of way.

Buffy looked it over as Giles tied it up only feet from her. "I don't think I like all those freckles all over it. Looks kinda...well, not as pretty as those greys that look like clouds, you know?"

"Dapple greys," Giles provided absently, as he slid a hand from the animal's wither across to the shoulder and down a foreleg.

"So what's this one? Freckled grey?"

He laughed as he encouraged the horse to lift its foot for his inspection. "Flea-bitten grey, though I expect you'll be appalled by that too."

"Duh and eiww. The poor thing."

"It doesn't actually involve fleas."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I didn't actually think it did, but it doesn't seem fair to the horse to call it that. Not exactly flattering...what are you doing?"

"Checking for stones. These horses were brought in from pasture for our benefit. The children are away at school and their parents have been far too preoccupied with their city day jobs coming up to Christmas, to have time for riding. I don't want to get halfway to the caves and have one of them pull up lame. He moved to the grey's hindquarters and asked for the boot knife he'd given her for the trip. She watched him clean the one hoof that was badly impacted with dirt, grass and mud.

Buffy looked dubious, but copied his earlier movements exactly, to lift a front hoof on the chestnut, who made heavy weather of the exercise and leaned unnecessarily against her while she inspected the horny underside of the white hoof. She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for, but there were no rocks or stones to be seen. She repeated the exercise with the off-foreleg.

"Be careful," Giles warned as she moved to the animal's rear. "Stay away from his hindquarters and striking distance of either of those hooves."

This time things didn't quite go to plan. The gelding didn't like having its hind leg picked up and planted it like a steel post, refusing to allow Buffy to bend it.

"Um, it's gone on strike. Should I show it who's boss...like, Slayer-type boss?"

"No," Giles said quickly, and moved to her side.

Buffy watched him go to the gelding's head and speak to it as he rubbed its neck and ears, before sliding a firm hand down its back, and down the leg in question, still talking quietly. The hoof was impacted with dirt and mud and Giles' knife pried loose a pebble not much bigger than a pea. He straightened when he was done with the other hind leg, and wiped his hands together.

"Right. Well, can you ride or not?"

Buffy crossed her arms. "Can," she confirmed, looking at the chestnut again and watching it blow air expressively through its nostrils. "Just haven't wanted to since the psycho-pony incident."

Giles smiled, amused. "Riding school and worse, pony-hire mounts, are often eccentric, and occasionally quite disturbed. It's not an easy life for them, being subjected daily, indeed sometimes hourly, to often appallingly bad riders. It's worse if the animal is even remotely bright. Those are the ones who soon work out the routine and which often, on the last ride of the day, are known to take off unexpectedly with a novice rider, to get back faster, knowing that rest, food and peace lie at the end of the ride."

She finally smiled back. "Well, if you put it that way, I don't think I hate that nasty little roan so much anymore. Poor things. Isn't there a law or something?"

"Would that there were," Giles sighed and looked up to where the sun was well and truly above the horizon now. "I believe the tack room is inside the barn."

Satisfied, he swung up into the unfamiliar western saddle, reflecting upon what a pity it was that the only non-western saddle was a mouth-watering 'Stubben' dressage saddle for the warm-blood, in elk and black saddle leather. He supposed, as he settled into the well-worn and surprisingly comfortable seat, that Bill didn't really need such an expensive piece of tack for going around his property and stock.

Buffy also hastily chose a western saddle after questioning Giles about the Stubben and discovering how much it would cost to replace.

Giles guided the grey across to where Buffy had come to halt to watch him.

"Did Bill tell you the names of these guys?" she asked as they moved off together, crunching their way out of the yard.

"I don't believe the subject came up. However, his daughter, Kellie, talks about little else but that creature so I already know that its name is Titan, and Bill, himself, recommended old Jasper, here."

Buffy eyed her companion as they left the home area of the ranch. He looked kinda impressive on the powerful grey, with his glasses put away for safekeeping and his favourite sword in a scabbard on his back. Of course the close-fitting blue jeans, denim shirt and black wool coat didn't hurt, either.

"So how much exactly did you and Will find out about all those weird symbols and the way the cattle were...you know?" she finally asked.

"Not a great deal. It would appear that we're dealing with a nest of a very ancient kind of demon...almost, but not quite, pure. Mordredii thrive on death...or more precisely the moment of death. Fortunately they're also intelligent enough to primarily restrict themselves to non-sentient victims in order to maintain a lower profile."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "The symbols are kind of a giveaway."

He chuckled. "Perhaps, but rather like the citizenry of Sunnydale, for most it has always been far easier to assume something more...mundane, like wolves, coyotes...foxes, or eagles...even feral dogs or cats are to blame, despite such signs of sentience. If Bill Morgan wasn't an acquaintance of mine, I doubt we'd have even heard about this incident, unless you frequent those ludicrous tabloids sold in supermarkets."

The pert nose wrinkled. "I don't call artistically arranged entrails a sign of sentience."

It was Giles' turn to show his distaste. "Yes, well, the fact that they are generally arranged *on* the drawn demon symbols probably accounts for most people preferring to blame wild animals."

They rode on together, enjoying the sunshine, the sharp, cold air, the fresh horses and the idle shop talk, as Giles guided them to the caves from which the locals suspected the killers, whomever they might be, had come. He wasn't particularly confident that he would find anything more than a smattering of sign, or a few half-melted prints in the snow, possibly due to them having retreated there temporarily to avoid being seen by the deer hunters who'd reported wounding 'something real weird' and tracking a trail of blood to the caves. The bravest of the, probably inebriated, men had ventured several dozen metres into the cave in question before a lack of light and general nervousness caused them to decide that discretion definitely was the better part of valour.

"Wow. Kinda under-whelming," Buffy observed when they halted in the clearing in front of the caves...most little more than hollows in the cliff, and the one deeper one looking more like a crack had opened up in the hillside than an actual cave.

"Not everything is like the movies, or the television."

She tilted her head at the unsubtle dig. "Yeah, like you're going to find a television show about an Englishman and his Slayer hunting seriously disturbed demons on horseback in the Sierra Nevadas. Riiiight."

Giles snorted. "The Sierra Nevada," he corrected and dismounted, handing the reins to Buffy.

She watched him cross the clearing and was surprised to find herself watching parts of Giles' anatomy that she had never watched before. He was wearing an earring again, the jeans really were 'comfy' in all the right places, and the soft, light blue denim- look shirt under the long, black coat, did things to her that she really wasn't expecting.

End part 1