Peter was reluctant to turn around. A cool breeze flew in from the
tempestuous fates outside and caught the small hairs on the back of his
neck.
"Face me, Peter," the deeply rich voice commanded.
Peter turned. Before him was a pale young woman wearing a crimson cloak. Her dark, black curls whipped around her face as a forceful gale billowed behind her from the open doorway. Her penetrating eyes were deep discs of mahogany, surrounded by a halo of black. For a moment, Peter couldn't find his breath.
"How do you know my name?" he asked, nearly hypnotized.
"My mother…and old fearie tales." She looked to almost say something more, but restrained herself. Instead, she asked hastily, "You're looking for the boys, correct?"
"Yes! Do you know where they are? What happened here? How long--"
"There is little time to talk," the woman interrupted. "Simply follow me. You may ask questions when we get to safety."
"But…what is your name?" Peter asked, feeling confused and slightly frazzled.
"Eve. Now follow me, and fall silent!"
Peter obediently followed Eve out into the rain. She quickly led them off of the well-trodden path and into the forest. She moved expertly through the undergrowth, sidestepping obstacles in her path and avoiding overhanging flora. Peter, on the other hand, moved clumsily: bustling betwixt the trees like a rhinoceros and swatting away obtrusive vines and plants using his arm as a machete. Peter quickly lost his sense of direction about the island, resolving finally to blindly follow Eve. Slowly, he began to regain his "forest legs", consciously using his peripheral vision as an aid to eschew the forest debris.
After an hour of traipsing through the wilderness, Eve held up her hand as a silent command to halt. She made soft dove call, and what sounded like a turkey garbled back. Eve pressed past two ungainly and tangled jasmine bushes to reveal a clearing. Small Indian tents were scattered about randomly. The natives milled about the area: some crouching over crackling fires, others bustling in and out of tents, others still chattering to each other in some indiscernible, foreign tongue.
"This is my village--my family," she said quietly.
Peter looked at her quizzically. "You don't look like them…" he said cautiously.
"My mother was a native, my father was not." There was sadness hanging in her eyes, something he couldn't quite reach. "Come inside my tent," she said. "We will talk." Peter entered the little tent and looked about. The innards of it were furnished in hides and leathers. A small fire in the center of the circular teepee warmed it well, braving away the cold and moisture outside. Peter sat on one of the furs, and Eve sat on a fur parallel to his, on the other side of the fire.
Eve began: "My mother knew you when this was your home. She told me about you long ago…on her deathbed. Her name was Tigerlilly." Peter's face filled with recognition, the warm embrace of his memories of Tigerlilly suddenly bringing about a pang in his heart. How he missed her!
Eve continued, "I was born east of here in our first village by the cliffs. I grew there, with the Lost Boys as my companions. I did grow, back then, now I do not. I still do not understand why although my years are near to forty-three, my body is only that of a sixteen year old. Anyway, after nearly ten years (about one year in your time), my mother died." Eve paused for a moment.
"I'm sorry about her. At one point in time, I loved her very much," he said, with a genuine ache in his voice.
"The Lost Boys found a new leader while you were away: a fiery boy by the name of Rufio. He led the Boys in a valiant, although bit ambitious, attempt to depose Captain Hook."
"And was he successful?" Peter asked with concern.
"He was…but in the effort, he lost his own life."
Just then a woman entered the tent with two bowls of steaming soup. She placed the bowls in front of Peter and Eve, and exited the tent with a quick bow.
"You must be hungry," Eve said. "Please, eat." Eve bowed in silence before drinking from the bowl. Dimly, Peter remembered this as an old Indian ritual. As he sipped from his bowl of soup, he marveled at Eve's beauty. In the firelight, she seemed almost a goddess. Her hair was the most amazing ocean of curls that framed her small face. She looked so different from the natives, he thought. He saw the resemblance of her mother in her eyes, though. They had the same vibrancy, the same intensity.
Noticing that Peter was staring, Eve put down her bowl of soup and continued with her tale. "It was all very good that the Captain was killed. The end of his reign brought many celebrations to all of this land, not just to us natives. But our celebrations were short-lived.
The crew and followers of the Captain were in confusion. They needed a leader for their survival, and they were frantic. Some of the crewmembers took one of the Captain's three ships and sailed to a land far west of here. The men remaining looked high and low for someone to fill the Captain's shoes. In there desperation, they did find someone: a sadistic tyrant who far surpassed the Captain. A person I'm sure you'll remember…"
"Face me, Peter," the deeply rich voice commanded.
