Hi, my dear readers,
Here comes finally the next chapter. It will be about hunting and preparations for hunting, depending on the place where everything is happening: In Neverland and Ashford-Manor. I don't want to reveal too much, so here we go.
I want to thank you those, who are leaving regular reviews almost every time. Sorry that I can't answer you directly, but as 'guests' I have no link to reply to your comments. But be sure that I appreciate your efforts and that I'm absolutely happy and grateful for every review I get.
And now, first off to Surrey and then to Neverland.
Have fun
Yours Lywhn / Starflight
Chapter 13 – Hunting and Finding
The viscount, his two guests and Brynna finished dinner and were now sequestered together in Dalton's study, discussing their upcoming 'expedition.' Einar was drawing a map of Neverland, using the images in the crystal ball as his model, along with Wendy's excellent descriptions.
Professor Hutchings was teaching Ashford as much about dragons as he had surmised from his very esoteric studies, emphasizing that attempting the capture or slaying of one was almost certain suicide. Their best, nay, only chance would be to steal one of the eggs. To do that, the adult dragons had to be distracted. But how these clever creatures could be distracted was still something they hadn't yet determined. A solution would have to present itself once they reached the island.
Another point of contention concerned the young lady and her brothers. Einar looked up from the 'diary' he was still using. "From what I can surmise from her writing and the girl's relationship to this flying boy and even the pirate captain, I think you will be hard pressed to convince her to return home after only those few days."
"Time runs differently between our worlds," Brynna informed him from her comfortable arm chair, arms crossed as she watched them interact.
The Dane sighed. "So you've said. Yet we must assume that the young lady will refuse to return with us, even if she's been there for weeks by the time we arrive there. She appears to be smitten with this strange little world."
"Many mortals become obsessed with the Faery-realm," the woman replied calmly. "I do agree that some action will have to be taken to … persuade her to return. Chloroform is an option."
Dalton frowned. "I would prefer to bring her back by her own free will."
"Of course, Dalton. Try it your way – and then see for yourself what is the best decision," Lunette replied dismissively.
Ashford sighed and bent over the hunter for a closer look at the map. "Can you project the location of their caves?"
"In the mountains, I am certain," Archibald rose to speak, beginning to pace in his subdued excitement yet again. "It's a volcanic island, she clearly denotes that in her second visit, and my research reveals that the temperature of the sleeping volcano is an aid in hatching their eggs."
"Maybe your chloroform idea might become necessary," Einar grinned at Brynna. "It might also provide the opportunity to get one or two eggs without facing the dragon's wrath."
Ashford lifted both brows. "You want to sedate them?"
"It would make everything less dangerous. But not chloroform - chloroethane. It's easier to get because it's also used in industry, and can be more easily utilized."
"Ether-" Dalton began but was interrupted by Hutchings, now pacing again.
"Ether explodes too quickly at the hint of a flame – not very clever when you're dealing with fire breathing dragons. And how would we know what kind of dose would be needed sedate such a large creature?"
"I know how much is needed to sedate an elephant. We use a dose six times stronger, then it should get results," Einar said wryly.
"And what, if it is too much and the dragon dies – or is insufficient and the dragon isn't sedated at all but merely given a headache or hallucinations? Just imagine that! No, thank you, we can't take those risks," the professor said vehemently, waving a fist in the air.
The hunter rolled his eyes and exchanged a glance with the viscount. They would speak about it in private. But now, Anders had a map to complete, and Brynna resumed her verbal instructions about the Little People and how to avoid them should they try to intervene …
*** PP *** PP ***
Sunrise, the stars blowing kisses good-bye to the glittering shores. Akeele and Mason had reached the Jolly Roger the evening prior and now, at the first light of day, the crew weighed anchor and set sail to move the ship around the south of the island.
Wendy woke up to the noise of boys around her. Momentarily, she was back in the nursery with Michael and John playing their morning games. But there was no insistent snuffling from Nana at her outstretched hand. And the smells were all wrong. Instead of Liza's breakfast smells, there was fire, moss and other natural scents, as well as the tingly aroma of waking fairies. Then she heard copper-topped Michael's loud treble, "No, I haven't had a bath, and neither have you, which is worser!" Yawning and stretching, she opened her eyes, flexible circular walls rose to a small hole at the top, light just beginning to show. A tepee. She lay on something firm and comfortable – a fur on the ground. She was in Neverland!
"G'morning, sleepy girl!" The wide grin on Peter's face suddenly appeared above her; blond hair tousled, eyes full of mischief, Tink whirling about his shoulders.
