Shouts echo through the trees, layered over the sound of wooden sticks clacking together. She’s tempted to peek her head out, maybe even find a tree where she can hide and watch the war. It sounds exciting at least, and she can imagine Peter leaping over the other boys’ heads, laughing and quick. She’s about to slip outside when a sheepish face pokes through the tent door. Roger, she remembers, is what the boy is called. There’s a gap between his two front teeth, and his brown hair refuses to lie flat, sticking up every which way like a bird’s nest. He holds his arm against his chest as he ducks inside.

“Peter says I’ve been kilt and I have to sit here ’til you fix me so I can go out and fight again.”

Wendy wants to be cross with him, but it isn’t Roger’s fault.

“Oh, all right.” She points. “Sit there.”

Roger hangs his head as he obeys, and she finds a bit of cloth that they were using to play blind man’s bluff last night.

“How were you killed?” Wendy asks, assessing Roger critically.

“Stab wound, right here.” He taps his finger against his chest. “Peter ran me through with his sword.”

“Let’s see, then.” Wendy carefully peels Roger’s hand away from the bloodless wound. She wraps the strip of cloth around the spot he indicated, careful to be gentle, and ties a knot at Roger’s shoulder.

“Do you like it here?” The question pops into her mouth as she works, surprising her. It feels daring.

“Yeah. It’s brilliant!” Roger grins, the gap between his teeth looking even wider. “It’s all games and no bedtime or vegetables.”

Done with the knot, Wendy lets her hands fall to her sides.

“What about before? When you… When you were with your mother and father?”

“Didn’t have any.”

“No parents?”

“I don’t think so.” Roger shrugs, but a frown carves lines around the corners of his mouth like he’s trying to remember something. She wants to ask who made him eat his vegetables or set his bedtime if he had no parents, but the line forming between his brows stops her. She imagines him like a cup, balanced on the edge of a table. If she tips him too far, he’ll shatter.

“Am I all fixed up?” His voice is hopeful and troubled all at once. Mostly, Wendy thinks, he just wants to get away from her.

“Yes. All healed. Run along.” She waves him toward the door, watching as he bounds off, back into the war.

Over the course of the war, she sees every boy at least once, all except Peter, because Peter always wins. Later, when the war is done and they’ve had supper, Peter sits beside her on one of the logs circled around the fire and nudges her with his shoulder.