The Lost Boy

Chapter 8

"Curly! Tootles? Slightly! Nibs? Twins!" 

"Wow, you humans have the strangest names." 

"They're not names. Not really," Rooster explained as he wove between trees. He'd decided to search on foot after they'd entered the jungle, following the muddy footprints that had begun in the sand, leaving the search in the air to Tink. The fairy was zig-zagging through the treetops a couple feet ahead of him, while he kept his eyes mainly on the dirt trail of footprints. He couldn't tell who the tracks belonged to, but he hoped desperately that they belonged to one of his friends. "They're nicknames, for till we got adopted and were given a real name. But..." He sighed, and Tink cast a sympathetic look over her shoulder. "None of us ever got adopted, so we don't have real names." 

"I'm sorry." 

"It's okay. I don't really need a real name, anyways. I just want my family back." 

"The other boys?" 

"Yeah. They're my family. My only family. I want them to be safe, and 'ere, so I can find them." 

Tink nodded, then grew silent. Rooster sniffed once and blinked tears from his eyes. He had no room for despair. All he needed was hope. 

The sun was growing shy, hiding from view behind the mountain as it sank toward the horizon. The approach of night brought Chief Thunderclap's words back to the front of Rooster's mind, and he asked, "Tink, what is a Never Moon?" 

There was silence for a few heartbeats, so silent that Rooster was worried he was alone. He looked up and saw the fairy still flying ahead of him, twisting her fingers as she contemplated on what to say. 

"It's...ancient," Tink finally explained. "Every year, it's never clear when, but the Elves can sense it, the moon turns bright green with a strange magic. We don't understand it or how it is stopped. We know only that it is powerful, and brings with it a monster." 

"A monster?" 

"Yeah. A monster that tears through the jungle and destroys everything in its path. No one has ever seen it, but the damage is always great the next morning. Whatever it is, most believe it to be extremely dangerous." 

"Whoa," Rooster exhaled, absorbing this new information. The Never Moon was a green moon that brought a monster at a different time every year? Just when he thought this island couldn't get any stranger. 

"Hey, the tracks stopped," Tink suddenly said, fluttering to the ground to perch beside a final footprint in the dirt before a large tree. Any further tracks were nonexistent. 

"What? No!" Rooster joined her and looked at the last of the footprints, then he did a lap around the tree, scouring the muddy ground for any further tracks. When he saw a set of footprints leading to the right of the tree he pointed at them excitedly and said, "Look, more tracks!" 

Tink rolled her eyes, "Rooster, those are your footprints." 

"Oh, right," Rooster sighed, then groaned. "How could they just stop? How-" He paused as an idea sprung to life in his mind and he grinned. "Unless..." 

He approached the tree, put his hands on the truck, and peered straight up into the tangle of branches, craning his neck. One of the smaller branches was snapped and clinging to the trunk for dear life, while a couple other branches were smeared with mud and the familiar golden brown grains of sand. 

"Of course!" Rooster exclaimed, beckoning to Tink. "Help me up!" 

"What is it?" Tink asked, showering him with the magic golden dust. 

"The tracks...I know why they stopped..." Rooster explained as he began to rise into the air, using the branches to guide his ascent through the tree. He hesitated when he heard the soft sound of snoring and felt his grin grow wider. He pulled himself up a couple more feet, Tinker Bell close behind, and face the sleeping form of a boy around eleven years old, with shaggy blond hair and fair skin smudged with grime, dressed in rags, with bare feet blackened by filth. His face and arms were battered, bruised, cut, and covered with sand, and his hair was still damp. "Because he climbed the tree!"