There isn’t enough space to twist around to see Timothy following her, but she hears him huffing and scrambling at her heels. She reaches again, and a gust of wind sweeps past her, making the branch she’s holding sway precariously. She isn’t that high up yet, but she can’t afford to think about the ground at all.

* * *

Wendy ducks out of the cave, and Tiger Lily follows. No smoke darkness in the sky now, and the ground is still beneath their feet, but rather than comforting her, the stillness, the emptiness, is ominous. It’s as though everything is waiting to see what she will do. The center of the island tugs at her, the heart of Neverland tied to her own heart. Even without Tiger Lily at her side, she’s certain she could find her way there.

The path is barely visible, but Tiger Lily’s steps are sure and unerring. Leaves hush under Wendy’s feet, slick things dropped from the trees, while Tiger Lily makes no sound, a ghost indeed.

They walk in silence until they come to a place where one branch of the path veers off between trees that bend inward to form a tunnel. The shadows swallow everything there. Wendy ran this way with Peter, oh so long ago, the ground blurring beneath their feet. And Wendy knows in her heart that Jane came this way too.

Wendy turns a slow circle, as if she could pluck some trace of her daughter from the air. She crouches, brushing her hands over the fallen leaves. Her fingers close on a stone arrowhead and she lifts it, straightening and slipping it into her pocket. She imagines Jane standing in the same spot. She wouldn’t be able to let a mystery like this lie; she would go to the end of the path.

Come on, Wendy, keep up. The heat, the breath of the shadow-creature. All of its rage echoed and packed small into Peter’s trembling frame.

Wendy’s hand falls to the hilt of Hook’s sword again, and she suddenly feels foolish carrying it. Will she lop off Peter’s head and stand over him crowing with her hands on her hips, like a cock at dawn? She slips the sword from the shawl at her waist, and holds it out hilt first toward Tiger Lily.

“You should be the one to carry this.” Wendy tries to smile, but her eyes sting. “I’m not a warrior.”

Tiger Lily accepts the sword, testing its weight. Wendy feels lighter without it, but the knot of fear remains. She smooths her palms over her pockets. Through all the running and climbing, she’s managed to keep her sharp little scissors, her needle, her thread. She prepared herself with everything she needed as she left London, even before she knew what she meant to do.