" Oh! my ankle! my bloody ankle!" pirate moaned in agonizing pain.

Wendy never minded herself for a moment.

She whirled around to face her brother lying on the floor.

"Oh dear! you musn't scream so loudly John, orelse mother and father will hear you!"

Wendy bit her fingernails nervously now, glancing at the open doorway every second or so to see if anyone had heard.

Micheal, who had listened to her simple request, did not like how she was spoiling all of the adventure.

"Oh wendy! dont call him John!" he wailed continuously, dragging his sword across the floor.

"Your ruining the Neverland game!"

Wendy felt frightfully guilty for ruining the Neverland game, so she decided to hush the excitement and begin a story.

Micheal decided to help John off the floor and back on his feet as Wendy ran into the nursery's center.

She stood up straight, stiffening her back, and raised her head high up to the ceiling.

"Storyteller is going to tell all who resides in the Neverland a tale!", she announced.

You couldn't find any trace of fear in her voice, and for that, you could only applaud Wendy if you were to stand beside her and to listen to her declaration.

The boys jumped up and down with excitement.

It is within every child's nature to react in such a way.

They jumped in their own magic.

Micheal jumped much higher than John, and John's jumping was as helpless as a broken bird's wing from the pain still present in his ankle.

One waddled with all his might, and the other dropped his sword off to the side and raced to the edge of Wendy's rocking chair was ancient, a gift from Wendy's great great grandmother, and resided in the same corner ever since she was tall enough to climb up into it's seat.

Now that Wendy was nearly a woman, and able to place herself upon it's seat quite easily, she made her rump at home on the soft cushion.

She raised her hand for silence.

"What are we going to hear today, on such a lovely Neverland day as this?" Micheal raised his hand and asked.

Micheal always thought it polite to raise your hand when asking question, so he went along and excersised his palm and stuck it into the air by his own will and right.

He was such a funny little boy.

Almost as funny as peter.

Wendy's soft pearls lit up the room as she flashed them at Micheal.

She glowed as she smiled, our pure english beauty almost a young adult, throwing thickets of curls over her shoulders so they would not distract her from her story telling.

She was ready to begin.

"Well indian, today i shall tell you a tale about Peter Pan, the great avenger!"

In the midst of saying this, Wendy swore her eyes saw a silver blade wave itself agressively in ones hand, as if it were in battle, moving across the wall.

It wasn't a real hand and sword, ofcourse, but the imagry of a shadow, playing sword games and having pretend fights with itself and the air as it's only opponent.

Quite imaginary, dont you think?

Wendy would have never thought of it.

To be certain, she rubbed her eyes, and opened them again.

Just a second before her eyes met the wall, the figure whom which the tiny hand holding the sword belonged to was frightened and in a second's time, it's shadow flew off the wall.

The shadow's speed wasn't slow enough for Wendy to clearly note, so by the time her eyes were fully open, she was gazing at nothing but the nursery's yellow wallpaper.

It was a shame to see that lovely little creature staring at the walls and wishing that it was peter she saw, especially if you were Mrs. Darling, looking in on your children's crafty work from the doorway, popping your head in to see what they were doing.

But soon enough, she will come back into the story, and she will trouble us as she scolds each of her babes for the pain they had caused on her heart...

The pain?

Pretending that you were an indian or a pirate, when you most certainly were not.

"Wendy! what is it?" John breathed anxiously.

He turned around in his place on the floor and anxiously scanned the nursery for something that wasnt there before.

Wendy saw this and snapped away from her daze.

"Nothing, dear brother!"

Slightly dissapointed, John turned himself back around and slumped cross legged facing the storyteller.

Micheal was certainly playing his part well, sitting up right with crossed legs and a pair of tightened lips.

Wendy found this quite amusing, and felt temptation to laugh, but it could be held in for now.

Back to the story she would go.

"You see, our Peter Pan was the ruler of Neverland-"

"What! Peter? ruler of Neverland? i object to that! i dont approve of his rulings of Neverland at all!"

Micheal always looked up to his older brother, and grew quite fond of him ever since the two returned home from Neverland a month or so ago, so he chimed " Yes! i dont approve of his rulers neither!"

We all know that rulers is not the correct way to mimick one, so as you can see, in a humorous way, that there needed to be a little more improvement with grammer on micheal's behalf.

"Oh dear," Wendy muttered.

There was no telling at that point if peter would ever come into her story and be marveled by all.

With the pace of things, Wendy would never get to the part where brave Peter escaped death on the mermaid lagoon.

"Hush!" she said.

She would not loose her patience.

"Whether you approve of it or not boys, Peter Pan was the ruler of the world we once knew. The magic of his youth and joy was the one thing that kept Neverland alive, and when we are all asleep in our beds late at night, he soars over oceans, tumbles amongst the clouds, and stops once in awhile, from all his late night rambles to play with the twinkling stars up in the sky.

Seeing as Wendy engrossed both boys into her tale, she proceeded again after a much needed breath, but this time, she used her hands much more often.

"And sometimes," she breathed excitedly, sticking her legs under gown, " He visits London and flies into children's nurseries!"

"Ripping!" John clapped, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Micheal was so excited that he couldn't even speak a word.

All of the children grew excited, infact.

Even Wendy.

"Oh wendy! do you think that Peter ever comes to our nursery at night?"

"I believe that he does, Micheal. Sometimes i can hear him playing his pipes to me when i cannot hear him in the room," and to show them where Peter had been sitting, she stood up from the rocking chair, ran over to her bedside, and pointed to a specific spot on the floor.

Let us now move from Wendy standing beside her bed, backward towards the window.

It is not open at the moment, for Mrs. Darling's fear of the children flying off again with Peter, but since we are only here to watch the story take place, we have the charming power to fly through the closed window.

We are not alone outside the snow covered sill now, for another presence shadows ours as we watch Wendy walking back to her rocking chair.

Along with it's shadow comes a classic silver sword, with beautiful detail imprinted allover it's golden handle.

Just the way a certain someone liked it.

It was heavy to the grip, the kind of sword that was only built for the likes of Peter Pan.

We become so enchanted with the lovely sword and it's shadow, so we turned around.

But it is too late.

A darkened figure clutches the sword tightly in his hand, and soars off into the star peppered sky, the second star to the right, and straight on untill he is just like a star, shining bright and