Spirited Away

by weezer42

PW Wendy is returned to Neverland in an unexpected way. Once there she must deal with the barbarous business of growing up and a boy that doesn't remember her.

2. Together and Apart

Title: Spirited Away

Author: Squeezynz

Chapter: Two - Together and Apart.

Rating: PG13 at least.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Neverland lay bathed in warm sunshine for the third day in a row, its jungles steaming from the rain the night before, mist shrouding the high peak of the mountain range that formed the spine of the island paradise. Along its sandy shores a calm sea lapped serenely, its surface sparkling as it reflected the morning sunlight like diamonds.

Deep in the depths of a forest two figures trudged onward, the one in front leading the way with long strides, the one following stumbling to keep up.

It was mid morning but already Wendy was feeling the effects of her prolonged tramp the previous day. True to her word, Wendy hadn't fallen behind despite the grueling pace set by Peter. Her feet had become as black as soot from the dust and dirt, the hem of her skirt almost as dirty as her toes. During the long day she'd kept her eyes fixed on the rough pack swaying from Peter's shoulders as he walked, her boots setting up a hypnotic rhythm until she tripped on a tree root and was brought abruptly back to the present.

Now, after a restless night, she was barely able to keep going, her feet sore and covered in stone bruises and cuts. Peter appeared to be oblivious to her discomfort, never asking if she needed to stop or enquiring as to her health and well being. Not prepared to give him the satisfaction of finding out just how much she was suffering, Wendy bit her lip and carried on. So absorbed had she become in her battle to keep up that she didn't notice that Peter had stopped, her nose connecting with his pack and sending her reeling back clutching her face.

Peter quickly turned and snaked out a hand to steady her as she swayed, while Wendy gingerly pressed her nose, her eyes watering from the abrupt contact.

"Hey steady on...what have you done now?"

She noted the irritated tone of voice and resolutely refused to give in to the tears threatening to fall.

"It's nothing...I just didn't realise you'd stopped."

"hmmmmm...I needed a drink and this looks as good a place as any."

He let go of her arm and went over to a fallen log, its surface covered in a pale, springy moss. Shedding his pack he pulled out the goat skin and tipped it up to allow the water to cascade into his mouth. With his attention elsewhere, Wendy hobbled over to a soft looking patch of grass and sank down, careful to pull her skirts over her feet to hide their condition. Having drunk his fill, Peter handed the skin to Wendy after wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Taking a long swig Wendy swallowed gratefully, the cool water soothing her dusty throat. Her thirst satisfied, she handed the skin back before leaning against a convenient rock and closing her eyes for a second.

In thinking that Peter was unaware of her discomfort, Wendy did him a disservice. Peter was well aware that she was limping, having seen the state of her feet before she had a chance to cover them that morning. His own were as tough as leather and shrugged off any contact with sticks and stones, but hers were soft and white and used to shoes, so it was no surprise that a second day of trekking through the woods was proving a trial.

He had set a tough pace the previous day, sure that she would soon be whining and complaining for him to slow down or stop altogether, but she never did, her mouth set in a grim line as she followed his lead, only stopping when he did, and setting off without a word of complaint. He had to admire her courage if not her common sense. Even now she tried to hide her feet from him, her face pinched as she tucked her skirts more firmly around her legs.

Stuffing the goatskin back into his pack he rose to his feet, turning his back on Wendy so as not to see the effort she put into getting her feet under her in readiness to set off. He studiously ignored the muffled cry as she placed her weight on her left foot, the sole quite bruised from a particularly sharp rock. Making a show of checking his knife he waited for her to take one hobbling step before swinging around and facing her, his arms crossed over his chest.

"And just how long do you think you're last?"

Surprised at being caught out, Wendy lifted her chin and straightened her back. "There's nothing wrong, I'll keep up."

"Nothing wrong..." Peter muttered dropping to one knee and grasping her ankle in his hand. Wendy tried to resist but even that slight movement sent a lance of pain up her leg making her gasp. While she used his shoulder to balance herself, Peter lifted her foot, much like lifting a horses hoof, and inspected the sole. Despite his gentle touch she couldn't help a sob escaping as he let the foot down. The pressure on his shoulder increased as she rested more of her weight on him and less on her injured foot. Rising slowly, he snaked an arm around her waist and almost lifted her over to the tree he'd used for a seat.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He asked crossly, rummaging in the pack for the jar of ointment he used as an all-purpose cure for any injury. Wendy didn't bother to reply, too grateful to be seated and not resting her weight on her abused feet to worry about how angry he sounded.

"I promised myself I wouldn't hold you up..." she gritted through her teeth as he soaked a piece of cloth and grasped her ankle once more. Kneeling in front of her he rested her foot on his thigh and started to clean it. A hot flush rose into her face as she watched him work, his hands careful not to jar the tender flesh as the water revealed the cuts and bruises marking the skin of her feet.

"Well you're certainly holding me up now." Peter retorted.

Incensed, she tried to jerk her foot from his grasp, his fingers closing around her leg and holding her still effortlessly. Glancing up at her stormy face he suddenly grinned, the smile transforming his features and sending Wendy's heart jumping about in her chest.

"If you keep still I'll have this done in no time but if you keep fidgeting it'll just take longer...unless of course that's what you want?"

Gasping her outrage as his fingers slid teasingly up her calf, Wendy inadvertently put all her weight on her other foot, the pain causing her to cry out and all but slither off the log and into Peter's lap. In the ensuing tangle of limbs Wendy had to fight hard not to burst into tears of frustration and pain. Peter tried to help her but found his hands slapped away as Wendy righted herself, crying out again when she tried to use her feet to lever herself more upright against the log.

"This is ridiculous." Peter muttered. Stuffing the rags and jar, along with the goat skin, into his pack he hoisted it onto his shoulders, her boots hitting his arm when he swung about. Wendy watched him as he stood over her looking angrier than ever.

Hunkering down in front of her he rested his forearms on his bent knees and frowned at her.

"Put your arms around my neck."

Wendy stared at him. "Wh-at?"

"You heard me...put your arms around my neck."

"Why should I do that?" Wendy asked, confused.

"So I can carry you...stupid."

"Oh...but I'll be too heavy."

Huffing his annoyance, Peter reached out his long arms and gathered her up, one under her legs, the other around her waist until she was pressed against his chest. "Now put your arms around my neck."

Too astonished to argue, Wendy did as he bid, her fingers gripping the sun warmed skin, her body pressed against his quite improperly. Using the strength in his thighs, Peter rose to his feet, Wendy clasped in his arms, her own wrapped around his neck.

"You can let go a little bit...you're strangling me." He croaked. At once he felt Wendy's body, her arms loosening their death grip.

"Sorry..it's just...I've never been carried like this before."

"Yes you have." Peter replied, looking down to catch her look of surprise as he started to walk forwards.

"No I haven't, I think I'd remember being carried if I had been."

"Nope...you weren't exactly awake the last time."

"Last time?"

"You fainted after the wolf attacked...I carried you to the hut."

"Oh...you did?"

"Uhuh."

Wendy felt a blush creep up her cheeks and tried to turn her head away but Peter shifted her in his grip and she found herself pressed more firmly against the hard velvet of his chest.

"Don't fidget or I'll drop you."

Instantly she tensed and Peter glanced down at her again.

"Relax, or I will drop you..."

Refusing to meet his eyes, Wendy consciously relaxed her stiff limbs, her head naturally falling onto his shoulder, the rhythm of his walk rocking her.

"You won't be able to carry me for long, I'm too heavy."

Peter snorted rudely. "Hardly more than a feather, and certainly no more than a pig, so stop worrying about it."

Incensed that he'd likened her to a pig, Wendy opened her mouth to retort but just as quickly closed it. Being held in his arms was infinitely more comfortable than walking on her poor feet, however long he was able to do so.

All too quickly he was lowering her to sit on the banks of a stream that gurgled its way between the trees, sunlight dappling its slowly flowing surface. Gingerly Wendy lowered her feet into the water, hissing at the first contact, but gradually relaxing as the cool liquid soothed her cuts and numbed the bruises.

"I have to go and find something for our lunch. Don't wander off, I'll be back soon."

Leaving the pack by her side, Peter quickly disappeared into the brush, leaving Wendy to stare after him.

Sighing she returned her attention to the stream, carefully moving her feet to send the current swirling around her ankles. If she lived to be a hundred she would never be able to fathom his changeable moods. One minute he was ignoring her, the next treating her like the most fragile porcelain, one moment scowling, the next dazzling her with a smile that made her heart thump.

