Bark flowed roughly under his fingers, repeatedly interrupted by patches of green moss that overgrew the ancient tree in many places. Small cushions of soft pillows on which the feet of the climbers sank as if into feathers and which soaked themselves on rainy days with hundreds of tiny drops of water. Today, however, the sun had kissed them awake, drawing with deft fingers of light and warmth a bright green on the overgrown spots and weaving a warm carpet over bark, grasses, and forest floor for the children. Soft snores seeped through the air, testifying to the good sleep of the boys who had spent last night hunting mackerel near the shore. The silvery, hand-sized fish with the pretty greenish or bluish markings on their backs tasted good to most of the boys, and this morning some had already spent their time roasting some of their successful catch over the campfire.
This was another reason Peter quietly put one foot in front of the other as he pushed his way through the maze of passageways, climbing ever higher. Practiced, he skirted around lying toys woven from twigs and grasses, dodged a box full of sabers, and jumped just in time over a stool that had been left here for some unknown reason. The stool's wooden feet stuck up in the air, testifying to.... either a fight or someone had pushed the chair outside from its sleeping cave because it took up too much space. Peter wasn't bothered by this, got back up on his feet easily, and continued on his way. To the left and right along the corridor were several round or square, oval and straight entrances - some open, others blocked by curtains, wooden boards, or even makeshift doors made of woven twigs.
Behind them were the sleeping quarters of some of the lost; among others, Peter passed the entrance of Tootles, who had covered his hollow with a stolen leather skin from the Indians, and every time he crawled out of it, he had to push aside again the stones with which he fixed the temporary curtain the night before. Peter grinned, gave the Indian paintings that had gradually faded on the leather a quick sideways glance, and strolled on. Over his shoulder hung a quiver, fastened with a rather handsome leather belt of which he was pretty proud. A long time ago, Tiger Lily had given him the quake... why he did not know exactly, but the gift he held faithfully in honor. In it were handmade arrows, whose feathers lightly rubbed against each other with every movement. Peter had also put the bow made of solid wood over his shoulders so he had more freedom of movement.
Finally, he reached the highest opening in Hangman's Tree, where the sunlight was already peeking in and casting patterns of light and shadow on the hollowed-out interior of the tree through a wall of swaying foliage. The boys had found a large chamber under the mighty tree, probably once dug by a wolf or bear... but the cave had long been uninhabited, and so they had continued digging themselves until the cozy main room emerged. By now, it was dominated by a long table where people ate, argued, fought, or frolicked. There were also narrow crevices running through the old tree, which the boys had also cleverly widened so they could move through the corridors of a house.
Each corridor housed several sleeping caves where the boys kept their little bit of belongings and set up their perfect sleeping quarters. Although the boys had carved their halls and dwellings in the giants, the tree did not die.... each year, its mighty branches bore the most breathtaking profusion of leaves found nowhere else on the entire island. It wrapped their little exits and entrances in a puffy embrace of rustling green, whispered to them to get up in the morning, and sang them a lullaby in the evening. Even now, Peter almost lovingly brushed aside a branch full of dancing leaves to step out into the open on the broad branch.
Ah ~ wonderful. Out here, the fresh scent of the forest, somewhat tinged with sea salt, wafted toward them. Driven by the stormy easterly wind, on some days, even the brackish bog could be smelled in the air, which did credit to the small rock massif in its center and its name, the witches' caves. Peter stretched his nose into the wind, sniffed the day, and instinctively decided where he wanted to go hunting today. Because yes... for a decent game, one had to leave their little island - as proudly as it towered above the swirling spray of the Neverseas. The rock had risen from the water long ago, shaking off the gripping arms of gravity, and now it floated high above the glittering surface.
YOU ARE READING
A Neverland Tale - HOOKED (eng)
Fantasy** Only one thing can still prevent Neverland's downfall: In the dark times when a star's light perishes, a new one must be found! ** Neverland - a world in which simply everything was possible as long as you could dream it. But behind a shining lig...
