Flying

Chapter 3: Lookout's Peak

My neck hurts. A lot. I suppose this is what I get for allowing a stranger to sleep in my delightfully comfortable hammock and taking the floor instead. Next time a boy washes up on my shore, I am shoving him onto a wooden board and pushing it out into the ocean. Before I fell asleep, I chained Peter's wrist to the wall in case he had any more psychotic urgings to slit my throat. 

I glare down at the sleeping boy as I massage my aching neck. He seems to be slumbering peacefully, which only irritates me more. Now that his hair is dry, I can see that his unruly curls are yellow and not brown like I had originally thought. His pale skin is much lighter than my golden tanned shade. He must be used to an indoor life. 

"I can feel your wrath burning through my skin," Peter says without opening his eyes.

I yank out my jian swords and jump away from him, instantly on guard. Stretching his body out, Peter yawns widely and smiles at me.

"Your shiny, perfect, white teeth do not affect me at all." I point the steel blades at his chest. "I still have bruises from yesterday."

"Sorry about that." Peter runs his fingers through his hair. "I wasn't myself yesterday. You know, the drowning and near-death experience kind of threw me off."

"That's not a good enough excuse for why you're here." I sheathe my swords and cross my arms over my chest. "I certainly don't remember inviting you onto my island."

"Well, I certainly don't remember agreeing to be your prisoner." Peter gestures to his chained wrist. "Do you mind?"

"I do mind," I snap. "Now, how did you get here? Why are you here? And most importantly, how do I kick you off so you can't get back?"

"You are such a hospitable host." Peter holds up his hands as I grab the hilts of my swords. "Kidding. I'm just kidding."

"Kidding is for baby goats," I retort. "If you want that chain off, you're going to provide me satisfactory answers."

"Then, you're going to have to get used to having a sore neck and sleeping on the floor because I can't answer you."

I finger my weapons and narrow my eyes at Peter. "Can't or won't? Because if it's won't, I can change that."

"I can't tell you." For the first time, the smile slides off Peter's face. "I can't tell you because I can't remember. I can't remember anything."

"You remembered your name."

Peter chuckles ruefully. "Yeah, I did. I can remember basic information about myself, but that's all. I don't remember anything else other than saltwater and sand. And..."

"And what?" I prompt him.

"And you." Peter fiddles with the chain on his wrist. "I remember you pulling me out of the water."

"Yeah, I'm starting to regret that now," I mutter.

With a sigh, I wave my hand, and the chain falls off Peter's wrist. His mouth drops open.

"What...how did you...I don't..." he stammers.

"I guess it's a safe assumption that you don't come from a magical world." I point to the wash basin in the corner. "Clean your face, and I'll get you something to eat."

"I can't believe...I don't understand...I..."

"Eyes are for seeing with," I reply briskly.

Crossing to the sea chest, I pull out two plates and make a quick breakfast of peardrops and nutfarls. After an unreasonably long time, Peter pulls himself together and washes his face. As he devours the food, he keeps looking sideways at me. I ignore him as I clean the plates and replace them in the chest.