Jas. Hook, Captain

Running to Stand Still

For a time I explored the island, though not at great length, for I found it to be more vast and mysterious than it appeared at first. It seemed it would take a lifetime to know the place fully, which if Tinker Bell was to be believed I would have and then some.

Often I ate, imagining great feasts into existence which I devoured enthusiastically, never suffering from indigestion.

Even too did I hunt, although my heart was not truly in it. I craved the companionship and camaraderie of my friend, but as far as I could see he had not yet returned to Neverland.

Tinker Bell too was aloof, making a poor guide in my new home. She preferred mischief, and I failed to oblige her. I began to doubt her claims of innocence, and wondered if Peter's inspiration with the fairy dust hadn't come from her to begin with.

One evening, as the blazing sunset appeared as an artist's palette in the sky, I sat by a cove watching mermaids splash and laugh. I had sought out a place to be alone with my thoughts and so brood.

"Where is your friend?" a voice asked, familiar.

I turned, and there was Tiger Lily in her buckskins and beads, her hair in braids.

"Peter Pan?" I said, obviously sensitive. "I'm certain I don't know."

She sat down beside me but offered no further conversation for some time. Another person might have made desperate attempts at discourse in order to alleviate the discomfort brought on by such silence. I was not such a person.

Time is unpredictable in Neverland, which I suppose is to be expected. It can stretch and shrink, bend and even appear to break. Most disturbingly it can repeat itself, although I had yet to experience that particular oddity, having been a resident for so short a period.

The evening lengthened, and then it paused altogether, and it seemed the sunset would last forever.

At last, she did speak again.

"Have you been to the mountain peak?" she asked.

"Do you think we might see him from there?" I said, sulking.

She did not answer. Instead, she stood and offered to help me to my feet. Taking her proffered hand, I arose and followed, but had to move quickly as she broke into a run. I was not concerned that she may be trying to elude me, for had she not invited me?

Yet I did fear I might lose her, which seems silly as she had already indicated our destination. Fortunately, I did not, and so we set ourselves to our flight up the mountain slope.

Not actual flight, for the effects of the fairy dust had long since worn off for me, not having had the unique gift of fairy dust for my own personal use, nor having had the opportunity to consume large quantities of Tinker Bell's magical powder as Peter had, imparting upon him the apparent permanent ability to fly.

I was both jealous and resentful, but such emotions were soon lost in the challenge and the thrill of climbing Neverland's lone mountain at a running pace. Tiger Lily did not break her stride, ascending in a manner that revealed both her skill and experience. How many times had she made this climb? With surefootedness and utter confidence she quick-marched to the top.

I would like to say that I kept the pace, but that would be deceitful. At times I fell far behind, and only the singular nature of our destination ensured our mutual arrival.

At length I reached the summit, and joined her, gasping for air as I collapsed at her feet. She, on the other hand, breathed evenly and calmly, as though she had done nothing more than walk up a short flight of stairs.