"Infuriating male!"

As the minutes passed she started to feel nervous, her feet forgotten as she stared around at the undergrowth surrounding her. Apart from bird song and the wind in the canopy the forest was quiet, the stream making the most noise as it gurgled around some rocks at its center. As the feeling increased that she was being watched, she twisted and turned in a vain effort to see in all direction at once. A movement caught her eye and suspended the breath in her lungs until she let it out in a relieved huff. The rabbit that had emerged from the thicket regarded the girl sitting on the grass with mild disgust before hopping away again. Wendy drooped, too happy to have had her fears so roundly disabused.

"Just a rabbit...not a wolf." She chastised herself under her breath.

The minutes slid by until more than an hour had passed and still there was no sign of Peter's return. Wendy fidgeted, her feet now quite numb from the water, her position on the bank cast in the shade with the rise of the sun to midday. She was just about to move when something was thrown down beside her and she screamed in surprise.

"Ya miss me?" Peter's voice chuckled in her ear as she sat with her eyes closed, one hand pressed over her thumping heart, her limbs trembling. Just as suddenly, anger replaced her fright and she rounded on Peter, her eyes blazing.

"You seem to take some perverse delight in frightening me to death!"

Peter flopped down beside her on the cool grass and turned his head to grin at her.

"But you turn such a nice colour when your angry."

Wendy could feel the blush suffuse her face, the heat scorching her skin. Mortified, she felt hot tears prick her eyes, her bottom lip trembling as she fought for composure. Unable to stop the single tear that hovered on her lower lashes from overflowing and trailing wetly down her cheek, she sucked in her bottom lip and bit it hard to stem any further signs of weakness. But it was too late, Peter saw the tear and was instantly contrite. Rising to his knees he leant closer and reached out long brown fingers to capture her chin and turn her back around to face him.

Their eyes locked, wet blue with contrite green, and it seemed that time stopped.

"I'm sorry I gave you a fright...its just...don't cry, it was just a bit of fun."

Feeling his warm fingers holding her chin in a gentle grasp, all Wendy's hot words of anger and pique flew out of her head, her lips parting to say the words only for them to remain locked on her tongue and never uttered. Staring into his eyes she could see flecks of gold swirling in their depths, the thick lashes giving them a smoky look. Peter appeared to be similarly struck, his attention wandering between the limpid pools of her sky blue eyes to the rosy lushness of her parted lips and the tempting cavity of her mouth hidden behind them. He could feel the corners of him own mouth tilt upwards in a shy smile, Wendy echoing the small movement, her small pearls of teeth just visible as her lips moved. As he watched another tear spilled over her lower lids and trickled slowly down the smooth flesh of her cheek, his eyes tracing its path until it paused at the corner of her mouth. Suddenly aware of how close their faces had drawn, Peter closed the distance and snaked out his tongue to capture the salty morsel into his own mouth. He watched Wendy's eyes widen in surprise and he grinned wickedly, rolling the taste of that tear on his taste buds.

"Hmmmm...sweet."

His whispered words broke the spell and Wendy jerked back from his grip on her chin, her lashes sweeping down to cover her confusion, her face so quickly averted that he found himself facing the curtain of her hair. Curling his fingers into a fist, he sighed inwardly and backed away, confused by his attraction to this girl but thrilled that she had let him so close to her. Still crouching down, he turned away and pivoted on his heels, bending forward to snag the vine wrapped parcel that had caused her such a fright in the first place.

Staring down at the two plump birds he's managed to snare, he suddenly came to a decision and swung about, dumping the feathered bodies into Wendy's lap.

"Pluck these...I'll get a fire going."

Wendy watched him walk away, bending down now and then to collect a rock or a dead branch, leaving her with a lap full of dead birds. Ignoring a brief bout of queasiness, Wendy stared down at the birds and tried to figure out the best way to remove the feathers. After a couple of false starts she got a good grip and started to denude the carcasses, all the time acutely aware of Peter behind her collecting rocks and firewood while she worked. By the time he had a fire blazing merrily, her skirt was covered in downy feathers and the two birds were plucked. Mutely she held them out to Peter when he approached. Taking them he squatted by the stream and washed them before slitting the birds open from crop to stern and removing the gizzards. Wendy watched all this, keen to learn what needed doing. She had frequently seen chickens in their plucked and un-plucked state but all the messy business of gutting and sometimes neck stringing had been left to the cook to take care of. Now she was having to cope with an environment where the food was still on the hoof, so to speak, and learning how to prepare the bodies for cooking was something she was going to have to learn.

Satisfied that the birds were now ready to be spitted and roasted, Peter lay them on a clean leaf while he took two stout twigs and sharpened the ends. He was well aware that Wendy was watching everything he did, so he made sure she could see what he was doing. Once the birds were set near the flames he stuck his knife in the sandy soil to clean the blade.

"What do you want me to do with these feathers?"

Peter glanced over at her and contemplated the feathers sticking not only to her clothes but also several in her hair. Restraining his urge to grin, he gestured to the pack.

"Bundle them in the draw string bag you'll find in the pack."

He watched as Wendy stuffed the feathers into the bag, several escaping and wafting around the glade.

"What do you use them for?" Wendy asked as she pulled the bag closed and returned it to the pack.

"My pillow of course." Peter told her cheekily, turning back to watch the birds cook.

"Oh...of course."

Wendy was starting to feel chilled in the shade and had decided to try and move closer to the fire. She had barely lifted her feet out of the water and swung them onto the bank when she found Peter beside her, his arms once more hooking her behind the knees and waist and lifting her effortlessly into the air. In surprise at his move, she clutched at his neck, her face pressed against his as he swung her around and carried her over to the fire. Carefully he lowered her to the ground before releasing her and returning to the bank for the pack.

With her chilled toes stretched out to the fire and her back warmed by the sun, Wendy felt remarkably content. She watched Peter feed the fire with twigs and branches, the birds turning a rich golden brown, their juices dripping into the flames. Every now and then Peter would glance up and catch her watching him, his lips curving into a smile which she returned. When his attention returned to the birds, Wendy took the opportunity to drink her fill of his altered appearance, her gaze taking in everything from the top of his sun bleached head to the ends of his exceedingly grubby toes. Whatever had happened in the short time since she'd last seen him, it had taken the raw material of the young, athletic, sword wielding boy and created a tall, well built, muscular young man, the burnished curls now long blond locks in dire need of a trim, the lean, boyish body expanded into wide shoulders and a well defined chest above a flat stomach. As her eyes traveled lower she wondered what had happened to the leaves he used to wear, the replacement, a pair of well worn, tatty breeches appeared to be a poor substitute.

His long legs, like the rest of him, were burnt as brown as a berry, the sunlight highlighting the fine down of blonde hairs coating the taut skin visible below the frayed edge of the trousers.

When her gaze returned to his face she found one eyebrow quirked and a broad grin curving his mouth, her inspection noted.

"Do I pass muster?"

"I have no idea what you mean." Wendy retorted, turning her head to stare at the brook, her cheeks stained pink at being caught out.

"Of course not..." Peter laughed, the sound unbearably smug to Wendy's sensitive hearing.

Turning back to face him, Wendy found her mouth lifting at the corners as if on their own volition, echoing the grin still painting his face.

"I was just noting the changes since I saw you last and wondering why you were no longer wearing the leaves you had before."

Peter snorted in derision. "Leaves? Who the hell wears leaves? I was washed up without a stitch on and found these..." He stopped abruptly.

"You found them?" Wendy prompted.

Accepting the inevitable, Peter sighed and prepared to be quizzed. "If you must know, they were washed up with a lot of other flotsam on the same beach I woke up on...I'd assumed it was all from the shipwreck I'd survived."

"Oh...did you ever find any..." Wendy paused. "er...bodies or other survivors?"

"Nope...just me and a bunch of other peoples belonging."

"Oh." Wendy tried to imagine what could have happened and could only suppose that at some point the Jolly Roger must have either been wrecked or the powder magazine exploded, which would explain the wreckage on the beach, but not why Peter was washed up or why he appeared so much older than before.

"Yeah...oh." Peter echoed.

"And you've never seen anyone else on this island since then? No Indian's or...or...other people?"

Wendy didn't know why she didn't ask about the fairies and mermaids, but something stopped her.

"Nope...no-one...until you."

Wendy's brow furrowed for a second before she continued. "You accused me of being a spy...if there's no-one on the island...who did you think I was spying for?"

