The Never Beginnings

Homesick

Wendy trudged through the forest, eager to get back to the hideout. She was wet, tired and sore. She felt absolutely miserable. She rubbed her forehead, it was pounding and she was still trying to calm her heart from her near drowning. Wendy was horribly confused. She had thought that maybe Peter cared for her, but every time she felt like he might do something- he had run or flown away.

 But he let other girls near him and even thimble him! It seemed to be just her that Peter wouldn't let near. The mermaids taunts rang in her ears, or maybe it was leftover water, but their words had hurt and Wendy began to wonder if they were true. Maybe Peter couldn't stand to see her, maybe Peter was regretting his decision to bring her to Neverland. Whatever the reason, Wendy was tired of the emotional tug-o-war on her heart.  

She had told Peter that she was going home, although she wasn't sure which home she meant at the time. The hideout or London? Which was really home? In hindsight it was silly of her to think she could get to London by herself, she didn't have any pixie dust. Even if she did, did she really want to go back?

Reaching the hideout, Wendy sighed. The day was almost gone and the boys would be hungry after their excursion. Even if she was furious and hurt at Peter, she was still the boys' Mother and they would expect dinner when they got home.

She quickly lit a fire and started making a savory stew. As the stew was cooking, Wendy took the opportunity to take off her wet nightgown to dry it by the fire. She wrapped up in a fur blanket and started to comb out her hair, letting the warmth of the fire seep into her cold bones. The cheerful crackling of the wood lulled Wendy into a sense of peace. She allowed the tension to leave her muscles and her eyes drifted shut.

A brief moment later, and her peace was shattered by the shouts of hungry boys. Boys meant Peter, and Peter meant trouble. Hurriedly Wendy stood, taking the blanket with her to protect her modesty, she ran to her room. Her nightgown was now dry, but still in tatters. She sighed, she could mend it later but for now it was the only thing she had to wear.

The boys smelled supper and their tummies rumbled. They readily sat down at the table and waited to be served. They chatted amongst themselves about this or that; all the while Wendy remained silent.

Peter was the most talkative that night going off about all his miraculous adventures. With recent events, Wendy could hardly look at him, and couldn't bring herself to eat. Her stomach was in knots and her brow creased. She couldn't stop replaying what happened and what the mermaids said to her. Feeling sick Wendy excused herself from the table, announced that there wouldn't be a story tonight, went into her room and closed the door. A hush fell over the dinner table.

No story? That was impossible! There was always a story! Even on nights when they could tell Mother was exhausted they could still count on a small story. But to not have one at all? The boys looked down at their plates, worried. Maybe something was wrong with Mother.

Peter had been shocked by Wendy's announcement, but he was even more shocked with the looks of worry on his men's faces. Did they know something that he didn't? Was there something wrong with Wendy? Looking back he recalled that Wendy had hardly said a word and didn't touch her food. Was Wendy ill?

Peter stood and addressed the boys' silent worry. "I'll go check on Mother."

A frustrated chime from Tinkerbell told him not to worry and she was probably just tired. But he brushed her off. The flight to Wendy's room seemed to take an eternity. Concern etched on his face, Peter gently opened the door and peered inside. The room was dark, but in the fading sun, he could make out a tiny form curled up on the bed. There was a muffled sob coming from the form.