Friendly stood on one of the highest boughs on the home tree, feet shoulder width apart. She closed her eyes, envisioning the beautiful sunsets she had seen during the past few days. She bent her knees, took a huge breath, and leapt off the tree. When she opened her eyes, she saw the branches and leaves ... coming towards her.
She swore loudly when she was caught by a lower branch. She began the tedious climb back, not even noticing or caring that even though she'd fallen at least thirty-five times since she started trying to fly, she'd never once hit the ground. There was always a branch a few feet below.
Friendly decided that her clothes were weighing her down. As she removed her clothes, Tinker Bell flew onto the roof of the house, looking for an opportunity to create mischief. The fairy flew into the "boy's" face.
"Go away, you oversized bug!" Friendly exclaimed. She swatted wildly, almost falling over. Tinker Bell just laughed and kicked Friendly's pants to the ground. Friendly grunted, but the fairy's mischief-making was far from over. Tinker Bell had learned a lot in the short time that the new Lost Boys had been in Neverland. She darted up, tickling Friendly's belly. This time, Friendly fell off the branch.
However, Friendly did not fall down. Instead, she was floating in midair, face down. She grinned widely and thanked the one she'd grown to hate. There was no need to do so; Tinker Bell had flown back to her apartment, shocked at what she'd done. In the process of tickling Friendly, some fairy dust had fallen onto the girl, enabling her to fly.
Just then, Peter walked out of the house. He looked up at Friendly, then to the spot on the ground where her pants lay, then back to Friendly.
"Friendly, what are you doing?" Peter asked.
She replied instantly, "Flying! Isn't it great? I've been working on this for hours, and now I-"
"Well, that's good and all, but can you put on your pants? You look like a fool without them."
"Yes, sir," Friendly sighed. She saw no reason to explain why they were on the ground. She let herself fall down to the ground, picking up her pants, and then redressing as she went back up for her shirt.
She entered the house to the lovely smell of steaming make-believe porridge; she ate with great gusto. It didn't matter that the bowls were empty. There was a fifth, unwritten rule of Lost-Boyhood - "Make believe and reality are no different. Do not state otherwise." The punishments ranged from strapping knuckles to more acute things like going without food for days at a time.
Thankfully, the latter punishment had only been administered once, when Slick had tried to take more than his fair share at meals.
Friendly was having such a wonderful time here, and yet, she felt like it was going to change. There was something beyond playing that she wanted, but it was impossible to say what that thing was. She just waited day in and day out to discover just what she needed.
So clearly she was the most exited when an Indian called for Peter after lunch. The Indian, a member of the Piccaninny or Wyanlape tribe, was covered in red ocher paint. He only wore a loincloth, and his long hair was plaited. "Peter, come fast. There is boat in ocean," he exclaimed.
"Like the Jolly Rodger," Friendly breathed.
Peter did not say anything. Instead, he grabbed his dagger from the shelf where the weapons were kept, and bade the Lost Boys do the same. Then the Boys ran off after their leader, who in turn ran after the Indian.
On shore, a brigade of Piccaninny braves stood at attention, their eyes fixed on the horizon. Peter flew above them, heading over the sea. He quickly returned. The grin crossing his face was truly a sight to behold.
"Boys, Indians, you will not believe what I am about to tell you. I went to see if what the Indian told me was true, and indeed it is. There is a ship coming towards or lovely island. Do not be scared, though. At this moment, they do not pose a threat to any of you. Now, begone. The Great Peter Pan has spoken."
Slick could not help but laugh at the ending of his speech. Peter had always closed his conversations with the Piccaninnies in this fashion, but it was regarded as a joke between the siblings. They agreed it was too thick and too formal for the Peter they knew.
"What?" He snapped.
"Well, um, Peter ... the Indians looked so stupid. I saw one of them toying with a feather in his hair, and ... oh God, it was just so stupid." The laughter continued.
Peter simply shrugged and started for home.
Author's Notes: Yes, I changed the Piccaninnies from redskins to Indians. I thought Indian would work better now. Indian is the next slang word that some tribes don't like.
I don't normally use "Indian" because it's confusing. Are you referring to Indians from India or from North America. (My family took some Indian immigrants to a pow-wow because they wanted to see Canadian culture. They got confused because the Natives were calling themselves "Indians".