Peter glanced up sheepishly. "You asked if I'd ever seen anyone on the island...and the answer is no, but that doesn't mean I haven't seen people off the island."

"Off the island?"

"Yeah...sometimes late at night, I hear...singing." Peter didn't look at her, his gaze intent on the fire.

"Singing?" Wendy repeated, "um...is it male or female?"

"How should I know...it's just...singing."

"How odd. Can you make out any of the words?"

"No...its a sort of wail, going up and down and as soon as I'm fully awake or go towards the sound it stops and I can't find out where it comes from."

"But you've seen people off the island...do you mean in a ship or something?"

Again Peter avoided meeting her eye, a flush staining his neck. "Not exactly."

Frustrated at his obtuseness, Wendy rolled her eyes. "Then what do you mean?"

Peter frowned at the fire, poking the flames roughly with his stick. "What does it matter what I mean...I can never get close to them."

"Them who?"

Wendy saw his face work as if he was fighting a battle to stop the words leaving his lips. Suddenly he looked up and pinned her in place with an angry look. "Bloody mermaids, at least I think they are...alright, you happy now?...I see women swimming out in the water sometimes! Satisfied?"

Peter had practically roared the answer at her, his face flushed crimson. Jumping to his feet he made to leave, his body tense with embarrassment.

"Peter wait...I've seen the mermaids too...the last time I was here, you took me to meet them when we needed to find out where my brothers were being held captive."

Slowly, as if pulled by strings Peter turned back to face her, his expression still angry but also curious. "You've seen them?"

"Yes...you didn't imagine them...they are real, they live in Mermaid Lagoon."

"But Mermaids...aren't real."

"In Neverland they are...did you think they'd sent me to spy on you?"

"Not exactly..." Sitting back down by the fire, he resumed his poking of the embers, casting occasional glances at Wendy. Hoping to hear more, she remained silent. Sucking in a huge breath before letting it out slowly, Peter spoke again.

"I've seen other things too...strange things I can't exactly explain."

Sure that she must be laughing at him, Peter glanced up and subjected Wendy to a searching stare. Something he saw in her face must have reassured him because he only huffed a little before continuing.

"Late at night, just before I go to sleep I sometimes hear a sound like the tinkling of tiny bells and lights darting about the tree trunks. They never come too close and I thought they were just big firefly's, or some other kind of glowing bug, but always there's this chiming sound and no bug would make that sorta sound."

Wendy had clasped her hands together and held them in front of her lips, bursting to tell him what his fireflies really were, but she held back, preferring to let him talk. Keeping his eyes on the flames Peter continued.

"And sometimes..." He gave a crooked smile. "This is gonna sound crazy, but sometimes I think I hear a clock ticking!"

Receiving only silence from his listener, Peter raised his eyes, expecting derision. Instead he met Wendy's excited gaze, her fingers pressed against her lips as if to stop herself speaking.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"Yes Peter...I do."

"Then tell me...what are these things?"

Dropping her gaze, Wendy fiddled with her skirt, unsure how to broach her explanations.

"First you must promise not to say anything until I'm finished." Wendy charged him, raising her lashes to stare back at him.

"I promise..."

"No I mean it Peter...you must promise not to scoff, or make some silly remark...otherwise I won't tell you."

"I promise..." Peter repeated, lifting one hand and extending his first finger to make a gesture over his chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die.."

Despite his assurance Wendy regarded him solemnly for a long moment before dropping her gaze and staring into the fire.

"I will tell you who and what the bells and bright lights are and the ticking you hear, but first I must ask you a question. Do you remember the name...Tinkerbell?"

Peter stared blankly at her, shaking his head from side to side.

"Oh dear...then I can only assume there must be a reason why she hasn't been around, maybe she knows what's been happening."

"She?"

"Yes, Tinkerbell is a she...she is a...fairy."

Peter's brow furrowed and his lips parted but Wendy raised a finger and gave him a speaking look which he noted and shut his mouth with a snap.

"Those big, bright bugs that you saw must be fairies keeping an eye on you, the chiming sound is how they talk. Every one on Neverland could understand them except me and my brothers. Tinkerbell was your fairy Peter, she was your...best friend. You told me on the trip back to our home that she even drank poison for you to save you from Hook's treachery."

"Poison?"

Wendy raised her finger again and Peter had to bite down hard on his tongue to stop the questions he longed to ask from flowing out.

"I can only assume that they realise you've lost the ability to understand them and they come around just to check on you, never coming close enough for you to make out they are really tiny fairies."

Wendy stared into the flames again, marshaling her thoughts.

"The ticking sound comes from a clock that was swallowed by the biggest crocodile in the world. He carries the clock around inside him and it serves to warn his prey that he's near."

"But..."

"Peter, you promised!"

She watched him squirm, his lips clamped together, his eyes brimming with questions.

"The last time I saw the crocodile was the night we flew away from Neverland. You were fighting Captain Hook high up in the rigging and the crocodile appeared beside the ship. As the Captain lost his happy thoughts he started to sink in the air and the closer he got to the sea the higher the crocodile leap out of the water until eventually the crocodile was able to swallow the Captain in one bite."

Peter was now positively hopping about, as much as one can when sitting cross legged on the ground.

Wendy fixed him with a glare before reluctantly nodding her head to give him permission to ask his questions.

"You say they're fairies? But surely there are no such things..."

"PETER! Don't say another word...if you say you don't believe in them than one of them will die...you must never say you don't believe in them, its akin to murder to do so."

Peter looked at her askance but didn't scoff, her expression too serious for him to laugh at.

"Okay, so fairies exist and apparently one of them was my best friend...why hasn't this Tinkerbell tried to contact me?"

"Maybe she can't, maybe what ever caused you to be washed up on that shore and the Jolly Roger apparently destroyed, also killed her or drove her away and she hasn't come back yet."

"Alright...then if this ship exists, she must have had a crew...what happened to them?"

"I don't know Peter...perhaps they went down with the ship."

"And why was I fighting this Captain Hook?...I don't have a sword and I'm sure I've never used one before."

"Well you did..." Wendy sighed," you even taught me how to wield a sword."

This time Peter did give a short of laughter. "But you're a girl...girls don't fight and they certainly don't know how to use a sword."

"Much you know Mister smarty pants. I and the Lost Boys kept the crew busy, fighting them off while you were mucking about in the rigging with Hook, so don't tell me I don't know how to fight with a sword."

"And that's another thing," Peter started, "how could I be fighting someone up in the rigging of a ship? It would be useless, you'd need your hands free just to hang on to the ropes."

"Oh...I guess I didn't mention one important part of that fight."

"And that would be?"

"Er...you could...fly."

"I could fly?" Peter started to flap his arms, his face splitting into a grin that quickly transformed into a laugh, Peter falling over onto his side as the laughter grew until he was almost howling, thumping the ground and gasping. Wendy glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest. Every now and then Peter would pause in his merriment and glance over at Wendy, but the sight of her stern expression sent him off on another laughing fit, his eyes watering from the dust as he rolled on the ground clutching his middle. Still laughing he leap to his feet a trifle unsteadily and staggered about flapping his arms before collapsing again and whooping. When he finally calmed down he flopped cross legged once more by the fire occasionally hiccuping as he regained his composure, snickering to himself and muttering about flying.

"Oh you had be going there for awhile... you tell a good story Wendy...mermaids, fairies, ticking crocodiles, a pirate Captain...could he fly too?"

"Only when he shook Tinkerbell over his head and covered himself in fairy dust..."

"Of course..." And with that Peter started to laugh again, much to Wendy's disgust.

"I don't care if you don't believe me...its true, all of it...I saw them all the last time I was here."

"Are you sure you didn't hit the old noggin when you arrived here and dream it all?" Peter quipped, still grinning.

"You are such a...a...a...BOY!" As much as she was able to, Wendy turned away from the fire and glowered at the trees.

"Well at least I'm not some silly girl daydreaming up daft stories about big, glowing bugs being fairies, or a branch tapping on a tree as a crocodile with indigestion from eating a clock...or...or.."

"What about the singing?"

"Its probably just the wind whistling through a hole in the rocks..."

"And the mermaids?"

"Seals...or...or...dolphins."

Angry at his dismissal Wendy turned back to face him. "Then why bother to ask what they were if you had already worked it out...hmmm?"

"I was just teasing you...seeing what you'd say...I just never realised you had such an imagination."

Incensed, Wendy felt fit to burst, her face flushed scarlet with anger, her small hands curled into fists that longed to box his arrogant ears for him.

