Not a limerick

The stone cavern snakes for a moment and then emerges into another small torch-lit cavern. As she pauses in the entrance, the last torch behind goes out, and she knows that this is where she's been guided to.

She never was one for waiting, she thinks and strides forward.

There's another stone altar in the middle of the cavern, thankfully without the body on this one. Right on the top of it, precisely placed in the middle is a stake. She tilts her head, and considers it carefully. It's not her normal style, but when in Rome… as her first Watcher used to say. She needs to think, not react all the time.

But it's a weapon.

One of her hands opens and closes, flexing her muscles. She misses the feel of the stake in her hand, the way that it feels almost part of her when she's in the dance. The way it flows through the air, how it pushes through the resistance of the vampires chest to the way to their black and dust filled hearts.

And it's a weapon.

It's dark around the edges of the cavern. Anything could be there, watching her from the shadows. Eyes looking at her, seeing her.

And yet she knows deep down inside her that this is another choice. But then, she's a Slayer. Did she ever really have a choice? Could she, should she walk on by?

She takes the stake.

As she half expected, all the torches go out. Apart that is, from two on the far side of the cavern, on either side of an exit and passage on forward. Her eyes start to adjust to the gloom and dusk around her.

That's when she hears them moving through the dark towards her, their cloven feet grating against the rock underfoot.