The Third Star

Chapter 8: An Honest Touch

Eighty years earlier, after Tiger Lily was rescued

Tiger Lily's eyes fluttered open.  The boards above her hammock looked strange, not like boards at all.  And where were the rough voices of the sailors?  Sunlight was flashing in her eyes; it was late and she didn't know why Hook hadn't woken her up yet...

Hook.

Last night came rushing back in an overwhelming swell of memories.  The storm, the plank, drowning in the cold water.  The arms, the voice, the boy in green...

Was she dead?  Had she drowned?

Tiger Lily sat up carefully.  Every part of her ached something terrible - the pain nearly sent her collapsing back down again.  Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up and analyzed her surroundings.

She appeared to be in some kind of shelter, made entirely of wood.  All of the furnishings were crude and clumsy, like a child's treehouse.  Actually, that's exactly what it appeared to be.  Looking out the window cut into one of the walls, she found herself eyelevel with the treetops.  The sun threw columns of light across the musty floor, and the island's ambiance fluttered sweetly to her ears.

Tiger Lily was in a bed under a woven quilt and faded sheets.  They were slightly stained, but they smelled like the clean ocean air that saturated Neverland's shores.  She buried her face in the soft fabric, inhaling deeply.

They smelled like her home.

Pain stabbed through her heart mercilessly as images of her father flooded her mind.  Her childhood friends, the horses, the soft deerskin that padded everything she touched.  Her mother's roasted root meal, swimming in the ocean with Speaking Fire, dancing under the stars.  Her love for her home was clearly unrequited, for it had cast her out so easily.  She didn't know where she was or how she got there; she had no idea how she came to be wearing some kind of nightgown.

And she didn't know who the boy in the corner was.

Tiger Lily jumped a little when she noticed his presence.  The boy was tall and covered in dirt, his brown hair matted with sand.  He was sleeping in one of the jagged armchairs, his arms hanging loosely over the sides.  His dark green tunic was crumpled and torn, the damaged pieces fluttering as he breathed.

It was him.  The boy, the one who was there.  The one who saved her.

She had to get out of there.  If he found her awake, he'd have questions, questions she wasn't prepared to answer.  Or worse - he could have malicious intentions, a desire to end her newfound independence.  It didn't matter what had happened in her past.  Her tribe, Hook, the Jolly Roger, none of it meant anything to her.  The only thing that mattered was that she was free.

Tiger Lily tore a swatch of the sheets off and shoved it between her teeth.  As she slid out onto her feet, she bit down hard, muffling the instinctual cry of agony that accompanied the simple action.  Damn, that hurt.  She quickly glanced at the boy, but he hadn't moved.  Slowly and quietly, tears streaming down her cheeks, she made her way across the room until she was clinging to the doorway.

What she failed to remember was that she was a hundred feet off the ground.

And when she did, it was too late.

She didn't even have time to panic as she lost her balance, the rag dropping from her mouth into the brush below.  One quick jolt of fear, and then she was falling.  The ground raced to meet her and some dark, twisted part of her grinned internally at the irony of the whole thing.  How badly did the universe want her to die?

Apparently not enough.

Her plummet abruptly ended, and then she was rising back into the trees.  Tiger Lily looked up at her savior and nearly passed out.

It was the boy.  Of course it was the boy.

They swooped back into the treehouse and he lowered her back onto the bed.  He tossed the covers over her bare legs and pulled one of the chairs to the bedside, gracefully taking a seat.  For a minute, Tiger Lily and the boy stared at each other in complete silence.  Even the birds cut off their songs, and the entire island waited soundlessly.

Finally, the boy shook his head.

"You're a magnet for trouble, aren't you," he said, his voice strained.  Tiger Lily examined his face more closely, noticing the violet circles beneath his eyes and the dull, tired red in his eyes.

"I...I'm sorry," Tiger Lily managed.  It was the best she could come up with in the circumstances, although she had no idea what she was apologizing for.

He looked at her in puzzled disbelief.  Tiger Lily spoke before he could interrogate her further.

"You saved me," she said slowly.  "Twice. Why?"

The air was heavy with the tension that sat between the two children in the tree house.  The boy closed his eyes.  "I've been asking myself that for three days now."

Three days.  That's how long she had been asleep.  Tiger Lily stared at her rescuer in wonder.  "And you've been here the whole time?"

The boy opened his eyes and a strange expression crossed his face.

"I...I never left your side."

Tiger Lily gazed at him in wonder.  He was blinking in silent amazement, as if he couldn't believe what he had just said.  Who was this strange boy, the one who had saved her, protected her, taken care of her?  And more importantly, what did he want with her?

"What is your name?" she asked softly.

The boy didn't speak; he stared intently into her eyes, as if lowering himself deep within her soul.  Tiger Lily stared right back at him, puzzling at his curious ways.  Finally, the boy answered.

"Peter Pan."

Tiger Lily nodded.  "I am called Tiger Lily."

Peter inhaled sharply.  "The princess.  I should have known," he breathed, shaking his head and abruptly rising to his feet.

"Is there a problem?" Tiger Lily stared wide-eyed at Peter, noting with unease how his hand rested on the hilt of the sword that hung from his hips.

"You shouldn't be here.  Your people, mine..." he trailed off, an animalistic panic in his eyes.

Tiger Lily frowned as she understood.  She was a princess, and by Neverland's inexplicit law, any crime committed against a royal would result in a territorial war.  This rule was all too familiar between the various hostile forces on the island.

"You needn't fear, Peter Pan.  My people...I have been banished.  They will not come for you," she assured him wearily, shaking her head.

Peter looked at her, surprised.  "Banished? Their beloved princess, the chief's heir?"

Tiger Lily grimaced.

"They must really be desperate," Peter muttered, sitting down and running a hand through his hair.  

"They're just fighting for their right to live in peace," TIger Lily sighed, ignoring the sharp taste those words left in her mouth.  Even in exile, her loyalty to her people had not died.

Peter shot her an apologetic glance and rose fluidly to his feet again, carefully resettling himself onto the edge of her bed.  Silently, as if in slow motion, he hesitantly reached out a hand, slowly brushing a stray lock of raven-black hair away from her face.  Tiger Lily didn't flinch, her body frozen with shock as she experienced a genuine act of affection for the first time in months. 

Peter's hand came to rest lightly on her shoulder, and he looked earnestly into her eyes.  "I'm sorry.  Truly."

Tiger Lily said nothing, only reached out and grasped tightly the hand of the boy who had invited her to his life using nothing but an honest touch.