"Morning," Wendy mumbled, surprised by her lingering weariness. But only for a moment, then the warm, comfortable blanket that was spread above her was yanked away. "Hey!" she protested and tried to snatch the blanket back.
Peter darted into the air with it. "Nope, rise and shine!" he smirked; using a phrase he had heard at another window.
Sighing, Wendy sat up and looked around. The boys were bustling about, leaving the tent as soon as possible. Then Peter dropped the blanket over her head. By the time she freed herself, she heard his cheerful crow from outside the tepee. And the rest of them followed him, chattering about the upcoming hunt and, of course, breakfast.
Wendy yawned again, rubbing her eyes. Why was she so tired, she wondered? … And she couldn't fall asleep after dinner, and had gone out to the dying bonfire. Hook had appeared. They had talked into the night and…
And then she fell asleep.
She shook her head in dismay, wondering what would he think of her now? Falling asleep while talking with him!
Something else made her pause. 'How did I end up here?'
"Bringing you back, he did," chirped a voice beside her. It was, of course, Bumblyn, who was scratching his mop of fire-red wooly hair.
To clarify, she inquired, "Good morning, Bumblyn. Who brought me back?"
"The captain of the hook," the bogey answered with a knowing smirk. "Carried you into the tent and put you there, face all soft." He nodded. "Bumblyn watched him."
Wendy felt the pink rising in her cheeks. Hook had carried her to bed like a … like a toddler? Oh … dash it all! Yesterday he'd saved her from a man-eating dragon (in his heart), then he was forced to drag her off to bed! Sighing she rubbed the bridge of her nose, grimacing. "I think I must thank him. Again." She untangled herself from the second blanket (the one he'd fetched to warm her last night) and smoothed out her nightgown.
Bumblyn glanced up at her; thoughtfully. He could sense the embarrassment in the girl, but also the warmth that filled her when thinking about the man. And he again remembered the unicorn's warning.
Finishing her preparations, the girl left the tent and looked around. The Indian warriors, some of the Lost Boys, Peter, Hook and his men readied themselves for the hunt. Tiger-Lily would accompany them. Wendy asked to come with them, too, but Peter knew her too well.
"You really want to see how we hunt buffalo, deer and rabbit?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. Wendy paled. The girl didn't like the prospect of killing a living animal. It was true that they all – including her – enjoyed the meat, but killing and preparing the game were a long way from roasting it over a fire.
So she accepted Gentle Deer's offer to help the women to cull berries and learn how they could be cured. As far as Wendy knew, the tribe hadn't developed a way to preserve fruits, yet she had enjoyed some kinds of pulp and compote. There was also a part of the corn ready to be stored, and Wendy was eager to learn how they preserved it. She knew that corn came originally from the Americas, still uncommon in Great Britain, but she liked the many ways the Indians used it.
She watched the men (and boys) prepare with some trepidation. Most warriors had their faces painted; Great Big Little Panther was performing some kind of ritual with them. Peter and the older boys had painted their faces, chests and arms, too. Heavens, even her more rational brother John had decorated himself with red and black stripes – certainly to impress Tiger-Lily who remained at his side. She also noticed that a few of the braves – including the three who had passed their tests – glared with some disdain at her brother. It was clear that they were jealous of her favor toward him. Wendy was concerned that the others might, well, not hurt John, but could become careless around him. They might force him into a bad situation to reduce his status in Lily's eyes. She beckoned Peter and he listened closely to what Wendy told him.
"You think a few of the young braves will give John trouble?" he asked, glancing around at the soon-to-be-warriors.
"I don't know, possibly. A few of them certainly hoped to win Tiger-Lily for themselves, along with the title of her father later, but she has only eyes for John. So, they're understandably jealous." She took a deep breath. "Could you watch his back during the hunt?"
Peter nodded. "Of course," he promised. "I never let my friends get hurt." Then he grimaced. "So, this whole 'love-thing' you're so keen on can have its bad side, too," he mused.
"Yes, regrettably – especially when jealousy is involved," Wendy admitted.
Peter smirked. "Then I'm glad I decided to remain a boy and have never anything to do with feelings." Seeing her rolling her eyes, he grinned and gave her a peck on the cheek, then one of his special smiles and took the air, calling for Tinker Bell.
Wendy touched her cheek and looked amused after him. "Your biggest pretend," she murmured, "you still deny 'feelings' but you give me a kiss. Really, Peter Pan, your logic is certainly convoluted," she laughed quietly.
"No logic a'tall in t'at one." Smee had approached her, smiling indulgently.
"Oh, good morning Mr. Smee," she greeted with a smile. She really liked the old Irishman. He reminded her of a typical grandfather. She couldn't remember her father's father, having been too young when he died. And her maternal grandfather died before she was born. So she never knew a grandfather, but if she could have, then she imagined him to be somewhat like Smee.
