When they arrived back at the hideout, Peter was all too pleased to flaunt his bandage and retell the events of the day. He was the envy of every boy. Wendy was disgusted with him, and maybe to some extent, disgusted with herself. Peter brought her into what could've resulted in death, and she still helped him. Bleeding was serious. Wendy would consider it a sin if she refused to help him, but the least he could do in return is apologize and display some concern. Apparently, that was too much to ask, as he was too busy peeling down the bandage (that he'd been explicitly told NOT to bother) and terrorizing the wide-eyed Lost Boys and Michael with the grisly sight.
With the children being entertained, Wendy found that it was fairly easy to sneak inside the hideout, change into a comfortable nightgown, take a clunky wooden sword, and scamper off to the small beach that rested on the edge of the forest the hideout was concealed in. Reaching the beach, Wendy frustratedly kicked off her bedroom shoes. She squeezed the hilt of the sword and stepped forward, letting the wind tousle her hair, curls escaping from her braid. It was peaceful, but not what Wendy was here for. She adjusted herself, sliding her foot back, trying to imitate the stances she'd seen the last time Hook and Peter had gone blade to blade. She thrusted the sword, piercing an imaginary enemy. It felt good. The action liberated a tiny portion of the tense anger pent up inside of her. She spun, the sword swooped, and another 'enemy' was struck.
Why am I being made to wed that tiresome Jack Conally?
Wendy blocked an 'attacker.'
Why did I think I was ready to grow up?
She evaded the 'attacker's' advance.
Why can't Peter be exactly as I envisioned him? A noble hero? Not this egotistical, prideful-
She slashed the 'enemy's' neck, then turned as another raised his blade over her head.
How did I not see his faults as a young girl?
The girl's and 'enemy's' swords clashed against one another.
Why can't things be exactly as they are in the stories?
"I'll teach you how to hold that correctly."
She paused. Her daydreams faded. Even with her back turned to him, Wendy knew he had a carefree smile adorning his sun kissed face.
Why did her heart have to race at the sound of his voice?
"I am capable of doing it myself, thank you very much."
Peter moved from the shadows the trees created, which were shrouding and obscuring his figure. Wendy's heart stopped altogether. The boy, or a better phrase for this circumstance, young man, was swathed in the buttery colored sunset glow, clothed in nothing but a pair of pants. His strong arms, bare lean chest, stomach that rippled with the faint indentions of his fit abdomen, and broad shoulders caused Wendy to defy everything she'd been told about the impoliteness of staring. The only shirtless men Wendy ever saw were that of her brothers when they were little, and a strong-man in a circus, who Wendy deemed to be so muscular that it was nearing vulgar. Peter was in no way a little boy, but also not coming close to the repulsive meaty buffness of the strong-man. He was the perfect amount of sinewiness. The thoughtless wandering of her eyes also resulted in coming across a trail of dark hair that began just under his bellybutton and traveled downwards, until it disappeared under the waistband hanging lowly on his hips.
YOU ARE READING
The Legacy of Peter Pan
Romance"I've forgotten how to fly, Peter." Wendy looked ashamed. "That's okay. I can teach you again. Please come with me, Wendy. One last adventure before you truly have to grow up." ******* It was nearly hal...
