BUILDING THE HOUSE

The lost boys—including Wendy's brothers now—worked tirelessly all through out the day, making exactly sure that the house they built for Wendy was not only comfortable, but provided her with adequate protection from the creatures the Neverland was home to. Tim and Phil wrote out schematics in the dirt, shouting instructions for the rest to hear.

"There should be a door near the base, here!" Said Tim, pointing a stick in one direction.

"But make sure you take into account the circumference of the room you have. We don't want any miscalculations now, do we?" Retorted Phil.

John, Pockets, Tootles, and Michael all shook their heads, and nodded in agreement when pretending to understand their complicated instructions. Tootles and Micheal went off into the shallow parts of the forest to collect small twigs to use as binds. John was happy to see that they got along well, and that Micheal had no anxieties about leaving John, who had the more difficult duties to perform, such as building the house walls, frame and roofing.

"Come on, Michael!" Cried Tootles, jumping over flower beds and slapping the trunks of trees. Michael chased after him, laughing in his wake. Together they walked along the edge of the forest, chuckling at the funny looking animals who occasionally made their presence noticed. Tootles enjoyed being the more experienced of the two, pointing out certain trees and plants to Michael, who listened intently and hung on every word.

"You see those?" He said, directing Michael's attention to a tall Eucalyptus tree.

"They're called Kissers. At night, they bend towards each other, like if the wind's pushing them, and their branches touch. They give off the most wonderful scents, and the leaves could be used as an antidote against weak poisons."

Michael pulled several leaves off the tree to smell them, but Tootles quickly slapped them away and pulled Michael away, as the tree's thick branches began to lash out at him.

"They're very temper mental!" Tootles explained as they avoided the powerful swings.

By the time the house was finished — Tootles had just hurried back with Michael, carrying a vase filled with various flowers — it was nearly dusk. John had asked the boys how far their home was from here, and they assured him that enough security had been placed around the small house to warn them of any intruders. Tim also pointed out that there would be one watcher each night, and they were all to pick acorns to decide who gets first watch. But they would have to wait for Peter to return with Miles and Ace, in order for every participant to have a fair drawing.

Of course Peter expected the journey to take long on foot, but never had he imagined it to be so physically taxing. Flying, he decided, was vastly superior to having to walk all the way around Mermaid Lagoon, past the Summer Lake and through the Summer Forest, carrying Thomas's upper body as the other two took a leg, similar to how Wendy had been carried just hours ago. Ace and Miles joked with Peter as they often did, for they were now at an age in which they were more relatable to him. Peter enjoyed the talking, for it was often about his adventures, and he would allow them both to share in their own experiences as long as they weren't too long or boring. Peter had no remorse for the inevitable time when Ace and Miles would be too old to make jokes, and thus would most likely be banished. He hardly ever thought of this grim truth, for it was simply the way of things for as long as he could remember. The boys weren't allowed to be a certain age, for once they reached it, they were no longer boys. Peter had the duty of casting many of the growing boys away, allowing Tinkerbelle to take them back to their original homes with small sacks of gold, provided by the Redskins. Once in a while, though, a boy would not wish to go, for they had fallen in love with the Neverland, and thought they had developed enough skill to claim the Island for themselves. A foolish thought, and Peter regretted the boys who took him on.

Finally, after the blisters on Ace's hands had reached a pain he could no longer ignore, he cheered for the sight of the end of the Summer Forest. Peter stopped to let everyone rest, and to make sure nobody had been following them.

"How are you, Thomas?" Peter asked.

"Not so well," Thomas replied, "I think it's infected." Peter and the two others set Thomas down gently in the grassy knoll just in front of the Summer Forest. Thomas grunted in pain, obviously trying to hide it. He reached for Peter's arm, and gave him a look Peter understood immediately.

"Ace, Miles, go up ahead, make sure it's safe." Without hesitation, they were off. Peter reached for Thomas's shirt, and pulled the bloodstained material up to reveal the cut, and it was far worse than he could have ever imagined. The skin surrounding the wound was a violent shade of brown, and the odor coming from it made Peter wrench back. It appeared as though the skin itself was rotting by the second.

"Hook's work, Peter," Said Thomas, smiling slightly. "I won't recover from this."

Peter hid the wound from sight. Thomas was right, he thought. They had spent days together spying on the ship, and had uncovered that Hook always kept his weapons, particularly his steel hand, dipped in toxic chemicals. It was a tactic he stole from the redskins, whose arrows emit a poison that paralyzes instantly.

The white in Thomas's eyes was growing red, his breathing had become shorter and further apart. He grabbed at Peter, choking now as he tried to speak. Now he no longer hid the pain, but it was difficult to talk. Peter pulled away for only a moment, until he realized Thomas trying to tell him one last thing.