"'Ello, Missy," he replied, nodding towards John and Tiger-Lily. "So, t'e lad got 'imself rivals."
Wendy sighed. "You noticed it, too? The way they look at him, I mean."
"Aye," Bryan grumbled and laid one rough hand on her shoulder. "I'll keep me eye on 'im, lass."
The girl smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Mr. Smee. This is very kind of you."
The bosun shrugged. "I like t'e lad, t'at's all." He winked at her and added. "Somehow I'm used ter watching someone's back."
"The captain," Wendy guessed, and he chuckled, glancing in the direction of his superior, who stood ready with the chief.
"Aye." The man scratched his grizzled beard, looking off into the distance. "Got 'imself 'ere and t'ere into serious trouble when 'e started 'is career as pirate. 'E was far too fair and well-taught ter t'ink t'at someone would play 'im dirty, t'erefore I'd to watch 'is back. But 'e learned quick t'e new rules and took t'em ter heart, 'til 'e become a true pirate t'rough and t'rough." He frowned. "Now why do I remember all t'at, out o' t'e blue?" he asked astonished, and stared into the trees nearby as if they could give him an answer.
"Might have something to do with the other odd things going on," Wendy thought aloud, then she remembered something else. "I have to speak with the captain." She saw Smee raise his brows questioningly. "I have to thank him for … well … carrying me back to the tepee last evening."
Scratching his head, the Irishman watched her walking towards the meeting place. "He carried y' back ter t'e tepee? But 'e went wit' us ter bed," he thought aloud, but wasn't heard anymore, because the girl was already out of earshot.
Wendy paused near the two leaders and waited at a polite distance for them to notice her. As Hook turned around, he and the girl came face to face, and he promptly looked surprised. "Good morning," Wendy greeted him cheerfully. He was clad in his usual attire and lifted his hat. It made her heart quicken, unaware that his was doing the same.
"Good morning, young lady," he replied, hoping that Bumblyn had kept his big mouth shut.
Taking a deep breath, Wendy started, "I wanted to apologize for falling asleep last evening while talking with you. And… I also want to thank you for carrying me to the tepee."
"So, the little guzzler told you," he sighed, and Wendy shrugged.
"Well, I was confused this morning about how I got back to the tent." She smiled shyly. "Thank you."
He saw her cheeks coloring, and wondered if it was embarrassment or affection. Attraction, he hoped! "No reason to apologize, my girl. It was late, and fresh air, silence and the last embers of a fire inspire deep sleep." He deliberately closed his mouth against more imagery. Davy Jones, have mercy on him! Now he was talking like a romantic!
Wendy chuckled softly. "Well, I didn't want you to think talking with you is boring. Quite the opposite, but…" She lowered her gaze, smiling sheepishly. "It was nice of you to get me to the tepee."
James had the urge to clear his throat; he wasn't used to being on the receiving end of real gratitude. "Like I said last night, it was chilly, and little girls with runny noses are annoying."
She giggled as she rebuked him playfully, "And like I said, Captain, I'm not a little girl anymore."
"You don't say!" he deadpanned, pretending to be startled.
He grew serious as Wendy suddenly said, "Mr. Smee remembered that he watched out for you after you started your pirating." As she met his perplexed gaze, she added, "Everyone I've met in Neverland forgets their past …"
"Yes, that's a part of its magic." He frowned. Hadn't he dredged up a memory, too, not so long ago? Yes, at the beach, as this little witch stood between him and the sun… he bit off the words in his mind before they could go any further. He had remembered the butler at home and what he had told him about resisting a temptation in such cases … Odd! He had remembered a part of his past – of his younger years– and now Smee also got a glimpse of their earlier days, before Neverland? He cocked his head; dark curls shifting over his broad shoulders. "And Smee…"
"… he remembered that he 'kept an eye on you' in earlier times, before you became a full pirate." She bit her lower lip (still unaware of what this gesture was doing to Hook.) In sudden insight, she added, "Do you think the recent return of this memory has something to do with the borders between the Mainland and Neverland thinning?"
Dropping his hat on his head, Hook pondered this thought. "Perhaps." He frowned slowly. "Is there some reason why you and my bos'un were speaking about him 'watching over me'?" He really didn't like the thought of those two talking about him in his absence.
Wendy sighed. "He heard me speaking with Peter about John and Tiger-Lily… I think, my brother has a few rivals in the braves of the tribe."
