Neverland, Wiser Than Us All

Almost a Man

And so it was, for almost ten years. Every single day Peter was awoken, he would stitch up the hole next to his bed so that Nandia wouldn't see and take it from him, he dressed, ate a few bites of last night's dinner and went to work. He came home before dark and was shut in. Every night he opened the seam to the outside, he shared his meal with the star, spoke to it like a close friend, and fell asleep. Then the day would repeat itself.
The only curiosity being that the food he left for the star was gone without a trace by the time Nandia's shrill voice called him.
Peter learned some skills while he worked. When a male Gasheda broke his leg, he reluctantly taught Peter how to use traps, a dagger, and a bow to hunt the game in the area. The boy excelled quickly and was eager to learn anything anybody would teach him. He learned how to fish and strip game that he collected. He grew strong as he got older and his work load increased.
His favorite job was still watching the children. When mothers were pregnant or ill, they would reluctantly ask Nandia to tell Pan's son to tend their children for a few consecutive days. They could not have asked for anyone better. He played, fed, told stories, and tended wounds of all kinds better than any father the kids could ask for. Every child younger than he adored him and would follow him around if their parents were not paying attention. As he grew, the ages of the children increased, and new ones joined the throng of adoration. It made the adult Gasheda angry, but for Peter it was joy itself; the only thing keeping his heart from hardening. They could not stop the gaggle of kids from laughing at his jokes and his comedic physical humor. They couldn't stop his animated story telling and his generous appreciation for each child, giving them all equal attention and love. They COULD stop his impressions, but that didn't seem to dissuade him.
When they moved camp he also learned a couple value things, like the content of his tent, which he had never actually SEEN. As he packed he found a pot, and a fire bowl complete with stakes for cooking. He found a barrel for melting snow, and another for collecting rainwater. He found jars for canning, and though he was not allowed to illuminate the tent even with a fire, when he helped the women seal and save food in pots, he made a little more to add to his own tent. Either nobody noticed, or they didn't say anything, choosing instead not to look at him.
Now, however, Peter, Pan's son, was leaning against the pole of a tent, holding a basket of food, staring at the setting sun, pondering. He had been released from his duties early because this was his last night. Tonight, when the moon was its highest point, he will have been part of the tribe for 18 travel cycles. Tonight he would become a man.
Now Peter's chest had filled out. Now his muscles were lean and strong. Now his hair was dark auburn. His lean build was solid, his jaw strong. Now he could survive and provide.
Now he must leave...
The boy had hoped that with his age he could make his own tent, light it with fire, hunt with the men, gather with the women and children...and maybe even find a woman unafraid of his coloring, whom he could provide for and have soft, beautiful children of his own.
He had hoped that the Gasheda, of whom he should officially be part, would let him stay until they ran into another tribe. Then he would happily leave.
Peter had tried to prove his worthiness and ability, he tried talking to the Gasheda. Whenever the topic of his cusping manhood ceremony, the first he would be able to attend, arose, the tribe members' eyes would harden, their mouths forming a tight line, and they would turn away, pretending not to hear.
So Peter had brought it to Nandia.
In the midst of a brave, stupid panic, he had burst in on the tent he knew she was in. The flap closed behind him, and the woman feeding the Nandia opened her eyes wide in shock. The middle aged woman then bowed to the much older woman, and glared at Pan's son, leaving the tent.
"Nandia." Peter's voice was demanding like it had never been before. Nandia didn't move an inch. "Nandia!" The old woman slowly brought the food to her mouth, as if he wasn't there.
Peter took a deep breath, calming his attitude and beating heart. He quickly moved to kneel in front of the Nandia, touching his head to the floor then sitting back on his heels he stared directly at her.
The silence seemed endless. Peter steadily holding his ground, refusing to be nothing in this moment. The woman finished her bread, and drank her Chikita juice. When the cup was empty, she set it on the dirt floor next to her and raised her head to him and beyond. Staring down her nose at him and grimacing as if he was a bad smell.
Peter locked his eyes with hers. "Nandia, you cannot ignore that I will soon be a man. You cannot deny me my right to my own tent and food." The grimace turned into a snarl. Pan's son sighed deeply. Touching his forehead to the ground again, he spoke into the dust, but loud enough that she could not mistake his words. "I am grateful for your generosity. The Sky can do nothing but honor you and curse me." Another sigh, "I ask very little. I want to hunt, I want to have freedom to move about, I want the permission to make my own tent and decide what I do and not do as my heart and the Sky direct." His hands pushed hard into the Earth. "I will proclaim that I am no longer a possession to be trodden down. And..." He paused for a moment, even though he needed to be strong, "I demand the right to be a man and take for myself a woman to be my partner, for whom I will provide and will bear my children."
The Nandia screeched and grabbed a fistful of his hair yanking it up and dangerously close to her face. "YOU? CHILDREN? YOU WILL SCOURGE THIS LAND UNTIL IT IS NOTHING BUT BLACKNESS AND SMOKE!" Spittle flew on to his face as she wailed. "You do not deserve a woman! You deserve nothing but to be a carcass for the birds! You cursed..." Her other hand raised to strike him, but he caught it, no longer a child she could abuse, and angry enough to not take said abuse.
He removed her hand from his head, her hand spasming open when he squeezed her wrist. His eyes glinted, but as the woman breathed quickly, her eyes filled with hate, he sighed again and brought her hands between them gently holding them in one large hand. He put the other on top of the pile of hands, his eyes sad when he raised his eyes again to meet his abuser's eyes.
Clear blue eyes stared into almost black, hate filled ones. As he looked, he saw his whole life in this one expression. "You leave with the moon cycle curr. You will curse this tribe no longer. I only hope that we can cleanse all the filth you've brought! We don't want you, and no one else will, witch!"
Peter nodded and rose to his feet still holding her hands. He held one of her gnarled hands in each of his for a long moment, just looking at their locked hands. The woman on the ground stilled her breath, expecting an explosion.
In the end, he smiled ruefully at their hands and huffed out a hollow laugh. He dropped her hands and marched out of the tent.
This last night he ate on a ridge overlooking the temporary camp. It was his favorite stop in the travel cycle. He savored every bite except those he saved for the star, and licked his fingers, grinning at the setting sun.
Now Peter's son, hours away from being cast out, walked back to the tent for what would be the last time. He crawled inside the tent, rebelling against Nandia's push. He set the pack he had prepared next to the flap and stood facing the flap, waiting for the Nandia.
She threw open the flap, jumping slightly at his tall figure looming above her in the dark. She swallowed the emotion by clearing her throat. "I will open the tent at high moon. Be gone before it reaches the ridge."
Peter smiled cheekily at her, flashing his white teeth and standing his full height. "Goodbye, Nandia. It's been a pleasure."
The Nandia glared at him and shut the tent flap with a snap, buttoning them quickly. He heard her march away. He chuckled slightly, then ran his hands through his hair, clasping them behind his head and leaning his head back on them. "Well, there it is." He turned back to where his bedding usually was, but the bedding itself was rolled on his pack.
He took his large knife, the one the Gasheda called a dagger, found the seam he carefully closed each morning, and slit the strings all the way up it. The hole gaped and the cold air rushed in. Peter stood a fist on each hip and breathed deeply letting the chill breeze swirl around him.
Pan's son opened one eye at peaked at the star who pulsed brightly for a moment. The boy chuckled softly, "Alright, hold your horses." He took the scraps from his pocket, fumbled around for a clean bowl. He shrugged his shoulders when he found one. It was clean enough. He blew dirt from it. "I know, I know, you don't like me to get all fancy, but it's just this once."
Peter cut the rest of a hide off so there was a large square where there was no tent at all. He dropped it on the ground. Never setting the bowl of food down. He squatted down over the edge of the tent and placed the bowl very carefully on a flat piece of ground. His hand remained on the bowl for a long moment. "Well, this is it." He whispered to the ground.
He dropped to his backside, letting his breath out with a huff. He placed a forced smile on his face, and turned his eyes to the sky again. "Maybe it will be wonderful. Who knows, we could travel west until there's no snow." He smiled for real. "We could scale the mountains to the east and join the Flosh tribe. I know they've at least got a blonde." Peter laughed ruefully. "We could find trees that are so big that they block out the sun, except for bits filtering through." The boy started talking with his hands, "Forests without end, water without end..." Peter slunk back on his shoulders so his head could rest comfortably. "I think it's best if we're on our own though." The boy closed his eyes. "No switches, no people, just beauty and fun, and...peace." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply at the word.
The almost man didn't know how long he stared into the sky imagining peace. If he had been a bit more observant he would've noticed that the food had vanished. And the gusts of cold air had turned warmer.

