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*
It's been many suns and moons in the Neverland.
Wendy eventually comes upon her pet wolf, forsaken by its mother, near the Mysterious River. She also comes upon a trope of pirates marching. It resembles how John and Michael play Follow my Leader with Peter Pan. There's Alf Mason, so ugly when borned that he was sold for a bottle of Muscat… Cecco, known for having carved his name into the governor at Goa… Bill Jukes, horrendously tattooed all-over…
Noodler, with his hands on backwards, spots Wendy by the river's edge. Before he says anything, the wolf growls menacingly.
And like the cowardly custard he is, Noodler silently flees.
*
On John's lagoon, she sees the turtles burying their eggs in the sand. His flamingo with a broken leg greets her.
The waters as pale as flowery forget-me-nots…
Wendy avoids the briars and brushwood, and what remains of John's longboat turned upside down in the sand, and thinks about Michael's flamingo with lagoons flying over it. She has yet to discover it. John said he had no friends in his lagoon, and Michael had friends at night.
How perfectly thrilling.
*
Fairies hover high above.
A thousand times brighter than her mother's night-lights.
Wendy makes her journey back to the Neverwood, glancing up into the soft warm rainfall, hearing the Lost Boys chanting and hitting their chests and stomping through the mud. "You mustn't dirty yourselves!" Wendy calls out, a little frustrated about being ignored. It seems ever-so untoward.
She climbs into her hollowed tree, leaving her pet wolf. It's perfectly content to move on and hunt for little forestland creatures.
Darkness clears into a natural sunlight. Wendy stumbles into the one large room, straightening herself, dusting off her night-gown with a practised air. She hasn't the faintest on how they all can see in the Home Under The Ground, but questioning things can often provide no certain answers.
Peter has seated himself on a charmingly colourful mushroom, a sun-browned leg draping off it.
He blows a merry tune into his pipes, concentrating, not looking up.
Wendy makes a shooing motion, finally drawing a wide-eyed Peter's attention.
"It's nearly tea-time, Peter! Put that away!"
"Who are you?" Peter asks, his eyebrows furrowing. His demeanor quietly curious.
A gasping cry escapes Wendy.
"I beg your pardon—"
Peter's lips twitch into a smile. His expression brightens. "Have you come to tell us stories?"
Meanwhile, Wendy flattens her lips into a quivery line.
"Peter, I shall be very cross if you do not stop doing this," she says seethingly. Peter's kiss, a little acorn-button hung above a simple strand of gold, feels heavier and heavier round Wendy's neck. "Stop make-believing that you do not know who I am this instant. I cannot bear it."
To her devastation, Peter only shakes his head. What is the matter with him? What is it?
"You know very well that I am Wendy Moria Angela Darling! John and Michael's sister!" Wendy huffs, tearful. "Do you not remember?"
Peter's eyes lower.
"Do you not remember your Wendy?"
"Wendy…" Peter repeats, blinking and looking into Wendy's eyes swimming with more tears. "My Wendy… O, Wendy." His shoulders slump with recognition. He hasn't looked this sorry as when Tinker Bell deceived an innocent Tootles into shooting Wendy with an arrow. "I didn't mean to…"
She sniffles, over and over, angered. "That frightened me half to death, Peter Pan!"
Peter draws closer, one of his thumbs pressing against Wendy's flushed cheek. "You're all wet," he says incredulously, and Wendy can't help the sobbing laugh, embracing him. He stiffens for a moment, turning red, and then allows Wendy to rest her head onto him. Peter's heart easily felt.
When she steps away, Peter frowns and scratches fingers into his gold curls.
"I think… sometimes I have so many adventures that I forget."
"Why haven't you told me?" Wendy asks, and then it seems silly to have asked at all: He forgot.
Peter's hands firmly grasp onto her. "Always if you see me forgetting," he tells her, and Wendy stares into Peter's sombre expression, "you keep on saying 'I am Wendy, I am Wendy' and then I will remember." Peter nods even more firmly. "And I will try to not forget you again, Wendy."
Despite this, it's like the heavens steady out the trepidation. And in Wendy's heart.
"Alright…" Wendy murmurs, flushing harder.
She's hardly heard of the commotion of the Lost Boys, like the wild beasts drinking at the ford, hollering and running after each other as each of them steps out of their underground tree-hollow. "How ripping!" John clamours, getting an eyeful of the whistle Slightly proudly cut out himself.
Peter runs after them crowing. Has he already forgotten that they—
—no.
Wendy refuses to let that fearful feeling take root where it does not belong. She will tear it out, stem-first.
For however suns and moon they're in the Neverland.
Her fingers gently touch the shape of her hidden necklace. Peter's own hidden kiss.
For-ever.
*