"H—H-Hook…h-has…t-the p-pi…p-pi…" Despite his efforts, Thomas couldn't finish his last word. The poison had traveled all through his blood stream, at last reaching it's destination through the bloodstream all the way up into his heart, and stopping it. Peter watched the life leave Thomas, his reddened eyes becoming glossy, his skin growing faint.

JAMES HOOK'S HIDDEN LAMENT

The Neverland was in a calm slumber this warm evening. Most of the animals of the island rested soundly deep within the forests, while several nocturnal beasts spent this time wisely to hunt. A cool, salty wind picked up just near the shores of the island where a small, spotted owl soared over the nearby trees seeking out a field mouse it had seen wandering erroneously close to the Autumn Forest.

The owl came to rest on a wide branch protruding out of an old beech tree, whose darkened leaves provided her with enough cover to stay hidden. Down near the floor of the forest, a thick fog draped itself lazily over the dirt and heavy roots belonging to the trees. The setting at the moment was mild and inactive, aside from the various determined whistles and chirps from nearby birds and bugs. Atop the beech tree, the owl waited patiently, her claws digging deeper into the wood of the branch, her breathing slowing down as each second passed. She was rearing for an attack, aching for any sort of error on the part of her potential prey. And then, as luck would have it, something small near a network of twisted roots motioned it's body, causing the fog to stir ever so slightly, and the owl darted head first at the disturbance. The pother caused by her wings separated the fog like a departing spirit, allowing her to easily seek out her prey, scoop up it's tail and set off.

She departed north for a darker part of the woods with her trophy well in place, struggling to break free. It squeaked as loud as it could, pulling and writhing it's body in protest, now completely aware of it's inevitable doom awaiting just several hundred yards away in the owl's nesting. It's echoes could be heard all through the forest as the owl carried it off, her wings grabbing at the midnight air with their every flap. The sound burned through the silence of the forest, as it traveled over the trees, past the shores and over the waters to a ship sitting in the ocean like an old abandoned buoy.

On the deck near the port, Smee sat off the ship's side, listening intently at the shrieking sound of the field mouse, it's echoes growing fainter still. In his hands were a small pocket knife and a healthy piece of basswood, which he was attempting to carve. As he worked, humming all the while, enjoying the ship's tug and pull of the waves underneath, he heard the heavy steps of his captain approaching from behind. Smee bothered not to turn, instead he continued to hum his song as the ship danced among the waves.

"Clear skies, tonight, sir. The waves are calm, and the temperature couldn't be more pleasant," Said Smee.

"You wished to see me, Smee?" Spoke Hook as he stared out at the silhouette of the sleeping Neverland.

"Ay, Cap'n. We'd been needin' to talk for some time now."

"I am always up for a small chit-chat, as you know. What is it that is on your mind?"

"The boy."

"Yes?"

"He's back."

"Yes."

"You notice the difference his presence has made."

"The Neverland?"

"Ay, The Neverland. It's almost as though it's behavior changes, donnit? Like he and the island could share some sort of connection? Jus' yesterday, I couldn' get a read on the skies. The ice atop the mountains were melting, while other spots o' the island rained like I ain' ever seen. It ain' righ', Cap'n. This boy, he has powers that maybe he isn't aware of. Who knows what he could be capable of, then?"

Through out the entire time Smee spoke, he continued to cut at the basswood in his hands, more aggressively as the time passed. Hook had not responded, and Smee's cuts became deeper and harsher. There was a tinge of annoyance on his face reserved for his captain, who he so trusted, admired and feared. The adrenaline had kicked in, for the words Smee was about to utter, most would consider as blasphemy, but he saw it as his duty to make Hook aware of the general consensus regarding the crew's moral.

"Cap'n, we've been here a long time."

"Ay."

"So then, why don't we go? You've figured out the portal again, just like we did in the beginning. There's plenty of gold in our world. The men are tired, they miss their families. Who knows how long this war could last-"

Smee had known all the while that he was flirting with danger, but this was new territory even for him. Hook's speed cut through the silent night. Smee jumped back as Hook ripped deep into the collar of his shirt and pulled him in close. Smee had dropped both the knife and the unfinished basswood carving down into the ocean. He felt Hook's warm breath upon his face like an unpleasant splash of kerosene. Hook's eyes glinted in the moonlight like two pieces of obsidian, inspecting every part of Smee's face. Finally Hook whispered to his sailing master, his left hand resting assuredly on the flintlock in his pocket, aimed right at Smee's belly.

"War educates the senses, calls into action the will, perfects the physical constitution, brings men into such swift and close collision in critical moments that man measures man. Emerson, Smee."

Hook then released his sailing master and departed for his quarters. As he passed the foremast, he stared up at the mutilated body belonging to the lost boy Hicks, still hanging from the top. By now the body was beginning to rot, and several of the weapons the crew had thrown up at it had fallen out and onto the deck as birds began to take snaps at it. Hook then turned back to Smee and gestured at the body.

"They're only children. Surely the men aren't afraid of a group of small boys."