Peter noticed the change in Wendy's eyes as her joyous mood slipped away, replaced with dread, fear, and mourning. She laughed bitterly at herself - mourning for something she had not even lost! Yet. The word flashed repeatedly in her head, reminding her of the impending farewell that she would have to make.

Peter frowned at her expression. "What are you thinking, Wendy?" He asked her, his cocky grin gone, replaced with a look of concern.

"Oh, nothing." Wendy hurriedly said, trying to cover up her less-than-happy thoughts. "It is so lovely out here, don't you think?"

"Um...yes, I guess it is." Peter stumbled to restart the conversation.

Conversation wasn't needed, because the next second, Peter splashed Wendy with a jet of water. She squealed, then shot back at him. Quite soon, they were returning spurts of water before the other had fired their shots. Laughing, yelling, and squealing filled the lagoon, along with splashes as the two children played.

The game soon turned to a chase when Wendy began to swim towards the ledge, laughing and glancing behind herself every few seconds to see if he was close behind. On one glance, she noticed that Peter was nowhere in site.

"Peter? Peter, are you there?" Wendy asked tentatively, turning slowly 'round.

"Boo!"

Wendy screamed in shock, before bursting into a fit of giggles. Peter floated an inch or so above the water, his face nearly six inches away from hers.

"You gave me quite a fright, Peter!" Wendy laughed, splashing him playfully.

"I didn't give you anything. I scared you!" Peter smiled widely.

"Yes, that, too. And you don't play fair!" Wendy contested jovially.

"What do you mean, 'fair'? And how did I not do it?" Peter asked, his curiousity at these queer things Wendy said growing; he loved to hear her speak, and even better when he could understand it.

"Fair. I didn't know that we were allowed to fly, or else I would flown to the ledge instead of swam. So you see, that is why you scared me." Wendy told him, trying to explain the word's usage and what she had meant by using it.

"Oh. Wendy?"

"Yes, Peter?" Wendy replied, not paying much attention.

"We can fly in this game."

Wendy could not help but burst into laughter. If one were there, one would see it was very funny. Peter began laughing, too, realizing the joke he had made.

Wendy concentrated, and rose above the water, levelling herself with Peter.

"To the waterfall." She whispered, before rising high into the air, and flying to the small waterfall that sat on one of the hills that created the sides of the lagoon.

Peter quickly followed, racing her. He, of course, won the race.

The waterfall was small, but as beautiful as the largest in the world.

"Peter...what will you do when I return to London?" Wendy asked quietly, staring into the watery blue-green depth around her.

"You're still going?" Peter asked quietly, visibly pained.

"Peter, I have to go. I have to be with my family." Wendy said quietly, feeling ever more ashamed for bringing it up.

"I thought that if...if you had seen this place...maybe you wouldn't...wouldn't..." Peter struggled with words that could not breach the lump that had settled in his throat.

"Oh, Peter..." Tears welled in Wendy's eyes, a familiar feeling by this time.

Peter looked up, hearing the sadness in Wendy's voice. He lifted a finger, gently wiping away a tear drop that had slid down her cheek. She giggled, sniffling.

"I don't want to leave you, Peter." She said quietly.

"You don't have to." He replied matter-of-factly, but not unfeeling.

At times, actions speak louder than words, and this is one of those times. Wendy put her arms under Peter's, and pulled herself to him. He responded the hug with a nervous grasp, before holding her as he had done some times before. Wendy rested her head on his shoulder, silent tears pouring from her eyes.

Peter knew little of feelings. He barely ever felt them. But this time, possibly the only time something like this occurred, I believe he understood. I believe he understood the obligation Wendy felt for her family.

He knew he had to let her go.

The thought made his heart ache tremendously, but he knew that he could not hurt her. It would hurt her if he did not let her return to her family. It would hurt him if she left. Either way, he lost. He hated to think of life without Wendy. Since she had returned with him, he had been trying to erase the memories of days gone by without her, and was partially succeeding. His heart felt as if it were being ripped in two. He wanted her to be happy - that was what he wished her, but he also wanted her to stay with him.

Wendy was feeling a similar dilemma. She wanted to stay wiht Peter - she thought, if she were to ever feel love, this was her love. She wanted to return to her family. If she had never returned from running away with Peter, what had become of them? Did they miss her? Were her parents overcome with desperation in searching for her, grief when she could not be found? What about the boys? Her brothers, who would tell them stories? Who would help Michael to grow up?

Grow up.

The two simple words seemed to strike fear in her love's heart. He was afraid. She was not. The differences were vast, and she knew they would eventually drive them their separate ways. She had an obligation to her family; oh, how she loved them! She could not leave them. But on the other hand, she loved Peter so, she could not leave him. Peter had no obligations. He had obligations to himself, and, Wendy hoped, to her. She was elated to think that she was the one person Peter cared about, but it also saddened her to think that the one person who loved him woiuld leave him, as she knew he thought his parents had done.

Peter's parents loved him. They truly had. He ran away, as a tiny toddler, frightened of growing old. When he had finally decided to return, upon his many adventures in Kensington Gardens, he found the window he crept from barred, and his parents in his nursery, coddling a new baby. He was stricken with sadness and anger, as all of you would be. He thought his parents had forgotten about him. In fact, they had not. They had given up the hope that their darling boy would return home. They had lost hope. You might have seen Peter's parents on the streets. They have the look of a mother and father who have lost something very dear to them, their sweet child, whose life they hoped continued, but eventually let that hope die, like a candle's flame struck by the wind. Hope died, and with it, they put to rest the memory of their first born child.

