John woke up on the bear-fur rug on the floor of the Lost Boys' home. He rubbed his eyes and adjusted his glasses before getting up and helping himself to some water and leftover chicken. "Good morning to you," Nico greeted, his dirty feet resting up on the table. Nico was carving a squirrel out of a chunk of wood.

"You into art?" asked John, sitting on the wooden chair beside Nico.

Nico nodded. "Yes. And yourself?" he asked.

"Yeah," John got back up and reached into his backpack to bring out a few paintings. "Always have been. I love to paint and I love to sketch. It helps me to stay positive, especially after being through a lot. It's a nice way to get away, you know?"

Nico nodded again. "That's true. I don't think I've ever tried painting before."

John handed him some spare painting supplies that he packed. "I could teach you to paint if you could teach me how to carve," he pointed at the beautiful squirrel that Nico had just finished. It was intricately detailed and could look realistic from afar. Nico was an excellent carver.

"For sure man," Nico smiled. "Seth and I are going to leave in a few to go hunt for food. Do you want to come with us?" asked Nico. John shook his head. He may have wanted to finally have friends, but he knew he was a little cowardly. "Alright," Nico sighed. "Suit yourself. I'll see you later."

Nico left and took off with Seth, the both of them on their way to look for animals to kill and turn into stews. Wendy, Peter, Michael and Chaddie were still asleep, and the twins were nowhere to be found. John walked over to Wendy, asleep in a hammock, and started to lightly shake her. "Wendy, wake up," John whispered. "Wendy," he tried again, but she was so sound asleep and so peaceful. John smiled. He had always loved his older sister, for when he had nobody to run to, she was always there to not only comfort him, but to simply just listen.

John took his backpack and left home and started walking around a forest. He was trying to look for more things he could experiment with for art. He knew that at some point, he, Wendy and Michael would probably return home, and he didn't want just any ordinary souvenir of his journey. He wanted something he could make to remind himself of the experience he had in the faraway place called Neverland.

Upon picking wild flowers and tropical fruits, John finally found something plain, but extravagant. Lying before him in the middle of the vast forest was a wooden flute. The wood was bleached in colour and it was simple. There were no detailed carvings like that Nico would make, and there was hardly any other colour aside from the dirt from the soil that covered it. John picked it up and tried to smuggle it into his bag, when just then, he was stopped. "Hey, that's mine!" called out a voice. John turned around to find the source of the voice, and he was surprised.

Standing before him was a beautiful young lady. She was smaller than he was, but her long legs could fool anyone into thinking she was tall. Her skin was a honey tan and she had long, black straight hair that split in the middle of her head and framed her sultry face. Her hair ended right over her chest, covered in nothing but a fringed bandeau that was a few shades lighter than her skin tone. She wore underneath a matching fringed thong that covered all he right places, but gave way to her smooth, hairless thighs. She had on boots from some type of animal hide that were cropped to her shins. She wore a braided leather headband that went around her forehead and hidden in her hair on one side, came beautiful feathers twisting in braids in her ebony locks.

"That is my father's flute," she spoke, her hands on her hips. She had a strong kind of accent. John had never heard it before. He stood there speechless, amazed by the beautiful girl who stood before him.

"I-I… I'm sorry. I didn't think anybody still needed it. When things are covered in dirt, they're normally forgotten," John adjusted his glasses again as he walked towards the girl. They stood in front of each other in contrast. John, pale as snow, stood with his dark hair and black clothing, which covered the majority of his body. The girl, tanned, stood before him with hardly any clothing on and red and white tribal paint coating her face and her body.

"Covered in dirt and forgotten?" she spat, offended. "That is like what they say about one who dies," she frowned. "One may die and may be covered in dirt, but certainly they are not forgotten. They are only lost," she snatched the flute back out from John's hands. "And that is exactly what happened to my father's flute. It became lost."

"I am sorry. You can have it back. I never meant to offend you. I'm sorry. Your father deserves it back. It looks wonderful. Plain, but wonderful," John shook his head as he started to walk away from the stranger.

"Plain?" asked the young woman. "You think this is plain? This is beautiful. It creates art. It sounds like a song of a thousand hummingbirds," she argued. "Why would you say that this is plain?"

"There's no colour," John turned back around. "You should paint it. Like how you've painted your body. You – you… You are already a very beautiful girl," he gulped. "But with the paint on your skin, it enhances your beauty to something almost God-like. And that's what you should do with that flute. It's beautiful, but with some colour on it, it could be so much more," he explained.

The girl, interested, walked over to John with the flute and handed it over to him. "I am sorry for arguing," she batted her long, black eyelashes, perfectly curled and all. "Please show me how I can make this more beautiful. Then maybe when I bring it back, my father will forgive me for losing it," she smiled.

"Of course," John nodded as he sat down and took the flute. He pulled out some paint supplies from his bag and started to design the flute. "See? With a little bit of white, red, green, orange, yellow," he mumbled. He finished painting the flute.

"It's beautiful," she complimented. He nodded and the two of them looked deep into each other's eyes. She started to lightly caress his fingers, coated in paint. "You are a beautiful boy," she gulped. "What is your name?" she asked.

"My name… my name," he looked away awkwardly, forgetting exactly who he was. "I know my name," he fake laughed. "I just… don't remember it," he scratched the back of his head. "I'm normally never this nervous, but it's just that I've never seen a girl as beautiful as you," he bit his lip.

She giggled. "I like you, Boy-who-does-not-remember-his-name," she smiled.

"I remember it now," he smirked. "My name is John."

"Hello John," she smiled again. "It is very nice to meet you."

"Likewise," John smiled back. "What about you? What's your name?"

"Tigerlily."