"Yes, I saw that also," the pirate nodded. 'And not only that. These other young warriors better stay away from you, too, or they will learn not to mess with me.' Now he really cleared his throat. "John is coming on the hunt?" When she nodded, he grumbled, "I'll keep an eye on him."
She touched his sleeve; her eyes shone. "Thank you, Captain," she said softly. His mouth went dry, and clearing his throat for real now, he simply nodded at her. "Be careful, will you?" Wendy murmured. "Wisents may be smaller than the bison I saw in pictures from America, but they're no less dangerous."
Hook smiled briefly, pleased by her concern. "I'm always careful, kitten, promise."
Waving, she turned around and walked away. And only after she had vanished between the tepees he realized what she had said. 'Who or what on earth was 'America'?'
*** PP *** PP ***
In the meantime, in the north of Surrey, another hunting party was making its own preparations. Einar Anders had used Viscount Dalton Ashford's telephone to order some equipment in London. He would take the car (driven by young Kenly Fulsom, of course) to pick them up later. Morton Wickham, the man the Dane wanted as his 'right hand,' also owned a telephone, and they arranged a meeting in London while Anders was there.
While Einar was preparing the technical side of their expedition, Brynna Lunette spent most of her time in her special room in the cellars. Dalton visited her there once and found her winding and binding plants and dried flowers, everything spread around her on the table and counters in total confusion – at least in his eyes.
"When I'm done here, these will protect you against the Fae, no matter which of the folk they are," the Welsh woman told him as she worked.
"Wreaths of flowers and staves?" Dalton asked her, picking up a bunch of dried flowers.
Brynna smacked his hand, and he replaced them with a grin. "They have great influence on your adversaries' abilities. I'll instruct you and the others soon." She set a few stems aside, which he recognized artemisia, going to work on a different batch. "There is one thing more," she continued. "Do you have someone who wouldn't mind a certain task that carries some … risk."
'Alright, now what?' he wondered. "Which is?" he asked cautiously.
"I need something you can't exactly buy in a shop," she responded evasively. "But it's essential for the success of producing the medicine for your father and you, once we have the dragon blood."
He frowned. "Another essential ingredient?" he asked sighing.
"No, not an ingredient. How shall I put it? I need a special kind of … pot."
"A pot? Good Lord, Brynna, don't we have enough pots and pans in the kitchen?" he asked wryly.
"If I only needed an ordinary container, I wouldn't bother you at all," she snapped, then straightened, turning to face him. "Who, of your new hired men, might assist me?"
Dalton took a deep breath. "I don't know to what you're up to – and I'm almost sure I don't want to." He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Except for Einar and Wickham, who will arrive this evening, I don't know the others. But I think Fulsom might help you. He is still very grateful to have a steady job, and probably wouldn't have a problem with … an unusual request. He'll be back with Einar and Wickham this evening and I'll send him to you afterward."
"Very good. Please let him know that I expect him in my rooms upstairs." She made a circuitous gesture concerning her surroundings. "It's better no one else learns of this."
Grunting, Ashford had to agree. It certainly wouldn't sit well with the other servants if they learned about a literal witch's den beneath the manor …
*** PP *** PP ***
Wendy had no idea that harvesting corn and potatoes could be so exhausting. It was hard work, especially given the fact that the fields were out in the sun. Michael, the Twins, Cushy and Bonbon had no problem with the work, but as the midday neared, and they had many times heard shots ringing from afar, everyone was glad to walk into the cool woods to collect berries. It was easier to work beneath the branches in the forest, yet Wendy was happy when the Indian women called it a day. She was proud that her baskets were nearly as full as the other women's. Because she was slowly learning their language, she remained with Gentle Deer, who spoke English rather well. But now, after the women returned to the village, Wendy and the boys retreated to the creek close by to refresh themselves.
Sitting down on the grassy riverbank, dangling her bare feet in the cool water, Wendy giggled as Bumblyn – who had 'helped' them (witness the berry juice all over his face) – stood on a flat stone in the shallow water near the edge of the stream and moaned in delight as it cooled his feet. His tiny boots and his hat lay on shore, and he splashed some of the water onto his face to wash off the colors as well.
"Poor Bumblyn is not made for this work," he lamented. "Heavy are the potatoes to pull them out of soil – and the corncobs… why the height that they grow?"
"So hungry little Hobgoblins can't reach them," Bonbon teased.
"So says this hungry one," the tiny bogey groused, glaring at the chubby boy. "You eat worse than…" He stopped, pointed ears twisting in every direction as his sensitive ears detected something alarming: Large paws running over the forest floor, panting. Then he heard low a whining, and his ears shot up like those of a startled cat. Whirling about, he dashed at Wendy and the boys, splashing water in all directions. "Lookout, young ones! Wolves!" Determined to protect them all, his face betrayed how frightened he was.
