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The first time it snows in Neverland, the pirates are taken by surprise. Neverland is tropical, and warm, and full of flowers and mermaids and singing birds and fairies. Smee squints fitfully at the lowered skies, and the flakes drifting down from them, and drywashes his hands. “Oh dear,” he says.
Hook combs his beard with his hook, and frowns. “This isn’t right. It has to be some sort of trick. It’s Pan’s doing. It has to be.” He orders his men to double watches, and unlocks the armory, and paces on the deck, waiting for an attack.
He yells when his men slide on the slick wood, when they scoop up snow and form it into balls and throw them at each other. He flings one of the men overboard, and watches coldly as the Crocodile eats him, and licks its chops, and waits for him.
Hook doesn’t like the snow.
X X X
Tiger Lily peers out of her tepee, scowling at the sky. Rain, she understands. It is the sky crying for the braves who’ve died. But this cold, wet, fluffy stuff, it isn’t anything she knows. She stomps outside in it anyway, to prove her own bravery, and insists on a hunt. Her braves are reluctant, at first, but as they start walking, they warm up, and the strange sky fluff melts on their skin.
Hunting is both harder and easier than usual – harder to see the animals that are taking shelter from this unusual storm; easier to track them in the white stuff.
The braves cheer as Tiger Lily takes down their prey, and they return, triumphant, to their home.
X X X
Wendy turns in a small circle, her hands held out to capture the flakes as they fall. “It’s beautiful!” she cries.
Peter sits on the roof of her flower house, watching her as she dances with the flakes. Tinker Bell huddles on his shoulder, complaining about the weather. “Hush, Tink.”
“Did you do this, Peter?” Wendy lifts her face toward his, hers dotted with white flakes that melt on her skin.
He shrugs, magnanimous. “It won’t last. It’ll melt by tonight.”
“But it’s beautiful right now,” Wendy says, bending down to scoop up an armful of the cold stuff, despite how it melts against her chest and dampens her nightgown. “It reminds me of Christmas!”
Peter doesn’t know about Christmas, and asks Wendy to tell him. She does, eagerly, of decorating the tree, and the candles glowing on the hearth, and the stockings at the end of the beds, and presents in the morning. Peter likes the idea of presents, and puts his fingers in his mouth, whistling up the Lost Boys. “We’re celebrating Christmas!” he shouts when they gather together, eager and waiting. He hastily explains the idea of gifts, and stockings, and rolls his eyes when Wendy takes over as he fumbles.
Everyone is excited at the idea, though, and run off to gather presents together, even if they’re unsure what presents they might get – never considering that to get gifts, they needed to be willing to give, as well.
X X X
Nana stared out the window, watching as the snow fell. Mrs. Darling stroked her ears gently. “They’ll be back,” she says, believing it. Nana hopes she’s right.
X X X