Peter didn't remember falling asleep, but he must've because when he opened his eyes again his star started to grow. He blinked his eyes and stared at it. But the light continued to get bigger. He realized that it was closer than he thought, shining brightly and vaguely fuzzy around the outside. It looked... kind, he thought.
When he blinked again it was floating and bouncing right in front of his nose. Peter tried to bat it away, but the breeze blew in his face and tinkled lightly. The boy turned his face so his cheek took the brunt of it, and the yellow ball of light bounced in irritation.
Peter, Pan's son, threw back his head and laughed, putting his hands in front of his face in defense, "Alright, alright! I'm sorry!" More laughter and as the ball quieted, the boy lowered his hands. "Now where in the lands did you come from?"
The breeze whispered under his chin lifting it to the sky. The sphere also bobbed, tinkling bells filling the air, bobbing into the air and back down.
"Shh. Keep it down." But his chuckling made the order useless. "What's all the buzz about?" Peter laughed at his own joke and slapped his knee. The ball stopped bouncing and seemed to stare at him disapprovingly. The boy muttered under his breath, "That joke would've killed in the village..." The star flashed at him, and Peter smiled back.
"What can I do for you, Little Bell?" The breeze tinkled in his ear. The ball of light bobbed up and down, making its own soft bell noise, and flew high into the sky.
Peter smiled ruefully, "That I'm afraid, I cannot help you with." He sighed and in a softer voice said, "As much as I would like to."
The ball now called Little Bell flew slowly and sweetly back to his shoulder, almost resting there. After a long moment of staring at the sky he said, "You'd better be off, Little Bell, Nandia will be here soon."
The ball perked up and rose above his head zooming quickly in a tight circle, dropping bits of light on him. He laughed and rose a couple feet off the ground. Peter smiled cheerfully as the wind swirled snow underneath him.
The boy, deciding to enjoy this dream, struggled a bit to get his feet underneath him. He closed his eyes and thought of a faraway land. Peter's eyes twinkled as he opened them and looked to the ball hovering to his left. "Well then, let's be off."