Instantly Michael and the other boys were on their feet. But before any of them could act, the grey pack had already reached the creek. It was a small group, a few adults and half dozen pups. And they were as surprised as the humans were. Stopping at the water's edge, they sniffed and watched the 'two-legs,' both groups carefully eyeing the other. Then a larger wolf moved forward two steps – a male with a broad chest, long ears and powerful jaw. His yellow eyes focused on Wendy. All of the boys wished they hadn't left their knives with their clothes on the creek bank. But, curiously, the beast did not move again, but sniffed the air and cocked his head, reminding Wendy of Nana when presented with a strange sight.
"I think I know him," the girl said softly.
"What?" Michael whispered, heart thumping in his ears.
"I think it's the same wolf I cuddled when he was a pup, after the marriage of Kailen and Aurora." She peered at the wolf. "See the pale spot on the right side of his shiny black nose? I remember it."
"And what, if you-"
"- are wrong?" the Twins asked.
She took a deep tremulous breath. "Well, we'll soon know," Wendy murmured. "I personally never bought into the reputation of the 'big bad wolf'." Slowly she rose and kept her eyes fixed on the alpha, who still stood there and eyed her carefully. Bending down, the girl began to speak gently to him in a sing-song tone. "Hello, my friend? Do you remember me, hm? Such a sweet puppy you were and how you loved to be held. And now you're such a strong, beautiful leader." She offered the back of her closed hand but made no move to cross over to him. "Good boy," she whispered.
And slowly, hesitantly, the wolf's tail began to wave. He made a few cautious steps toward the riverbank and sniffed again. His stance was cautious, yet he displayed no aggression. The fur on his back did not rise, nor did he show his teeth or growl. He sneezed, wagged his tail a little more broadly, then made a soft noise, before tentatively moving into the shallow water toward the girl.
Stepping into the water, Wendy stopped near her side of the stream and bent down, wetting the hem of her dress. The wolf had halted, too, but now came nearer. Edging his nose forward, he sniffed at Wendy's hand, and suddenly his tongue shot out, licking it! On the shore, the boys could only stare. Who would believe this? There stood a proper English girl in a stream, and a wild wolf was licking her fingers like a dog. Lifting her other hand, Wendy held it so that he could see it, and laid it gently on his head, stroking the thick grey fur.
Then one of the females yawned – a typical sign of doggy stress – and two of the whelps trotted toward the water. It was enough to attract the leader's attention. Looking over his shoulder, he made a barking sound, then pushed his nose against Wendy's hand one last time and jumped back towards his pack. Climbing up the low riverbank, he ran along it; the others followed him. Just before he vanished in the undergrowth, he looked back, made another high-pitched bark, waved his tail again – and slipped away between bushes along with his family.
Wendy smiled, happy to have met him again. "Until the next time, my friend!" she called, then bent to wash her hand, finally returning to the boys, who hadn't moved but looked in awe at her. "What?" she asked cheerfully.
"You … pet a wolf!" Michael squeaked.
"Well, yes! It was the same one I met when he was a pup, don't you remember?" she asked casually, as if discussing the weather.
"A grown leader wolf he is now," Bumblyn cheeped and sat down suddenly, as if he couldn't stand any longer.
"At least he's smaller than the dragons," Wendy laughed. She sat back down on the grass beside Bumblyn; smiling thoughtfully. "I'm really glad I got to see him again!"
*** PP ***
The hunt was a complete success. Tracking down a herd of wisents, the Indians had shot one of the beasts, another one fell to Hook's perfect aim. Still not done with the hunt, they parted in different groups, while others stayed back to treat the fresh game.
Smee, who never left his captain's side, suddenly realized that he had lost sight of John Darling. Suddenly rising and peering in all directions, he attracted Hook's attention. "Smee?" Hook asked; still in full hunting-mode. Hunting fit his predatory nature, and he was glad to do something more than sit around, captaining a ship, barking orders or -
"T'e John boy! I promised t'e girl ter keep an eye on 'im 'coz the ot'er boys are jealous of 'im wit' Tiger-Lily," Smee moaned.
"She roped you in as bodyguard, too?" James snorted and shook his head. "She really has ways of getting what she wants," he grumbled.
Bryan nearly smiled, knowing that his superior was referring to himself. "Permission ter look fer t'e boy?" he asked, and Hook grimaced, then he waved his claw dismissively.
"Just go – and make sure that it isn't up to me to save both your hides."
"Aye, Cap'n."
