Little Michael swam though the air with ease. He bobbed about merrily and kept up with Peter's speed. I called to him to slow down once or twice, but the boys called me silly and went along just the same.

I saved face helping John, who's flight was halting. He let me hold his hand, though I knew it hurt his pride. John was afraid of heights, and found the endeavor less joyous.

"What are you thinking of, John?"

"I am thinking of fighting Pirates."

"That sounds frightening!"

"Peter says it's fun."

"Well Peter is a liar then," I looked to the bright form ahead of us. The sun had risen behind us, and now the earth seemed to be falling away from us. We were not approaching the horizon. It peeled away from us into the sky. Vertigo set in, but in the dizzying way that a perfect rose bud excites the senses. The feeling buoyed my brothers and I up with Peter.

Peter saw John grinning, "See?" he said, "You need not fear the sky, it's only clouds and bright stars."

John's smile dropped a notch in indignation, "I am afraid of heights, not the sky."

Peter laughed, "Then you are afraid of the Earth, that is even sillier."

"The earth has a great mass."

"Yes, but it only strikes sad, and stupid boys!"

"Look at this!" said Michael from above us.

Peter twirled in the air and ran into Michael, who squealed and did a somersault into me. I would have been cross, but Peter's laugh rang like a bell.

"See, Wendy. There is Neverland!"

I looked up and found he was pointing down. My head spun. I was upside-down. John looked like he would be sick. Michael looked like Christmas morning had come.

"Come on!" Peter lifted his hand to the sky, and I reached down from it. He helped me right myself and Michael did the same for his brother. Now traveling horizontally, we crossed a great forest. I watched my toes underneath, pointed them as if to brush the distant carpet of trees. Peter traveled even faster now, but he kept hold of my hand. My pace quickened, though he did not pull me.

We came closer to the treetops, and I could see the subtle shifts of hue in the leaves. The new trees were vibrant and fresh colored, the old had soft and loving tones, and then the wind would blow and turn up all the undersides in silver and gold.

John spotted the sea first.

"What is that?" he pointed the sliver of water. Peter let go of me to get a better look. "Is that where the Pirates are?"

"No..." said Peter ", that is Marooner's Rock. If there are Pirates there, they will be dead soon." Michael's eyes grew wide. Peter nodded grimly ", Sometimes, mutineers and scallywags are left there. Captain Hook will tie them to the rock, and when the tide comes in..." he paused for dramatic effect.

"What?" said John.

"They drown... if the mermaids don't get them first."

"Are you afraid of mermaids?" I asked.

"I'm not afraid," Peter puffed out his chest and put his hands on his hips. "Some dangers are real. The mermaids come for the sailors, pulling their hair, pushing their heads under the water..."

"You also kill pirates, do you not?" I asked.

"That's different... mermaids are..." he shuddered.

"You're being..." I paused, searching for the word, "hypocritical."

"That's just what mum would say," said Michael happily.

"You don't even know what that means," said John.

Suddenly, something struck my chest. The air in my lungs seemed caught and my throat closed. I looked down and all I saw was the shaft protruding from my heart. I thought I tasted blood, and fell.

I opened my eyes to a dirt ceiling, and a small boy. A small boy wearing John's hat.

"Have you murdered my brother as well then?"

The boy sprung up and shouted, "She lives!"

Other boys emerged and surrounded me. My mouth tasted like metal, and there was a weight on my chest far greater than the threadbare cloth that covered me.

"The Wendy-bird lives." I heard whispered around me. There was a murmuring and then a shout. Michael burst through the crowd with John close behind.

"Wendy, I thought you died!" Michael buried his head in my nightgown.

"My kiss saved her life," Peter's approach parted the boys. I looked down, there was a dimple in the vest he had given me.

"What is this made of?"

Peter ignored me, "Lost boys, why did you shoot at Wendy?"

The boys were quiet for a moment. I smoothed my skirt, and found my box had fallen out of my pocket. I looked around frantically. All these curious boys, if they had found my box, surely they'd have opened it.

"Tink told us to," a boy nearly as tall as Peter spoke.

"Toodles, Tinkerbell is gone," said Peter.

"No, she's here now. She told us a bird was coming. Greater than a Neverbird, with magic foul as a mermaid and more cruel than a Pirate. A fairy-killer."

Peter studied me intently, then laughed, "No, that's absurd. She is not a bird. She is a girl."

"Yes," added John, "and she only learned to fly today."

"A young bird then!" shouted a boy.

"Fairy-killer!" said another.

"My sister would never!" protested Michael, "She tells us fairy-tales every night!" All the boys quieted at that.

"It's true," said Peter, "I have listened to her by their open window."

"A story-teller?" said a small blond at the front of the crowd, "I think my mother was a story-teller."

"Quiet, Slightly," said Toodles.

"Quiet, Toodles," said a boy. One of two, another stood beside him. Both had soft curls and round faces. "You're just jealous."

"Tell us a story!" shouted a boy from the back.

"Yes!" echoed Slightly, "We have saved your life, now you should tell us a story."

I frowned, "Saved me? You might have killed me!"

"But we didn't," said the second of the twins earnestly, sitting beside me. The other boys followed. I tried to think of a story, but a rumbling in my stomach distracted me.

"We will have story-time after dinner," I said. The boys moaned, but they filed out of the room. I could only assume they had gone to find food. Peter ordered my brothers to follow suit, and soon the two of us were left. Peter warmed himself by the fire and I lay back, examining my surroundings.

It appeared to be a kind of cave. It was held up by the gnarled fingers of old roots, woven together tight as a basket in places. There were animal pelts stretched across roots and other branches for the beds and chairs. I admired the knots holding them in place. The boys had many weapons scattered about the place. They kept them leaned against beds, pinned to walls, and tossed to the floor like play toys. They're were also small collections scattered about. A pile of rocks here, a stack of sea shells there. On one wall, a boy had pinned up colorful leaves. I didn't see my little box.

The principal source of light was the fire, but a variety of small lanterns aided. All the light was from flame; all of it gold. None of the shadows were still. Peter's own shadow stretched away behind him, twisting to escape its bonds, but the thread held fast.

Then there was another light, steady and white. It came towards me, stood on my chest. It was the occupant of my box.

One arm was sheathed in rose colored silk instead of skin, and stitches ran down her front. She was pale, her eyes were tired, and her legs shook holding even her tiny body. But she was awake. And angry.

"Tink!" Peter ran to her.