As if realising that he'd probably gone too far, Peter made a fuss of checking the roasting fowl and found them cooked. Pulling them out of the flames he dropped them onto two waiting leaves and removed the skewers.

"They're a bit hot, so don't burn yourself on them." He cautioned, holding out the first bird.

"I'm not hungry...thank you." Wendy sniffed, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Don't be silly...of course you're hungry." Receiving only a shrug in reply, he sighed and got to his feet, carrying the cooked bird to lay on the ground beside her. "Eat girl..."

Ignoring the tantalising smell of the bird, Wendy kept her gaze steadfastly turned away, hurt beyond measure that he chose to dismiss everything she'd said as a girlish fancy, a daydream.

Peter returned to his side of the fire and, using his knife, cut the bird open allowing the steam to escape before he started to pull the flesh off the bones and stuff the meat into his mouth. Seeing that Wendy wasn't touching hers he made loud appreciative moans and smacked his lips as he ate but she ignored him until he shrugged and gave his attention to his meal.

Wendy kept up her air of injured pride for as long as it took her stomach to notice the tempting smell of the bird at her side and let out a loud rumble. She glanced over at Peter but he pretended not to have noticed. Curious, she picked at the skin, the stubbly surface burnt black by the flames and smoke. Finding a split, she peeled it back to reveal the juicy flesh below. Pulling off a strip she popped it in her mouth and chewed. The flavour was stronger than chicken but more tender. She tore off another strip and another until she had consumed half the bird without realising. Guilty for having succumbed so easily to her hunger, Wendy glanced at Peter only to see him watching her, a quick grin flashing out before she turned away again, her chin lifting.

"Good aren't they?"

"I suppose...do you have a name for them?"

"Nope...should I have?"

"Well this is your island...so I'd have thought you'd have a name for the animals and birds that live here."

Peter shrugged, tearing off another strip and stuffing it in his mouth, ignoring Wendy's grimace of disgust at his table manners.

After chewing for a few seconds he swallowed his mouthful and fixed her with a questioning look.

"You keep calling this place Neverland. Why do you call it that?"

"I guess because its an island were you never have to grow up and worry about adult things ever again. The Never Never land."

"Hmmmm."

He lapsed into silence again and they ate in peace for a few more minutes. Tearing off a small drumstick he waved it in the air and opened his mouth again.

"You also mentioned Indians...where do they come into this story?"

"It's not a story Peter...they live here...somewhere...they have a camp near the mermaid lagoon...we went there after the battle at the Black Castle."

"There's a castle here?" Peter's expressive brows rose incredulously.

"Haven't you come across one in your travels?"

"Nope...no Black Castle. I think I'd remember if I had."

"Maybe you haven't explored all the island yet." Wendy suggested.

"I've explored a fair bit...there's been nothing much else to do on my own except explore."

"Oh."

They ate some more until Peter sat back patting his grease spotted stomach and groaned, a belch rending the air as he flopped back on the grass. "I'm stuffed."

"Now who's the pig.." Wendy muttered, nibbling at her drumstick, careful to lean forward so no grease dropped on her skirts. Peter ignored her remark and lay with his eyes closed, replete and sleepy.

Having eaten her fill she tossed the bones away and wrapped what was left in the leaf, batting away a nosy fly. Peter still lay on the grass, the fire left unattended to burn out.

Her hunger well and truly satisfied, Wendy eased herself on her side, careful of her still tender feet, and lay down. The sun was now at its zenith and the sound of the stream, overlaid with the drone of some bees nearby sent her into a doze.

Something was tickling her nose and she batted it away only for it to return and tickle her again. Thoroughly awake she blinked her eyes to find Peter sitting beside her with a long blade of grass that he bobbed in front of her face.

"Wake up sleepy head...there's still several hours of daylight and I want to keep moving."

"Yes...of course...keep moving..." Wendy yawned, lifting her arms to stretch above her head. Peter was rummaging in the pack, lifting out the roll of rabbit and fox fur as well as the jar of salve.

"I'll need some more material from you petticoat." Said Peter, approaching with his knife, the blade shining in the sunlight and almost blinding her.

"What are you going to do with it?" She asked, unwilling to surrender too many more of her undergarments to be torn up.

"Bind your feet so you can walk of course."

If she felt a twinge of disappointment that he wasn't proposing to carry her in his arms again, Wendy firmly squashed it, lifting her skirt, after telling Peter to look away, and pulling down one of her petticoats over her hips and down her legs. Handing it over she watched as he quickly cut it into strips before carrying them to the stream to soak them in the cold water. That done he returned and directed her to sit with her legs out. Kneeling down, he drew her feet up so that they rested on his thighs, then he smeared them liberally with the salve, Wendy squirming when he poked his finger between her toes.

"That tickles..."

Ignoring his patients squirming, Peter wrapped her feet in the cold bandages before finally wrapping them in the rabbit skins, the fur inwards to act as a cushion. With the skins secured he then cut up the wolf hide with its thicker fur and skin and wrapped that around until it appeared that Wendy's feet had swelled unbelievably and she was wearing very strange ankle boots.

"That should do it." Peter rose to his feet and held out his hand to Wendy to help her up. Dreading the pain, Wendy grimaced but took a hold of his hand, his fingers curling strongly around her own. Bracing himself he slowly eased her upright, his free arm snaking around her waist to take her weight as she gingerly tested her new footwear. To her surprise and his cocky grin, her feet felt very comfortable with barely a twinge of discomfort to remind her of the bruises and cuts.

"Goat skin would be better, but that'll have to wait until we get home."

"Thank you Peter...they hardly hurt at all."

"We'll see."

Letting her go, Peter bustled about, collecting the remains of their meal for later and re-packing the ointment and what was left of her petticoat. Lastly he refilled the goat skin bladder and handed it to Wendy to carry. Using his knife he hacked off a sapling from a nearby stand, trimming it to length and removing all the leaves and branches to produce a stout walking stick.

"Here...this should help."

Moved by his consideration Wendy impulsively leant forward as he handed her the stick and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Shocked at her own forwardness, she blushed furiously and lowered her eyes to the ground. Peter seemed frozen in place, his hand slowly coming up to touch his cheek where her lips had grazed him.

"What was that for?"

"I just thought...I'd...thank you." She stammered, her face still crimson.

Peter grinned hugely, his fingers still pressed to his cheek as he swaggered away, leaving Wendy to figure out how to walk again with her new aid. Whistling jauntily, if a little tunelessly, Peter led the way out of the small glade, Wendy walking slowly and carefully after him. Soon she was able to move faster as she gained confidence that her highly irregular boots were proving their worth and cushioning her feet to perfection.

Finding that she no longer had to concentrate quite so fiercely on just keeping her feet moving, Wendy was able to look at the scenery as they traversed Neverlands vast tract of forest.

"Peter?"

A grunt signaled he'd heard her.

"Have you seen no evidence of anyone on this island?"

"I said I hadn't seen anyone...not that I'd not seen proof that people have lived here."

"You really are very obtuse sometimes...what do you mean?"

She heard him give a gusty sigh.

"I came across a big open space one time, it was near a river. There was nothing there except what looked like old fire pits and numerous small holes in the ground, set out in circles."

"That could have been the Indian village...it was set in a big open space and the holes could have been where the tepee's had stood."

"Then where are they now?"

Wendy chewed her lip as she pondered what could have happened to force the Indian's to move. "I don't know."

They carried on, the path they were following broadening out so that Peter dropped back and was able to walk beside her, slowing his pace to hers.

"It's all very odd..." Wendy mused, carefully stepping over a tangle of tree roots.

"What is?"

"Well...everything. I mean, what could have happened to destroy the Jolly Roger?...Why have the Indian's moved their camp?...Why are you no longer able to understand the fairies..."

A loud snort interrupted her musings.

"I told you, you've got windmills in your head, there are no such things as..." Peter's voice halted when Wendy's hand clamped itself over his lips, her blue eyes boring into his, her brows drawn down in a fierce scowl.

"Don't you dare say that...don't ever!"

Despite knowing that he could easily push her away, Peter stood there with Wendy's warm hand pressed against his lips, her eyes willing him to comply.

Shrugging he nodded, his eyes closing in mock defeat before opening again with a wicked twinkle lurking in their depths. Wendy was so bemused by his lightning change of mood that it was a second before she registered that his tongue was painting tiny circles against the palm of her hand. Snatching it away she stared open mouthed at him as he licked his lips and grinned unashamedly.

"What on earth do you think you are doing?" Wendy demanded, staring at her open hand.