The old Irishman headed in the direction he had seen John last. He hadn't gone far when suddenly it seemed all hell broke loose from straight ahead – grunting, squealing, shouts, screams… "Wild boar!" Smee gasped, knowing exactly how deadly these animals could be. He cursed, racing forward, pulling his still loaded flint-pistol from his belt. Dashing through the undergrowth, he finally reached a small clearing and he stopped, skidding to a halt at the sight in front of him. Only twenty feet away stood John beside a young Indian sprawled on the ground – and an obviously furious wild pig, tusks like twin scimitars, running towards the two boys. Bryan raised his pistol and took aim, seeing John aiming a bow at the same time.
The arrow hissed through the air and hit the snarling, oinking tusker the moment Smee's pistol spit fire and lead. The animal tumbled over its own tiny feet, somersaulted forward, landed on the grass and lay shuddering in its death throes – no more than a few steps away from John Darling. Silence spread over the clearing, interrupted by the startled cries of birds.
John stared down on the fallen boar, the arrow stuck exactly between the tiny unseeing eyes. Blood was dripping from its right shoulder blade – the bullet had found its target, too. John felt his racing heart only beginning to calm with the knowledge that the beast was truly dead. Lowering the bow, he looked to his left and saw Smee standing there at the edge of the clearing, smoking gun in his hand. The bosun may be old, but his aim had been perfect. Decades of practice had its benefit.
Taking a deep breath, John tried to calm his still bristling nerves, while Dark Owl – one of the braves who had made rude comments and gestures toward the English boy – slowly rose from where he'd tripped. The young Indian stared down on the dead tusker. "You … saved my life," he murmured.
John looked over his shoulder. "Well … it seems so," he said slowly, warily.
The young native stared at him in awe, then offered his hand. "Dark Owl only saw a stranger in you, who came to steal our fair Tiger-Lily, but now I see what she sees: An honorable warrior who does what has to be done." He shook John's hand. "From now on you are my brother!"
John fought against the heat that was about to rise in his face, hearing the other braves descending from the trees they had leapt into for safety. Dark Owl and John had tried to do the same, but when the young Indian tripped over a hidden root and crashed to the ground, John had bent to help him up, but then the animal broke through to the clearing. He turned and saw the furious little eyes, stained tusks ready to kill – and an odd calmness had settled in him. John had raised his bow, arrow already notched, then taken aim and let it fly. (When he had time to think, he was grateful for the archery lessons he'd taken at that expensive school.)
Of course, it could have been practice, or luck, or Neverland magic, that his shot hit home like it had, but it saved Dark Owl's life. And Smee's shot had double-sealed the beast's fate.
The bosun had walked over to the boys, looked John over quickly – the lad was alright – and glanced at the astonished Indians. He saw the dirt on the knees and hands of Dark Owl, saw the bow in John's hand and knew what happened. "T'is I'm calling a perfect aim, lad," he said with respect, before he glanced back at the young Indian. "Ye can call yerself lucky t'at John was wit' ya."
"Yes, the Great Spirit sent me an owl to speak of my future days, but he also sent me a new brother!" With smiling eyes, he looked at the 'white boy'.
Voices and footsteps drew nearer. Hook came running from the left, Alan Herb on his heels. From the right and from behind a dozen warriors were entering the clearing, the chief among them. "Speak!" Rain-in-the-Face demanded, looking worriedly at the boys.
"Smee, what happened?" Hook asked, looking from the pistol in his confidant's hand to the dead feral pig to John and back.
"Three Powers saved Dark Owl's life," the brave answered. "Dark Owl fell while the wild pig chased us, and Three Powers shot it," he glanced at the pirate, "as did Grey-Beard."
Two of the warriors had examined the quarry. "The arrow sent the tusker's soul to the Great Spirit – as did the weapon of Grey-Beard," one of them said, rising.
"Great joy will last in our camp," the chief said slowly. "One of our braves' life was saved, a young warrior passed his next test. And meat was supplied for all of our people." He lifted his tomahawk and let out an ear-deafening whoop that seemed to echo through the forest, the other warriors joined him.
"What…?" John began confused, and it was Smee who answered him,
"It seems, lad, ye're a full warrior now. Ye won agains' a wild beast an' saved another member of t'e tribe."
Hook raised an eyebrow, finally seeing the whole picture. An amused smirk appeared on his face. "Just like you did, Smee. I think they regard you as one of their own now."
Smee stared at his captain, his spectacles slid down his nose. Then he groaned as a few of the warriors clapped him on the shoulder while others gathered around John. "Och, aye," he grumbled. "But I refuse ter wear a feat'er otherwise t'an on me 'at!"
