OZ

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The Wizard! The Wizard! Dead! Dead! Help Dorothy! Help her!

Scarecrow stepped back in shock as the crows' words brought to him the realization of who was lying before him. The crows hopped off of the body and, one by one, began pecking at the soil, continuing to mumble the same words again and again.  As the Scarecrow sat numbly staring, the crows slowly but surely, began to dig a shallow grave.  It should have been impossible, what with their beaks being so small, but they completed the grave before the sun went down, and slowly flapped over to the Scarecrow, leaning against him as he cried.

Shh, shh. Let us help you. Let us help before this happens to Dorothy.

He wiped his tears away, gently stroking each of the birds' heads, continuing to stare at the Wizard. "Dorothy? Dorothy's back in Kansas. She's safe." He stood up and walked away from the grave, away from the fields, the crows perched on his shoulders, whispering in his ears.

We used to work for the Witch. We know her ways. We can help you get to Dorothy. Make sure she is safe.

"I have to tell the Lion and the Tinman. I have to tell all of Oz." He spoke softly, in a daze. In all of the years since he had been sewn and stuffed, he had never seen a living creature die. Even his fields did not die in the winter-the weather in this part of Oz was a perpetual summer.

I'll tell them, one of the crows whispered. Follow my brothers. They'll show you the way. The castle has all of the answers. You can save Dorothy. 

Scarecrow stopped walking, looking at the birds through watery eyes.  "You'll bring the Lion and Tinman over soon? They'll want to help." The birds nodded, Of course.

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A short journey later, the two crows and the Scarecrow arrived at the Witch's gate, silent and cold, the smell of decay in the air. Gathering his courage, the Scarecrow stepped through the gate, walking up the dank stairs. He hated being here, but the Witch and her guards were gone, and this was the only place he could go to that would get him back to Kansas, back to Dorothy. He couldn't let anything happen to her, not after what she had done for them.

The crows flew ahead of him now, never more than a few feet away, whispering directions now and again-up these stairs, turn left, go down those, back up here. It was a labyrinth that he could never hope to navigate on his own. Soon, a familiar room came into view, the room where Dorothy had been trapped by the flying monkeys, and the crows pulled open the doors.

The wooden hourglass stood upright on the table, it's red sand leaking slowly from a crack in the glass.  Nothing else in the room was changed much. The large glass ball in the center of the room stood dusty and unused, the furniture was stinking and eaten by moths. Scarecrow stood in fascination, admiring the room that had once seemed so frightening.

It really was a pretty room.

"And it can all be yours."

The Scarecrow jumped, never expecting to hear the Wicked Witch's voice again, and yet here she was, as green as ever, standing beside him. "You!" He ran for the door, the room losing its appeal once more.

"You can't run from me!" The Witch cackled, the door bursting into flames. "Did you really think I would die so quickly? That something so simple could defeat me? A pail of water! Ha!" She smiled kindly at the Scarecrow's shivering form. "You could help me, you know." She reached out, taking the Scarecrow's hat away, throwing it into the flames.

"Let me experiment with you and this room can be yours. I've seen you admiring it. Every time you're in here you admire this room." He stayed silent, fear stealing his voice. "Not enough? Fine." Her voice grew harsh as she gripped the Scarecrow's face in her hand.

"You will stay here or I will kill every last one of your friends right in front of you. First the Tinman, then the Lion, and then Dorothy." His eyes widened. "Yes, we'll save the best for last. She would be the most fun to kill. Understood?" He nodded and she released him, shoving him into a chair, a grin forming on her face.

"This is going to be fun."