Bushes rustled as he pushed aside a giant branch and leaped over the green obstacle with the momentum of his sprint. Only moments later, he reached the cave, which lay hidden in the shade of an enormous tree that nestled unobtrusively like any other in the forest but hid a narrow passage under the protection of its roots. The cave systems were tangled and full of traps. If that was not enough to keep away unwary or strange fools who dared to climb into the narrow passages, there were still holes in the damp rocks in between, leading to endless depths and gurgling waves.
Here and there, in the light of day or the lanterns, one sometimes saw wedged bones of some pitiful lost person, pirate or Indian, who had lost his way in the darkness or dared to take a wrong step. Even Jake himself would not have ventured in here alone (yet); he had not been here long enough to remember all the ways to meet a slow, agonizing death. Therefore, he followed Fog's silhouette ahead of him, setting every step and every leap like the lost man before him. Soon the tide would rise again with the salty waters, slowly flooding the secret paths in the cliffs and caves so that no one from land could reach the Lost One's camp.
The Island of the Lost, the islet that had long ago broken away from the coast in a terrible event, floated far above the sea level of the Neverseas under the protection of the clouds. The lucky ones, who had been on the island for a long time and belonged to Peter's close circle, carrying in their irises the golden glimmer of fairy dust, quickly (and literally) managed to bridge the distance in flight. The others, who had less good thoughts, firm faith, or the good fortune to be blessed by the fairies, Pan, or the island, had to traverse the hidden passage across the shallow, sharp-edged plateau. When the sea was high at high tide, the formation of dark rock and the colorful corals that covered it as a camouflage cloak sank beneath the waves.
Carefully, he crossed the rock, already slippery from algae and seawater, until he could reach one of the ladders lowered from the roots. Fog stood a little above him, his arm hooked in the rungs and grinning broadly, although someone had bent his nose a little, and the blood was smeared down to his chin and speckled trim on his clothes. When Jake had made sure that he had a firm footing and a firm grip, Fog put his head back, let out a crow, and pulled the rope of the ladder three times as a signal - which, a short moment later, was pulled up from above with the combined strength of his comrades.
The jolt caused the English man to sway briefly as the last rungs, tied in thick rope, rose from the damp stone floor into the air, and the weight of the two lost men made the string groan softly. It took some time for them to stagger past the massive masses of stone, past the dense, gnarled root system that held the island in shape and together, past the plant life of bushes, lichens, and vines that eventually grew denser and denser.
At a dizzying height, he was finally pulled over one of the man-sized roots back to the solid ground of the floating island, which served as a camp for the lost. A short distance away, one of the three waterfalls cascaded noisily over the island's edge, fed by a seemingly exhaustible magical spring beneath the Hangman's Tree, making life easier for them in this place. Having a freshwater source at their camp provided comfort that should not be underestimated. They didn't have to worry about Hook or the Indians possibly poisoning their life source, could cook with it, and even if it was rare enough- there was the possibility to wash and.... well... to dispose of refuse directly. The grove surrounded the massive tree in the island's heart with many trees that had long since escaped natural size and instead stretched their long, gnarled fingers full of lush green towards the sky.
Among the multi-faceted green of all hues, the thick trunks and the treetops were full of huts, caves, and lost people dwelling within. As the sun sank, the shimmering lights of the remaining fairy dust became more visible in the air, a breathtaking sight that might have reminded one of a horde of fireflies and only hinted at how beautiful the scenery must have once been when this place had been inhabited by fairies and not the horde of wild souls.With his fingers, the young man ran through his dark brown hair, which in the darkness seemed rather coal-black and hung like the feathers of a plucked raven in his sweaty forehead.
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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...