"Seeing what you taste like, of course."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Wendy turned her back and continued on down the dirt path, her stick thumping the ground. Peter watched her stalk off, noting that she didn't wipe her hand on her skirt but curled her fingers closed in a fist. Whistling again, he jogged a few steps to catch up.

"Wanna see something?" He asked, turning so that he could face her, walking backwards with a blithe disregard for his footing.

"No thank you."

"Aw come on Wendy...its a nice something...you'll like it."

Relenting in the face of his beguiling look, Wendy performed a credible facsimile of his own shrug. "Oh, if you like...what is it?"

"Nope...won't tell you...it's a surprise."

Turning forward, Peter smiled smugly and carried on walking.

Wendy tried to ignore that smile but found her curiosity piqued.

"Come on Peter...is it a waterfall?"

"Nope."

"Um...is it something I can eat?"

Peter laughed. "Always thinking of your stomach."

"I do not." Wendy retorted indignantly.

"You'll just have to wait and see." Peter told her mysteriously.

They walked for another half hour before Peter led them off the main path and along a little used track, the leaf litter underfoot muffling their footsteps. Plunged into the deep shade, Wendy couldn't suppress a shiver and glanced longingly over her shoulder to the brighter path they'd left behind.

"It's not far.." Peter called out before pushing aside a curtain of creepers to reveal his secret.

Wendy stopped dead in her tracks and gasped. In front of her rose a tall stone monolith, as high as an Indian tepee, its surface carved with intricate pattern around the base but the top half depicting a dour face that frowned down on the young people staring up at it.

"Gracious..." Wendy breathed, peering upwards.

"Something, isn't it?"

"I've...never seen anything like this."

"I found it by accident when I was hunting this way. There's another one in almost a direct line that way." He pointed but Wendy couldn't see anything through the dense bush.

"Does it look like this one?"

"It has a bird face instead." Peter told her, standing aside to let her peer more closely at the markings around the bottom half.

The carvings were crude and weathered, streaks of old water stains marring the stone and lichen filling in some of the detail. Almost sticking her nose on the stone Wendy scrunched up her eyes when a particular carving caught her attention. Excited she leant back and turned to wave Peter over.

"Look here Peter...this pattern...does this look a little like a ship to you?"

Peter bent down at inspected the carving that Wendy was pointing to.

"I guess it might look a little like a boat of some sort."

Wendy was looking closely at the other carvings, calling out what she thought they were, her fingers dancing over the stone.

"And look here...that could be a tepee, and that would be...a top hat?"

"Why would anyone carve a top hat on a statue?" Peter asked, puzzled at Wendy's slightly stunned expression.

"My brother John wore a top hat he stole from Father's bank manager on the night we flew here to Neverland...he lost it...somewhere."

Peter made a rude sound. "There you go again...nobody can fly...only birds fly and if you ask me that just looks like...a-a...thing, not a hat."

Wendy kept a tight rein on her temper and ignored his dismissive remarks. Tracing the line of the carving further around she reached an area that appeared to be more recently cut into the rock. Unable to quite believe her eyes, she brushed at the cobwebs and leaves that slightly obscured the carving.

"Peter?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Come and look at this...and then tell me I'm dreaming."

Grimacing, Peter edged his way around the statue and stood by Wendy's side, her shaking fingers pointing to the recently carved pictograms.

This time it was Peter who looked stunned as his eyes traced the outline of two figures standing side by side, one male, one female. They were unmistakably meant to represent Peter and Wendy, even down to the pack on Peter's back with his ragged trousers and Wendy's shortened skirts and long hair.

Suddenly wary, Peter looked up and around the small clearing that the statue stood in. Seeing nothing but trees and bushes he grasped Wendy's upper arm and started to tug her away from the statue.

"We need to get going...now."

"But Peter...those carvings...were they there the last time you were through here?"

Ignoring her token resistance, Peter tugged harder, hustling Wendy away from the statue, his eyes darting about to catch any movement among the greenery.

"I don't remember...we have to get moving...come on."

Too surprised to really protest, Wendy allowed him to bustle her along the short track and out into the wider path, her face turning up to welcome the warmth of the sun after the dark dankness of the jungle glade.

"Can you walk?" Peter demanded, shaking her slightly to get her attention.

"Y-y-es...but what's the matter?"

"Nothing...I just want to get closer to home before we camp for the night...that's all."

"But Peter...don't you think its odd that the statue has a picture of us on it? Aren't you curious?"

"Not enough to stick around here...can't you walk any faster?"

"I'm walking as fast as I can...Peter!"

Impatiently, Peter knocked the walking stick from her hand and swept her up into his arms making her squeal and clutch his neck. As if she weighed nothing at all, he strode out and almost jogged down the track, the trees swallowing up the path behind them. Finding herself rudely jostled and feeling a little queasy, Wendy thumped Peter on the back when he refused to listen to her calls for him to slow down.

"Peter stop this...please..."

Abruptly Peter halted and almost dropped her on her feet, Wendy swaying before righting herself, her feet stinging from the sudden contact with the ground.

They were standing on the path looking down into a valley, the winding track having followed a ridge for the last part before plunging down a steep slope towards the valley floor below. Peter stood and stared at the view, his arm around Wendy's waist to steady her as he raised his other hand to shade his eyes. Wendy could feel how tense he was and tried squinting into the distance to see what he was looking at.

"What is it Peter?"

As if only just remembering that she was there, Peter's head swung around and he fixed her with an enigmatic look before raising his arm and pointing out across the valley. Wendy followed the direction of his finger and stared, her eyes widening as she saw what had drawn his attention.

Spiraling up from the valley floor was a column of grey smoke, the vapor rising straight up out of the sparse canopy of trees until it was teased away by the wind above the slopes either side of the deep rift.

"Oh Peter...what does it mean?"

"It means that we're not the only ones on this island after all."

"What are we going to do?"

"We are going to negotiate this path and get to the valley floor, then we are going to make camp." Peter stated, laying heavy emphasis on the 'we'. Hitching the pack higher on his back he turned to pick her up again but Wendy laid a hand on his chest to forestall him.

"You can't possibly imagine I'm going to let you carry me all the way down there...my feet are fine..I'll walk."

After a brief pause, Peter shrugged and slipped his arm from around her waist but just as quickly his hand enfolded hers and gripped it tightly.

"Then follow me and look out for tree roots."

Feeling both nervous and excited, Wendy nodded her head and allowed Peter to guide them both down the steeply sloping track towards the valley below.

The sun was dipping towards the horizon by the time they reached the lightly forested floor of the valley, the shadow cast by the surrounding hills making it darker than normal. Wendy was exhausted, her feet, despite Peter's best efforts, were in agony. Finding a huge fallen tree to act as a windbreak and shelter, Peter helped Wendy to sit down, her bottom lip almost raw from biting it to suppress the cries of pain.

Pulling out the feather filled sack from his pack, Peter loosened the string and pummelled into a pillow shape.

"Here, lay down and rest, I'll be gone just a short time."

Too tired to argue, Wendy did as he bid, her eyes closing as her head sank into the welcome softness.

Having seen her settled, Peter quickly equipped himself for hunting, leaving the pack with Wendy before setting off through the long grass. Luck was with him and he returned before the shadow of the hills had completely crossed the valley floor. Gathering rocks and kindling, he efficiently gutted and skinned the two rabbits before skewing them and putting them aside until the fire was lit.

Wendy awoke a couple of hours later to the welcome flush of warmth bathing her skin as well as the rich aroma of roasting meat. Above her head stars twinkled in the clear sky, sparks from the fire competing with them as they floated up in the smoke. Peter sat near where she lay, his attention intent on the two small bodies which he turned frequently, their skins blackened and crispy. Blinking to clear her eyes of sleep, Wendy struggled to sit up, surprised not to feel any pain from her poor feet.

"I redressed them while you slept." Peter explained as if he'd read her mind. Wendy quickly looked at her feet and noted that the dust had been knocked from the furs and that the bandages were snug around her ankles.

"Thank you, they feel...fine."

"They're looking alot better than this morning." Peter informed her, keeping his attention on the rabbits and avoiding her eyes. He could feel a blush starting to prickle his skin, his memory supplying the image of long, slender legs and delicate toes, the ankles trim enough to be surrounded by his fingers completely.

Wendy fussed with her skirts, her own face burning from the thought of Peter handling her feet and legs while she slept, wondering at her exhaustion to have managed to remain unaware while he tended her hurts.

The night air was not chilly but still Wendy felt goosebumps break out on her arms when she thought about the smoke they'd seen from the ridge.

