I do no own anything to do with Peter Pan. But thank you J. M Barrie!
-G
Ever since she was a little girl Wendy Darling had believed in fairies. Or rather, perhaps not fairies specifically, but wondrous things in general. It was quite a natural reaction after all, for one who had lived with a spare shadow for almost as long as she could remember. Although shadows are typically quite unnoticeable things, once one is found continuously where it ought not to be, then it turns into quite the conundrum. And this was Peter Pan's shadow. Not the least bit mundane.
This could not be said for the majority of shadows, no matter how far from their owner's they might be found. After all, the eleven year old Wendy would say stoutly to anyone who would listen, shadows were just their owner without the body. And some people were utterly boring.
If, for instance, the shadow had been Mrs. Dodderfoot (from her horrid History class), Wendy was quite positive that she could not pay it the least bit mind. Except maybe to wish it gone, or give it a smart little flick. So long as no one was watching, of course.
These responses were not ones you could have towards the presence of Peter Pan in your house. Quite the opposite.
As soon as John and Michel fell asleep over the other side of the nursery, Wendy would race across the room to re-light the lamp, her bare feet a fast patter against the floor. Her eyes alight with glee, she would frolic silently in her nightgown, the eager counterpart to that cheeky silhouette zipping around their room.
Peter, naturally, was the master of these silent fun-filled nights. With ease he would construct numerous adventures, bringing them to life with his portrayals of dashing heroes, murderous villains, and sneaky crooks. He took delight in constantly astounding Wendy in these demonstrations, and quite frequently she had to muffle a squeal or gasp whilst watching her companion, lest she wake up her family. Peter, being a shadow, had no such concerns. In fact there were times that she suspected he deliberately brought her close to such disaster, and it was never long before his careless levity spread to her like a cold in Winter.
Wendy, with practise, soon considered herself quite the expert of these forays. Her favourite of the stories that Peter wove was that between the two rival swordsman, Captain Hook and Long John Silver. Peter's shadow at some point would always brandish his sword and laugh, hands planted on his hips and his curly head tilted carelessly back. Something about him then would remind her of the park in spring (or perhaps the sun in summer?). Whatever it was, it remained on the tip of her tongue, and she suspected that was quite right.
'Are ye ready?' She would challenge his silhouette in a fierce whisper, her eyes glittering as she circled around the room, hands tight around the broom handle.
The shadow on the wall would twirl his blade, with a decisive well practised flick. And (sometimes, if she watched very closely and the angle was right) she could have sworn that she caught a glimpse where Peter's shadow would say something back in return. In those moments, she wished that her silent companion could make even the tiniest bit of sound, though in truth he did quite well without it. It amazed her at times how someone so silent could be so very vocal. But that was the magic of Peter Pan for you, impossibly improbable. The word conundrum fitting him like an old glove.
As they faced off each other, the both of them engrossed in their mortal combat, Peter's Shadow would blaze with confidence. Their duel's were flurries of snappy pars, quick thrusts and vicious slices. Until Wendy, breathless and exhausted, would begrudgingly concede defeat so that she collapse on her bed. Her goodbyes to Peter was quite frequently little more than a mumbled slur of words as she slipped into dreams.
For Wendy these were the best parts of her week, the nights spent with Peter Pan's Shadow, while the rest of the world was fast asleep. But that was before the Summer when the boy himself flew through her open window, landing near the foot of her bed, a wicked grin on his dimpled face.
For that was when the true adventure began.