Desperation gnaws at her. How can she make them understand? Peter strides down the line, and all eyes turn to him, his chest puffed up like a general inspecting his troops. Only then does she notice that Timothy is missing. She scans the camp, relief filling her as she catches sight of him crouched near the pile of weapons.

She tries to signal to him without drawing Peter’s attention. Timothy doesn’t look up, staring at the sad offering of broken spears and unstrung bows. She glances back at Peter. He seems distracted enough that she risks hurrying to Timothy’s side, touching his shoulder. His head snaps up, cheeks blotchy with tears that he scrubs at furiously.

“What’s wrong?” She whispers it, glancing over her shoulder, but Peter is focused on giving orders.

“I don’t want to go.” Timothy wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

He looks at the ground between his feet, his shoulders hunched up toward his ears. She has to strain to hear him.

“Last time we went hunting, the boar got away. I stepped on a stick by accident and it made such a loud noise the boar knew we were coming and it ran. Rufus said it was his fault, to protect me, and Peter boxed him so hard he cried.” Timothy looks up at her, his expression miserable.

She thinks of the boy on the beach, the one with the bruise on his cheek. Just then, a slight hand touches her shoulder, and she jumps.

“Here you go, Wendy.” Peter grins, thrusting a long stick smoothed of its bark and sharpened at one end into her hand. “You can use my spear.”

She’s too stunned to do anything but take the spear. Peter doesn’t even look at Timothy. His eyes are fixed on her, bright and hard. The spear is half again as tall as she is, and she can’t imagine why Peter would give it to her. Why would he want her along on the hunt? Unless he’s testing her, or he thinks she’ll escape if he leaves her alone. And what happens if she refuses?

“I don’t—” she begins, but Peter cuts her off, bouncing on his toes.

“Everybody has to hunt the boar. Nobody stays behind.”

He’s looking straight at her, but she understands that Peter is really talking to Timothy. Even though he’s smiling, there’s something dangerous in his eyes.

“Everyone follow me now.”

He spins away, skipping a few steps before plunging into the trees, a whooping call trailing behind him. Arthur is next, right on Peter’s heels, then Bertie and the others, flowing after him. She and Timothy are alone, and she reaches for his hand.

“We don’t have to go,” she says, but even as she does, she knows it’s a lie.