"Who do you think they are Peter?"

Knowing quite well who she referred to, Peter only shrugged, turning the skewers again.

They sat in silence watching the flames, Peter feeding the fire from a pile of twigs off to the side.

"Will they see our fire?"

"Nope...too far away...and it's dark..."

"Oh.."

Rubbing her arms, Wendy looked up at the smoke from their campsite drifting upwards and disappearing into the darkness. The air was redolent with the spicy scent of the wood smoke, the cooking meat adding to mix, her stomach rumbling on cue as Peter lifted the first of the rabbit's away from the flames.

Setting it down between them, Peter cut it up with his knife and offered a portion to Wendy who took it gratefully. They ate in silence, both caught up in their own thoughts.

Peter was turning over the implications of the carving on the statue they'd stopped to see. On his last trip through the area he was sure that the figures that Wendy interpreted as themselves had not been on the idol, his own observations not noticing the similarity of the carvings to the objects Wendy pointed out as ships and Indian dwellings. He'd just taken them for old native stone carvings that had been left by the islands previous inhabitants, but it now appeared that those inhabitants were still around somewhere. Peter hadn't been entirely truthful to Wendy regarding other people being on the island. It was true that the Indian encampment was abandoned, but he'd seen other indications that people were still living in Neverland. Fireplaces where the ashes were barely cold, midden's with evidence of recent human occupation from the level of waste accumulated in them, all pointed to either several small groups of people roaming, like him, around the island in search of food or maybe searching for someone or something. That it might be him they were searching for had crossed his mind but as he thought himself quite insignificant, he'd shrugged the idea off. Now with Wendy's arrival his own importance to the island, in her eyes at least, was something he couldn't ignore. His loss of memory of the time before he found himself washed up on that beach had never really bothered him before now. The skills he had to hunt and provide for himself had never struck him as unusual or significant, but now he reflected that it seemed to point to the fact that he'd been looking after himself on the island far longer than the time allowed since he'd awoken, alone and naked on the sandy shore. Despite deriding Wendy's explanations about the mermaids and fairies, what she'd said made a lot of sense to him now. He was quite sure that the heads he'd seen bobbing in the bay had not been seals or any form of animal, but had been women, their long hair floating in the clear water like seaweed, their bodies slicing through the waves with a flick of their silvery tails. As soon as the creatures had noticed his presence they'd disappeared with a splash and never returned to that bay despite Peter spending long hours waiting to see if they would.

Having Wendy confirm his own thoughts made him curious as to what or who he was in his previous life. Where before he'd been content to let such ideas sink below the tedium of keeping himself alive and fed, now he had a reason to discover more about his island home, and what his place was in it. If Wendy was to be believed he'd been a sword-wielding, pirate-fighting, leaf-clad flying boy with a fairy for a best friend. Chuckling inwardly, Peter had to admit that it was hard to believe, but Wendy also didn't strike him as a girl that would lie so blatantly or so believably about such things. She certainly believed what she said and was genuinely hurt when he'd laughed at her, her eyes darkening with pain before her lashes swept down to hide them. If he did believe her, then he also had to accept that something drastic had happened to change not only his life but his appearance as well. It was something he'd never even thought about, the memory loss being blamed for everything, his current appearance taken as the norm. Now it seemed that he had not looked this way six months prior, nor been this old. It was all very perplexing and more bother than he really needed right now. Glancing over at his companion he pushed all his troublesome questions to one side and just gazed at the firelight glinting on her hair and the shadows chasing themselves over her expressive features. Whatever they had been to each other in that previous life, he knew that she was starting to mean a whole lot more to him now.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Wendy awoke to the now familiar warmth of Peter's body curled up against her back. Although he started off sleeping some distance away from her, he always ended up spooned against her, his arm looped over her waist, his breath warming her shoulder or neck. Wondering what had caused her to wake, she lay with her eyes half open, the embers of the fire glowing brightly, the sky still dark. A voice jerked her out of her doze and she listened, her heart pounding. It was Peter, his words indistinct as he dreamed, his limbs twitching as he fought whatever inhabited his unconscious thoughts. He quietened briefly before he shouted, startling her.

"NO...I have to save her...NO...you bastard...leave her alone...Wendy..." His voice tailed off into a mumble, his arm clutching convulsively around her middle as he shifted restlessly. Alarmed, Wendy tried to turn but his voice stilled her.

"To the death, James Hook...it's him or me this time...to the death..."

Finding herself squeezed painfully, Wendy tried to prise Peter's arm away, the muscles flexing like steel bands under her fingers as she tried to lever it from around her waist. Her attempts only caused the arm to tighten and Wendy gasped as her ribs protested.

"Peter...please...you're crushing me!"

Her strangled cry seemed to snap Peter out of his dream, his body going rigid before he shot upright, his eyes wide and dark as he stared down at her.

"Wha...what is it? What's the matter?"

"You were dreaming...and you're arm..." She indicated his limb still clamped tightly about her. Peter let her go immediately and scooted back to put some distance between them.

"Sorry...I'm...sorry." Peter mumbled, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair leaving it in a wild disarray before drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.

Wendy levered herself upright, massaging her sore middle as she sat up, her eyes flicking worriedly over Peter.

"What were you dreaming about Peter?...You were talking.."

Peter interrupted her harshly. "What did I say?"

"It was a little confused...you seemed to be fighting someone, and you said my name as well as James Hook."

Briefly Peter turned his head away, staring out into the darkness. When he turned to face her he looked haggard.

"There was a battle...I was fighting...I had to get somewhere and stop something...I don't remember...it's all muddled."

Wendy didn't pursue it, not sure that she wanted to know the outcome of what he was dreaming if his expression was anything to go by. They sat staring at the dying fire until Wendy felt her eyes start to slide shut and her shoulders droop. Seeing her shift, Peter lifted his head and spoke.

"Go back to sleep...I'll keep watch. It'll be dawn soon."

"You need to sleep too, Peter."

"In a bit."

Wendy hesitated but his expression halted any words of comfort before they could be uttered.

"Goodnight then."

Laying back down, Wendy turned her back and tried to compose herself to sleep again. She shifted and realised she missed the comfort of his heat against her back, of his arm a welcome weight around her waist. Berating herself for being so mawkish, she closed her eyes.

Sunlight woke her the next time, the morning well advanced when she rose to find herself alone, the fire a dark smudge of ash and blackened grass at her feet. Not unduly alarmed, she climbed to her feet, glad that they did nothing more than ache, and found herself a bush to give her some privacy. Feeling more comfortable she returned to the camp and looked about. The pack was gone but the water bladder had been left, so after taking a long drink she wetted a corner of her skirt and wiped her face and hands, feeling the need to refresh herself for the new day.

After performing her limited ablutions she settled herself to wait for Peter's return. Birds were singing high up in the branches of the trees, the sound sweet in the cool of the morning. Using the pillow as a cushion, she settled herself with her back against the tree trunk to give her a clear view in front of her. She had tried to see if she could see Peter's tracks when she'd gone to relieve herself, but the dirt around the campsite was too disturbed for her to make out anything. As the sun continued to rise she watched a butterfly float above the tall grass stems, its wings painted a hectic shade of purple. Other creatures ventured out as she remained still, a lizard darting across the cleared space, its feet kicking up a spurt of dust as it scuttled back into the grass. A bee droned past in a weaving flight, dipping down to investigate Wendy before buzzing past to continue its journey. As time passed Wendy felt a trickle of fear start to wend its way down her nerves, the sun starting to feel hot on the top of her head so that she shifted to put herself in the shade before her skin started to burn and freckle. The thought of a hat put her in mind of her chip-straw bonnet she'd lost two days before. Eyeing the tall stems of grass she tried to recall the lesson she'd received at her old school the day they'd woven baskets from lengths of cane. Thinking that she might be able to fashion something to protect her fair skin, Wendy got up and gathered an armful of grass stems, depositing the bundle on the ground before sitting down again. She then spent the next hour happily working out a way to weave the stems together to form a rounded flat mat which she planned to tie on her head with the platted grass leaves.

When she had finished she lifted up the crudely fashioned mat and eyed it critically. A fashionable bonnet it was not, but it would act as an excellent sun hat and keep the worst of the light from her face if only she could plat the leaves so that they wouldn't break at the first hint of tension. Squinting up at the sun she saw it had almost reached midday and there was still no sign of Peter. Feeling more than a little alarmed she rose to her feet and collected together her meager supplies. Over her one shoulder she slung the goat-skin, the water inside sloshing noisily. Over the other she hung the drawstring bag with the feathers inside. Lastly she tried to secure the grass-stalk hat to her head with the leaf ribbon, only partially successful when half the leaves split, but it held, albeit loosely.

