Peter Pan

Chapter 11: "A kiss."

Chapter 11: "A kiss."

Wendy 

I stood beside Peter awkwardly as he spoke to the savages. Their language was made up of many grunts and clicks so I didn't understand any of it. I was surprised Peter even knew how to speak it.

"What did he say?" I asked after the Indian left. 

"We have to wait for the chief. He'll be back soon." He explained simply. When we arrived we took the princess to the tribe's healer like Peter insisted. The women asked to help me but I said no and that I was fine.

"Are you sure you don't want to get that checked out?" Peter asked nodding at my arm. I glanced down at my forearm where I cut it on the log and it just stopped bleeding now. 

"I'm fine. The truth is I've never really been a fan of doctors." I shrugged it off hiding my arm behind my back.

"That makes two of us." He smiled at me and I couldn't help but smile back. He reached his arm at me for a second and pulled a small twig from my hair. The blood ran to my cheeks as I said, "Thanks."

"Anytime." He smirked at me and I couldn't help but notice the small blush that formed his own cheeks. Butterfly's formed in my stomach and I bit my lip to distract myself. 

"But you should at least get that checked out." He touched my arm lightly guiding me to a small tent with the flaps pulled back.

"Its really no big deal." I insisted really not wanting to see a doctor. One bad experience and you'll never want to go back again.  My fingers curled into fists as we edged closer to the tent.

"It's alright she'll just bandage you up and then we'll leave. Nothing more I promise." His voice was soft and calming in my ear and I couldn't help but trust him. He moved out of the way for me to step in first. I stared at the entranced forgetting how to move my legs. Peter sighed and grabbed my hand pulling me inside. I followed in as if I were a rag doll.

The tent was small barely enough room for us to walk around in. A cot lay on the opposite side of us. Smoke rose through the hole at the top of the tent from a small fire in the middle of the dirt floor. A women looking about two hundred years old sat by the fire with a pot in her hand. Her skin was dark and wrinkled and her long grey braid hung down her back almost touching the ground beneath her bare feet.

She rose slowly yet swiftly with her age. She spoke when she was fully upright. Once again I couldn't understand any of it. Peter spoke after she was finished. He pointed to my wounded arm once I guess explaining what happened.

I covered my wound heat rising to my cheeks. I felt like a child that was foolish enough to trip on the playground. I felt pathetic really. When Peter was finished the women nodded then made her way to me. After two steps she was in front of me. My heart pounded loudly in my chest out of fear as questions buzzed through my head.

She grabbed my arm suddenly and wrenched it to her face to inspect my wound. I shrieked by her sudden movement and Peter gave my hand a tight squeeze for support. 

The women let go of my arm and grabbed something out of her pocket. She poured some of it onto her hand then rubbed it against my wound. It stung for a long moment but died down to a numb feeling. She then pulled out a strip of bandage and wrapped it around my arm. She stepped back inspecting her work and I let out the breath I realized I had been holding the whole time.

The women muttered something in English that sounded somewhat like done. 

"Thank you." I said surprised that my voice was steady.

 "Wendy!" We heard someone yell form outside. I looked to Peter but he was already heading to the exit of the tent. I followed him out of the tent then looked around for the source of the voices that called my name.