Wendy thought of these things, trying to weigh her choices. She felt obligated to both parties: her family, and her love. Either way, her heart would break if one was gone from life.

"Peter, I can feel my heart breaking." Wendy whispered to him, sniffling.

"I don't know how to mend broken hearts." Peter replied sadly.

The children sat on the ledge next to the waterfall for hours. The sun began to set in front of them, reminding them that their time was coming to a close. Wendy cried for the hours, silent tears. She didn't mention it, but she knew Peter was crying, for she could feel the wet tears falling onto her shirt.

When the sun had nearly set, and the darkness was beginning to cover them, they did not move. They watched the sun close his weary eyes on them, letting the moon rise about them, smiling upon them with her milky glow.

The moonlight cast an pale glare on the faces of the children, but they did not notice. They were to busy trying to remember the details of eachother. Every detail seemed to be important. Things they had never noticed, such as Peter's scar on his chest from Hook, or a scar on Wendy's forearm from playing pirates with John and Michael, were suddenly important.

Do not think they were silent this whole time. They talked of past adventures, the antics of the Lost Boys, what had happened when they had gone home, what Peter had done while they were gone, et cetera - all of the things they knew, but felt the need to share at this point.

They eventually fell asleep, nearly two hours before sunrise, exhausted and drained from their day.

They awoke when a dull roar crept upon their ears. Peter was the first to awake, as he always was. He lifted his heavy lids, soar from tears shed, to be met with the Crocodile.

The Crocodile let out a dull roar, his steaming, stinking breath washing over the children. Peter was not afraid, merely surprised that the Crocodile had the audacity to come so close to them.

"What do you want, Croc?" Peter asked the beast, who hissed in reply. "Hook is dead. There are no more pirates. You've eaten them all!"

The Crocodile's large body shifted in the water, causing small waves to rise up and quietly crash under the ledge.

"What do you want then?" Peter asked again, trying not to wake Wendy.

A long hiss escaped the Crocodile's large jaws, the pungent breath biting at Peter's nose.

Peter knitted his eyebrows at the animal. "If you're hungry, go eat something."

Another hiss, before Peter's eyes went wide. "Oh."

Peter tried to shake Wendy awake, but the Crocodile was not content with waiting. The unnaturally large beast snapped his heavy jaws, sending thick strings of saliva into the air. His tiny eyes squinted at the children, setting his target.

Wendy's eyes fluttered open, pulling herself into consciousness.

"Wendy..Wendy..get up! Come on!" A hurried whisper met her ears, before she realized it was Peter's voice.

"What..? Peter?" She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and began to look around.

Wendy emitted a short squeak, before Peter clamped his hands over her mouth.

"Shhh." Peter whispered, "Fly up when I squeeze your hand."

Wendy nodded slowly, her eyes wide with terror. The huge beast before them slowly and sluggishly readied himself for a lunge. Right before the Crocodile was prepared to leap, Peter squeezed Wendy's hand. Peter shot upwards, followed quickly by Wendy, her bound wrist at her side.

The Crocodile lunged as soon as he realized they were going up. He crashed into the rock wall, knocking thick chunks of earth into the lagoon, before the Crocodile dove underwater, and began to swim towards the open water.

Wendy began to laugh nervously. "I thought we weren't going to make it."

"You're always safe with me." Peter replied, beginning to laugh himself, "In the end, that is."

The children played, laughing and having fun, in the sky for nearly an hour, before they found themselves directly above the Grove. Looking down, it looked as if the place were asleep, all the fairies tucked into their tiny flower blossom beds. But, as with most things, that was not the case.

To be quite honest, the fairies were ashamed. As you know, they were vain creatures, and they were quite embarassed at the fiasco that had occured the afternoon before. So they hid.

Peter looked to Wendy for advice: retrieve the book now, or wait? The children agreed without words that they should retrieve the book.

They proceeded with caution, slowly descending from the air, stopping abruptly at the smallest noise. When they reached the bottom, they found their task to be humourously easy: the book lay out on the ground, not even ten feet from them.

Looking around, they found themselves surrounded by silent fairies. Hundreds of thousands of fairies circled them. Peter stood still, motioning Wendy to do the same. They did not know whether they were in danger yet.

A small fairy, old and withered, fluttered foward, her head was bowed, her silver locks draping her tiny frame.

"We present you with the book that you seek, as a symbol of our gratitude for freeing us." She bowed again. "We hope the magnitude of our thanks is realized."

With that, she receded back into the circle, and the entire circle, all at once, lowered to the ground.

Well, as you may know, this was quite odd for fairies! Showing gratitude, bowing - all of this is practically unknown to the fairies themselves. Fairies never give thanks. The only time I believe they have is the incident I just retold to you.

Peter mumbled something inaudible, then reached for the book. It was a large, worn leather-bound book, the pages soft and yellowed with age. At least, it appeared leather-bound, but it was actually bound with dragon's hide. The practice of using dragon hide was banned among the fairies only one hundred years after the book was created, so it was simpler for the fairies to believe that the covering was made from some stupid, mortal creature's hide than the mystical, immortal dragon.

In a split second, no longer than the children had blinked, the fairies were gone. They were left alone in the quiet glen, left wondering.

They uneasily left the place, not so much disturbed as confused by the fairies actions. They had obviously felt that a thanks must be issued, or else they would not have let go of their pride for the short time that they did so.

The book was in their possession now, the impending end of their adventure coming ever closer.

They didn't speak of the end, or speak at all, really, that night.

They hoped their time together would end with memories of adventure, and not of sadness or loss.