The ashes of the fire were now quite cold so she scooped up handfuls of dirt and covered it, as she'd seen Peter do that last two mornings. Dusting off her hands, she tried to look as far as possible over the heads of the nodding grass. Seeing nothing to give her any indication of which direction Peter took, she tried to remember the direction they'd seen the other fire when up on the ridge. Thinking that she had the right direction, Wendy set out after fashioning sticks in the shape of an arrow to indicate the direction she was taking, her legs pushing easily through the long grass, burrs and sticky seeds sticking to her skirts and her unconventional boots.

Firmly tamping down the welling fear that Peter had, in fact, abandoned her, Wendy made a concerted effort not to become introverted but to pay attention to her surroundings for any clues to Peter's whereabouts, or to indicate who else could be in the valley.

The sun was now overhead and she felt trickles of perspiration snaking down her back and neck, her hair sticking to her skin, her dress quite damp under the arms. Pausing she uncorked the goat-skin and took a drink. All around her stretched the waving sea of grass, dotted here and there with frequently less trees, their welcome shade a temporary respite before she pressed on.

As the afternoon wore on her steps became slower, her head starting to ache with the heat, the goat-skin as heavy as a sack of sand on her shoulders. The only bright spot was the grass hat she'd made which proved an excellent sun hat, screening her eyes from the fierce glare and protecting her head from the scorching sun. Lifting her hand to shade her eyes further she squinted up at the hills that seemed to close in on her, the heat haze making them waver. Finally, unable to put another step forward, she sank down in the shade of a scrubby bush and took another drink from the goat-skin. Pulling the feather bag around and thumping it into shape she rested her head, intending only to close her eyes for a minute which, as fate would have it, lasted more than three hours.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

While Wendy trekked her way across the flat grasslands, Peter was cursing his luck as he hung upside down, his ankles caught in a noose that had hoisted him high above the ground, his knife falling out of its scabbard to land beyond his reach among the leaf litter below.

Twisting, he'd tried to reach the noose with the intention of freeing himself but each attempt only tightened the rope, cutting off the circulation to his feet until he had no feeling left in them. Feeling dizzy, Peter tried to swing himself towards the nearest tree with the thought of grabbing a branch and hoisting himself upright at least, but all his attempts proved useless, the motion only making him feel sick and disorientated.

His pack had remained on his back but was slipping with every movement until it too fell and joined his knife on the ground below, much to his annoyance and shouted curses. He had left the camp with every intention of returning before Wendy awoke, but that plan was now beyond redemption, in fact his situation could quickly become perilous if he didn't figure out a way to get the rope to release him or someone came along to free him. As the sun crept across the sky his hopes of rescue started to fade with his vision as his body started to rebel against its unnatural position, his arms now as useless as his legs to aid in his escape. At some point he passed out because when he next opened his eyes the sun was well past its zenith and the shadows starting to stretch longer on the ground below him. With no hope that Wendy would be able to find him even if she had been searching for him all day, his fate was now in the hands of whoever had set the trap, Peter hoping that whoever had lit the fire was also the hunter and would be along soon to check his traps for prey.

He must have passed out again because the next time he became aware of his surroundings he was flat on his back staring up at the sky, the few clouds painted the glorious colours of sunset. With the return of his senses came the realisation that he was free of the noose, his arms and legs all unbroken, his pack and knife not far from his body. Sitting up groggily he stared around the clearing noting that the rope lay like a discarded snake near his feet, marks like burns to show where they had tightened about his ankles, his head still muzzy after a rush of blood to his brain. Just thankful to be free, Peter slowly rose to his feet, swaying until he regained his balance and his ears stopped ringing. Of his captor there was no sign, except for the end of the severed rope, the fibres clean cut indicating that whoever had freed him had used a blade to sever the line. Coiling up the length of rope he stuffed it into his pack before once more hoisting it onto his shoulder and sheathing his knife.

"Thank you." Peter called out to the silent trees, the feeling that someone was watching him prickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

Taking cautious steps until he was sure his raw ankles would support him, Peter backed out of the glade, turning his head to catch any sign of movement from his rescuer. As he put distance between him and the trees he couldn't stop the feeling that he was being watched from dogging his footsteps.

As stars started to appear in the sky above him his thoughts turned to Wendy and what she would have done when it became apparent he wasn't returning. He had no difficulty in supposing that she might think he had abandoned her and set out on her own, which was confirmed when he found the deserted campsite from the night before. Kicking at the ashes he searched the ground in the failing light and found her footprints plus her arrow as well as a swathe of trampled grass where she had pushed her way through. It proved easy to follow her passage as the grass had not recovered enough even from having so slight a figure move through it and Peter felt an urgency compel his limbs to move faster despite the failing light. He only stopped when it was too dark to see more than his hand in front of his face, his weary body sinking into the long grass, his chest heaving as he drew breath. Somewhere ahead of him was Wendy, alone in the dark with no fire or food and no idea where he'd been all day. Left with only his thoughts for company Peter tried to figure out who could have set the trap in the trees, what they were hoping to capture and how they came to be there in the first place. He assumed that the smoke he'd seen further down the valley had belonged to whoever had released him, but even there he couldn't be sure. Maybe the trapper and the rescuer were two different people, in which case why had he never come across any evidence of their existence before now? It was as if he'd noticed nothing about the island until Wendy had appeared on that beach, as if his eyes and ears had been deaf to anything and everything until her arrival. Putting down his inability to sort it all out to his ordeal, Peter curled up among the whispering grasses and waited for the moon to rise.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Wendy opened her eyes to darkness. Tucked under the bush, she lay and watched the grasses around her sway and dip as a rising wind swept over the valley floor, the sky above dotted with racing clouds that briefly obscured the moon which sat fat and yellow and low in the sky. Pushing herself upright she rubbed her arms to restore circulation and instill some warmth into her limbs, the formally warm breeze now starting to bite through her thin dress.

With a nameless dread forming in her stomach, Wendy clambered to her feet and stared around her small shelter at the expanse of grass that seemed to go on forever in every direction, the slopes of the valley appearing dark and shadowed, almost menacing in their inscrutability. Shivering in earnest, she turned full circle, her hair whipped into her face until she turned again and the wind carried the strands out of her eyes and beyond her shoulders like a banner.

"Oh Peter...where are you?" She whispered, hugging her arms about herself, her ears straining for any sound, her eyes trying to pierce the half light of the moon on the constantly moving grass around her.

The clouds scudding past suddenly blocked out the light of the moon and Wendy found herself plunged into darkness, the sound of the wind taking on a sinister air as she stood irresolute, her eyes blind to all but the stars above.

Suddenly consumed with fear of the unknown Wendy tilted back her head and filled her lungs with air.

"PETER!" It seemed as if the wind whipped the word from her lips before she had a chance to form it, her eyes tearing up as she waited for a reply she dreaded was never coming. As she strained to hear, a sound made her whip her head around. Confused by the wind and the whispering of the grass she twisted and turned to catch the sound again. Hearing nothing she bit her lip hard to stop the tears from falling, her knuckles pressed to her eyes as her shoulders shook on silent sobs.

A touch on her shoulder wrenched a scream from her lips before strong arms pulled her around and enfolded her against a firm chest, the wind tangling her hair and blinding her as she flung her arms around him, holding on for dear life.

"I-I-I thought you'd left me..."

Shaking almost as much as her, Peter was fighting to get his breath back and speak, his lungs laboring after his sprint across the short distance between them. Since the moon had risen Peter had been following the path left by her, cursing when the moon went behind a cloud and running when it appeared, sure that he was close to finding her. Then he'd stopped short when he heard his name called, the sound, so full of fear and longing, had fired his blood and sent his feet flying over the ground, the dark shape of the bush clear in the moonlight. Breathless he arrived just as the moon once more disappeared, his last vision of Wendy standing with her back to him. He'd reached out to where he'd last seen her and touched her arm, only to have her jump out of her skin and scream. Anxious to touch her and confirm that she was in fact real, he'd pulled her against his body, his hands running up and down her back and sides, her hair whipping into his face, the strands entangling them as they held on to each other. He could feel her shaking against him, her face pressed against his neck, her fingers kneading his back as if reassuring herself he was real.

Relaxing his grip he tried to smooth her hair away from her face but the wind frustrated him.

"I'm here...I wouldn't leave you...Wendy look at me."