*** PP ***
As the troop of men in colorful oddments of clothes arrived at the Indian camp, accompanied by a few warriors, most of the older members of the tribe watched them warily. The children grinned (or ran to their mothers, depending of the age) and the women avoided the newcomers. All, except for one.
"Billy!" Wendy's face lit up as she recognized the young man with tattoos everywhere – even his cheeks.
Billy Jukes had become something like a second officer after Gentleman Starkey's death and had overseen the Jolly Roger since Hook went ashore three days prior. He stopped in his tracks, stared at the girl and grinned widely. "Just 'av'a look, t'e missy's 'ere!"
"T'at means t'at t'e cap'n is finally in a better mood," another pirate laughed.
"Argh, look wha' a pretty bird she's now," another smirked.
"All t'e better fer t'e cap'n," the Oriental snickered.
Wendy, who had returned with the boys to the camp only a short time ago, blushed and shook her head, while Michael, the Twins and the two smallest Lost Boys watched the scoundrels for a wrong move. They all were more or less cheerful, obviously relieved that Wendy was back – all but one: Cookson.
The ship's cook, a tall gangly man with stained white bloomers, a dark waistcoat, and a lot of crucifixes around his neck (and even sewn onto his tricorn hat), still held a lingering grudge against the girl – for the thin scar he wore on this left cheek that spoke of her very first sword strike ever. Even the battle against S'Hadh hadn't dispelled his grudge. During that visit, their quarrels had been renewed in the Black Castle (climaxing in her protecting the Hobgoblins against him) which had earned him a lot of trouble with Hook.
Billy Jukes' feelings were the exact opposite. He walked towards the girl, looking her over once again up and down. His grin made the tattooed spiderwebs on his cheeks dance. "Ahoy, matey," he greeted her in a way that was usual between shipmates. "By the kraken's tentacles, ye've become quite th' lady."
Wendy laughed and shook his hand. "No, please not you, too," she chuckled. "I had problems enough persuading your captain not to address me as 'Miss Darling'."
"What's 'is mood?" the Oriental asked.
Another older pirate with longer grey hair snickered, "Ye've t'ree guesses: He'll be far more pleasant – now, when t'e missy's back."
Shaking her head, the girl replied, "Gentlemen, don't exaggerate. As if I would have such an influence on one such as the infamous Captain Hook!"
Half a dozen pirates guffawed. "Sweet'eart, ye've wrapped t'e cap'n around yer li'l finger."
"Never t'ought I'd live t'e day ter see 'im t'at soft."
"'E missed ye, ye know," Billy murmured beneath his breath and winked at her.
"He missed me?" Wendy stared at him, disbelieving, and the young gunner rolled his eyes.
"Missy, 'e's head over heels fer ye, and got more an' more grumpier durin' yer absence. Good t'ing tha' ye're back. 'E'll be easier ter stand now."
Wendy snorted, sounding anything but ladylike, and raised a finger toward the pirate's face in plain amusement. "Billy, you're telling tales."
Promptly Jukes began to laugh. "And ye're still naïve, sweet'eart."
He turned suddenly sober, as an old voice spoke behind Wendy, "Seeing-Like-a-Hawk greets the warriors of the sea. Iron-Hand has told us that he sent for you."
Turning around Wendy recognized one of the elders of the tribe, curtseyed and excused herself; knowing the next minutes would be pure business. And as she returned to the boys, Michael looked at her with odd eyes …
*** PP ***
As the hunters of both tribes returned to the camp, drums of joy were set to work, and women and children cheered at the sight of their successes. Warriors were embraced, children hopped on their father's arms, old people gave them wrinkled grins.
Wendy found herself looking first for Hook, who was greeted respectfully by Jukes, Cookson and the other pirates. Mullins and two of his comrades had stayed at the beach, working on repairing the longboat. The girl caught herself, and mentally chastised herself. Shouldn't her first concern be her brothers and friends? So, why was her first impulse to make sure that this … pirate … was alright?
Forcing her glance resolutely away from the tall man, she found John, who was surrounded by half a dozen braves, all walking with him. Tiger-Lily walked beside him, her face bright with pride. And even Chief Rain-in-the-Face had the faintest hint of a smile while he glanced fondly at the boy with the spectacles.
Uh huh, something had definitely happened. Giving Peter, who carried a several braces of conies on a stick over his shoulder, a peck on his cheek (making Tinker Bell grimace), she asked about the events which led to the braves' acceptance of her brother.
Michael piped up, "John shot a wild boar, and Wendy pet a wild wolf! Wait until you hear these stories!"
"You did what?" Peter stared at his friend, open mouthed, and she gave him an impish grin. Tinker Bell, now in the air, blinked in surprise, while Michael repeated,
"She pet a wolf – a big, large, strong male wolf!"
