And here exited Buffy Summers. She stood (hat in hand, coat zipped up) on the front porch and gave her arms a vigorous rubbing. Winter! She was back, and it had to be winter. And after clothing had been borrowed and other clothing scrounged from the shops, she was left looking patchwork. It did little for her bewilderment and less for her self-esteem.

Buffy was wrestling with mittens when she looked up and...

"Anya."

It was a hello. Sort of.