Running his hands over her head, he stroked them down to cup her face, pulling her away slightly so that he could tilt her face up to look at him. Her hair was like a living thing, snaking and twisting around them in a cloud as the wind continued to rise, the cold causing both of them to shiver.

"We have to get out of this wind," Peter almost shouted to be heard above the sound of the grass, Wendy nodding her understanding as he pulled her into his side before bending down to snag the goat-skin and the feather bag. Blinded by her hair and unwilling to let go of him, she allowed him to lead her away from the bush and towards the dark hills that loomed over the valley. Within what seemed to be a very short time they reached a rocky scree where huge boulders seemed tossed like marbles along the bottom of the slope. Peter was looking for something, his head turning back and forth, cursing under his breath when the moon disappeared for a moment, then suddenly he shouted and pointed to a dark opening almost hidden behind a huge boulder.

"Not much further Wendy...hold tight to me."

Together they scrambled over the loose shale and towards the hulking boulder. As they ducked behind it, it was as if someone had shut a door, the rock blocking the wind just as effectively. Peter continued on until they had entered a little way into the caves mouth, the floor covered in a find sand that felt cool and silky between their toes. Pushing her disordered hair off her face, Wendy tried not to shiver, her relief at having Peter beside her almost overwhelming her fragile control. Peter was shucking the pack and trying to check out the cave.

"Look, there's nothing here I can use to start a fire, I need to go outside again..."

"No Peter..."

"I won't be long...just far enough to gather some fuel and grass for kindling...you can watch from the cave mouth if you need to...its light enough out there for you to see."

Not waiting for a reply, Peter took off down the slope, apparently with the eyesight of a cat as he leap over the dark shapes of small rocks in his quest to get out and back in record time. Wendy stood just inside the cave, her eyes following his movements, her heart leaping into her throat when the moon went behind a cloud and she lost him. Seconds later light flooded the valley and she breathed again when she saw him already returning, his arms full of branches and grass.

Puffing, he dumped it all inside the cave and went to rummage in the pack. Another trip outside and they gathered enough rocks to form a base onto which he built the fire. At last he struck the flint and a flame flared into life, growing quickly into a bright fire that banished the shadows and gave them their first real look at their new shelter. The cave was more of a deep overhang, the roof sloping quickly to the floor with no access further into the hill. A few small rocks were scattered against the wall but for the most part the floor was free of animal droppings or any permanent residents. The huge boulder beyond the cave mouth effectively blocked the wind and the interior of the cave quickly warmed up with the small fire. With the creation of light and heat, Peter and Wendy started to relax from the grip of fear that had pervaded their thoughts all day.

"We have enough water for tonight, and there's still the left-overs from those rabbits last night...we should be fine tomorrow, this wind will have blown itself out by then."

Touched that he'd gone to so much trouble just to reassure her, Wendy opened her mouth to ask where he'd been when she saw his legs and gasped anew.

"Peter..what happened to your ankles?"

Peter looked down at himself in surprise, the rope burns quite forgotten in the adrenalin rush of finding Wendy and everything afterwards.

"Er...I was caught in a noose trap." He told her matter of factly, brushing off the livid marks as if they were nothing.

"A trap? Set by who?"

He shrugged. "Don't know...whoever it was, they freed me and I came after you."

Wendy blinked, sure that a wealth of detail had been left out of that brief summation of his day. Too happy to be sitting beside him to worry about pushing him for more information, Wendy wrapped her arms about her knees and gazed at the flames. As she stared the full weight of the days rollercoaster ride of emotions crashed in on her and she started to cry, big fat tears rolling down her face to drip off her chin welling up from some limitless source that she was unable to stop.

Peter saw the tracks of wetness and felt helpless. For a second he remained undecided, then he scooted closer and gathered her up, depositing her on his lap and pulling her head onto his shoulder where she sobbed inconsolably for several minutes.

"I-I'm sorry...it's all been a bit much today..." Wendy hiccuped, wiping ineffectually at the continuing stream of tears. Peter couldn't help a small smile from curving his mouth at her gross understatement of events. Reaching into the pack beside him, he pulled out a length of what remained of her petticoat and pressed it into her hands. Gratefully she mopped her eyes and wiped her face, finishing off with a loud blow of her nose which had Peter grinning from ear to ear.

"Feeling better now?"

"Much...I'm sorry to be such a wet ninny, I don't usually cry so much."

"That's okay...girls tend to do that a lot, or so I've heard."

Wendy stiffened in his arms, her eyes indignant as they clashed with his.

"Well, if that's what you think..."

"It's only what I've heard." Peter teased her, glad to see some spirit returning, her tears drying up as she blew her nose again, hard.

"I'll have you know I hardly ever cry...it's not considered very ladylike to be a watering pot all the time."

"Besides the fact it leaves your nose all pink and swollen." Peter told her quite seriously but with a twinkle in his eye.

"Quite." Wendy agreed, a smile tilting her lips as Peter failed to contain his and granted her a full blown grin that almost lit up the cave.

"Ready for something to eat?" He asked when her stomach intruded on the quiet moment.

"Yes please...I'm sorry there's not much to drink...I got terribly thirsty, it's been so hot today."

"We'll make do...here, tuck in."

Passing her the remains of one of the rabbits, Peter unwrapped his own bundle and started to pick the flesh from the small bones, savoring every morsel as if it was his last. Wendy followed his example and also took her time over her scant meal, feeling washed out but greatly relieved as well.

She had removed herself from him lap but not moved far from his side, both of them unwilling to move beyond touching distance. Outside the cave the wind continued to lash the valley, the sky filling with clouds as the front swept over the island, blotting out the moon and bringing the smell of rain to the forests and jungles. Inside the fire burned brightly, banishing the shadows and warming the air as it's two temporary residents finished their meager meal and settled down for the night.

Wendy had unwrapped her feet and Peter smoothed the last of the salve into her toes and soles making her giggle as it tickled the sensitive skin, her nose wrinkling at the strong peppermint smell.

"Well that's the last until we get to my home."

Wendy wriggled her toes, warming them near the embers. "How much further is it Peter?"

"Not far at all...if this storm passes over during the night we should be home before midday, it's just beyond the end of this valley."

"So close..." Wendy sighed, her shoulders drooping tiredly.

Peter fed another piece of their small supply of wood onto the fire, the embers glowing brightly just as a small flurry of rain soaked the dust outside the overhang, the air temperature dropping as the heavens opened and rain poured down forming a curtain beyond the reach of the firelight. Peter quickly gathered their supplies and scooted to the back of the cave, Wendy following suit. Together they huddled against the back wall, the rain drumming on the dirt. Thankfully the cave sloped downwards slightly, towards the opening, so none of the flood entered their shelter. Peter looped his arm around Wendy's shoulder and gave her a squeeze.

"We'll be safe and dry here...don't worry."

Wendy managed a wan smile, cheered that he was trying to lighten their situation, her own thoughts less sanguine.

"I think I'll try and sleep...you..." She swallowed, "you won't...leave me?"

Peter heard the tremor in her voice and gave her arm another squeeze.

"I won't leave...not without letting you know if I have to."

"Thank you."

Peter handed her the feather bag and Wendy smiled her thanks before thumping it into shape and laying her head down. She lay there a long time, staring at the fire and sometimes at the dark maw beyond the fire's reach, the curtain of rain like a fall of diamonds, sparkling as they caught the light of the flames.

Peter kept watch, hearing her breathing even out eventually, her blue eyes closing as she relaxed into an uneasy slumber.

Despite the fact he'd not asked to get caught in the trap, he still felt a twinge of guilt at having put Wendy through the worry and fear of having to make her own way, the girl obviously not equipped to deal with the physical duress despite her plucky spirit. Yawning widely, Peter rose to his feet and padded over to the wide opening of the cave, his arms rising to rest his hands against the low, stone roof as he stared out at the rain still pummelling the valley, the grass almost bent over with the force of the storm. The rock that sheltered the overhand was bearing the brunt of the storm but water from the slope above was starting to cascade over the lip of the cave creating a curtain of water that sluiced down the rocky slope, which in turn created small rivers of mud. Turning away he walked back to the fire and collected all the wood that was left, banking the flames before he settled himself down on the hard floor, insinuating himself between Wendy and the back wall, spooning up behind her, his head supported on the near empty goat-skin, his arm curving protectively around her slender waist.

Soon the hypnotic crackle of the flames and the drum of the rain worked its magic and Peter slipped into a dreamless sleep, Wendy safe and secure in his arms.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

TBC...