Wendy looked exasperated. "For heaven's sake, Michael, it was the same wolf I'd already held and cuddled when he was a cub."
Peter whistled in respect, while Slightly and Nibs gaped at her. John shoved his slipping spectacles back on his nose, while Tiger-Lily said in awe, "That was a brave thing."
"Brave – or ridiculously foolish!" John growled, frowning at his sister.
"Hey, who shot a wild boar only with a bow and arrow?" Wendy replied, standing arms akimbo.
John straightened proudly. "Yes, I suppose you mean me – but only because the beast would have killed Dark Owl." Then he grimaced. "But it wasn't just that arrow that saved the day. Smee shot at the creature, too. We both brought it down."
Wendy's eyes widened. Smee had defended John against a wild boar? 'So, he kept his promise.'
John sighed; his mind returning to the risk his sister had taken. "But the wolf could have eaten you, so -"
"Why would he? They wouldn't be hungry with all the prey available to them here. And it was he that approached me first," Wendy interrupted him. "And he wagged his tail like Nana does when she is happy. And he licked my hand. And…"
"You stroked a wolf?" the dark, familiar voice came from behind her.
Wendy's breath hitched as she felt a warm stab in her belly. Turning around she came face to face with Hook and his bos'un; the other men from the ship stood a few yards away, watching them expectantly. The girl sighed, knowing an argument was imminent. He didn't take it well when he thought her to be careless. "Well … yes. It was the same wolf I'd already encountered after Kailen's and Aurora's marriage." Then she glanced at the Irishman. "Thank you for keeping an eye on John, Mr. Smee."
"Ye're welcome, Missy," Smee answered with a tug of his forelock.
"At least your brother knows about the danger of a wild animal and acts accordingly," Hook growled. His eyes narrowed, before he shook his head. "Petting a wolf – really?"
"And boy, has he grown a lot," Michael added helpfully, holding his hand on about shoulder high.
"But it was still the same wolf I cuddled as a puppy!" Wendy repeated, as if this would lessen the danger.
James frowned. "There is a huge difference between a puppy and a full grown wolf," he remarked slowly, irritation and worry in his eyes. 'What is it with this crazy madcap who enjoys cuddling dangerous things?'
"You don't say?" Wendy wryly returned his comment from the morning that also concerned maturing.
He didn't take the bait, but looked her up and down. "First a dragon, and now a wolf," he snorted in disbelief. "At least the size of the creatures you pet is decreasing," he deadpanned, which brought laughter from the boys, a giggle from Tink and a snicker from Smee. "What's the next deadly beast that will be on the receiving end of your obviously endless affection?"
"Oh, I'll just wait and see what comes along," she replied dryly. "Perhaps something with a deadly hook?" She patted his left arm, gave him a sunny smile, and slipped away between him and Curly toward the guest tepee. Tink pressed her tiny hands on her mouth to stifle the laugh that bubbled up. Did Wendy even realize what her words and gestures implied?
Rendered speechless, Hook stared after the girl, while Smee, the boys and even Peter guffawed. "Now you've the choice, Hooky, after all you 'just came along', too," the eternal boy snickered; pointing out the obvious. "Being the next 'beast' she pets or…"
"SHUT IT, PAN!" the captain bellowed, feeling, to his utter horror, heat rising into his cheeks.
And this told everyone standing there more than he wanted them to know …
TBC…
This was an eventful hunt with John saving one of the braves and getting himself a new friend. And Wendy managed once again to change a peaceful day in something exciting. Those readers, who haven't read "Battle for Neverland" are maybe confused to which wolf I referred. He comes from this other story and had only a short scene in it, yet to cuddle a wolf-welp is certainly something you won't forget so quickly – and this case the same went for said wolf. And he will appear again…
Well, another hunting-trip will begin soon, and it will not only bring chaos to Neverland, but also to the Mainland, because something this extraordinary like having an excursion to a Faery-realm leaves tracks…
The next chapter will be about 'thimbles and kisses', and will answer Hook's still lingering question how it came that a kiss and a thimble are the same in Wendy's and Peter's dictionary. You can imagine that this will lead to few things more – and John is going to have a firm talk with his sister who obviously had gone mad, because she flirts with the pirate-captain (even if she isn't aware of it). And then Bryanna Lunette does something criminal by becoming a bulgar (and you will learn something about a real legend that is still told in Surrey).
I hope, you liked the new chapter and I would be really happy to get some more reviews.
Have a nice rest of the week and a hopefully even better weekend,
Love
Your Lywhn / Starflight