Peter turned. Before him was a pale young woman wearing a crimson cloak. Her dark, black curls whipped around her face as a forceful gale billowed behind her from the open doorway. Her penetrating eyes were deep discs of mahogany, surrounded by a halo of black. For a moment, Peter couldn't find his breath.
"How do you know my name?" he asked, nearly hypnotized.
"My mother…and old fearie tales." She looked to almost say something more, but restrained herself. Instead, she asked hastily, "You're looking for the boys, correct?"
"Yes! Do you know where they are? What happened here? How long--"
"There is little time to talk," the woman interrupted. "Simply follow me. You may ask questions when we get to safety."
"But…what is your name?" Peter asked, feeling confused and slightly frazzled.
"Eve. Now follow me, and fall silent!"
Peter obediently followed Eve out into the rain. She quickly led them off of the well-trodden path and into the forest. She moved expertly through the undergrowth, sidestepping obstacles in her path and avoiding overhanging flora. Peter, on the other hand, moved clumsily: bustling betwixt the trees like a rhinoceros and swatting away obtrusive vines and plants using his arm as a machete. Peter quickly lost his sense of direction about the island, resolving finally to blindly follow Eve. Slowly, he began to regain his "forest legs", consciously using his peripheral vision as an aid to eschew the forest debris.
After an hour of traipsing through the wilderness, Eve held up her hand as a silent command to halt. She made soft dove call, and what sounded like a turkey garbled back. Eve pressed past two ungainly and tangled jasmine bushes to reveal a clearing. Small Indian tents were scattered about randomly. The natives milled about the area: some crouching over crackling fires, others bustling in and out of tents, others still chattering to each other in some indiscernible, foreign tongue.
"This is my village--my family," she said quietly.
Peter looked at her quizzically. "You don't look like them…" he said cautiously.
"My mother was a native, my father was not." There was sadness hanging in her eyes, something he couldn't quite reach. "Come inside my tent," she said. "We will talk." Peter entered the little tent and looked about. The innards of it were furnished in hides and leathers. A small fire in the center of the circular teepee warmed it well, braving away the cold and moisture outside. Peter sat on one of the furs, and Eve sat on a fur parallel to his, on the other side of the fire.
Eve began: "My mother knew you when this was your home. She told me about you long ago…on her deathbed. Her name was Tigerlilly." Peter's face filled with recognition, the warm embrace of his memories of Tigerlilly suddenly bringing about a pang in his heart. How he missed her!
Eve continued, "I was born east of here in our first village by the cliffs. I grew there, with the Lost Boys as my companions. I did grow, back then, now I do not. I still do not understand why although my years are near to forty-three, my body is only that of a sixteen year old. Anyway, after nearly ten years (about one year in your time), my mother died." Eve paused for a moment.
"I'm sorry about her. At one point in time, I loved her very much," he said, with a genuine ache in his voice.
"The Lost Boys found a new leader while you were away: a fiery boy by the name of Rufio. He led the Boys in a valiant, although bit ambitious, attempt to depose Captain Hook."
"And was he successful?" Peter asked with concern.
"He was…but in the effort, he lost his own life."
Just then a woman entered the tent with two bowls of steaming soup. She placed the bowls in front of Peter and Eve, and exited the tent with a quick bow.
"You must be hungry," Eve said. "Please, eat." Eve bowed in silence before drinking from the bowl. Dimly, Peter remembered this as an old Indian ritual. As he sipped from his bowl of soup, he marveled at Eve's beauty. In the firelight, she seemed almost a goddess. Her hair was the most amazing ocean of curls that framed her small face. She looked so different from the natives, he thought. He saw the resemblance of her mother in her eyes, though. They had the same vibrancy, the same intensity.
Noticing that Peter was staring, Eve put down her bowl of soup and continued with her tale. "It was all very good that the Captain was killed. The end of his reign brought many celebrations to all of this land, not just to us natives. But our celebrations were short-lived.
The crew and followers of the Captain were in confusion. They needed a leader for their survival, and they were frantic. Some of the crewmembers took one of the Captain's three ships and sailed to a land far west of here. The men remaining looked high and low for someone to fill the Captain's shoes. In there desperation, they did find someone: a sadistic tyrant who far surpassed the Captain. A person I'm sure you'll remember…"