She can see the boar clearly, but Peter ignores it willfully, smashing through the greenery and breaking the rhythm. The boys wheel around, disoriented, uncertain. But Peter’s reality asserts itself over hers, and they all turn to follow him. He bounds across the path, laughing, the movement itself a game, the boar temporarily forgotten. The tail of boys becomes a snake, whipping back and forth.

She climbs to her feet, breathing open-mouthed. The spear is still in her hand and she throws it away from her, as far as she can, shaking. Neverland is changing her; she can’t let it.

A shout draws her attention as Bertie knocks into a boy called William. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. They tumble into the bush, grappling at each other. The other boys gather around, cheering them on. They aren’t soldiers anymore, just silly boys playing with sticks and toy swords. Until Arthur hits a boy whose name she doesn’t know, the blow deliberate and hard. Blood, shockingly bright, spurts from the boy’s nose, coating his lips and chin and scattering onto the leaves.

Her heart leaps into her throat. She looks to Peter to stop it, and her heart lodges there. Peter grins approvingly as the boys fight. He looks so strange, not a boy anymore, not a person who can be reasoned with at all. He’s something else. He’s…

Timothy reappears, and she remembers her promise to keep him safe.

“Don’t look,” she murmurs, turning his face against her side.

The rolling tumble of Bertie and William crashes into Arthur. Arthur abandons the boy with the bloodied nose and grabs Bertie instead, hauling him to his feet.

“Oy! Watch it!”

Arthur drives a fist into Bertie’s stomach. Bertie doubles over, and the boys fall silent. Her own stomach clenches in sympathy. Someone whistles; feet stamp and applause echoes through the trees.

“Bravo, Arthur! Bravo!” She doesn’t know who says it, but as the cheers fade the boys fall back into line as though nothing happened. Even the boy with the bloody nose. Even Bertie, though he moves slower than the rest, hunched and trying to catch his breath.

She keeps a tight hold on Timothy’s hand this time as she hurries to catch up to Bertie.

“Are you all right?” She falls into step beside him.

“Fine.” He tries to make the word hard and clipped, but it comes out strained, his breathing still not entirely back in control.

“But—”

Bertie whirls on her, his face scrunched, and for a moment she thinks he’ll hit her the way Arthur hit him. And then she sees the water in his eyes, and how hard he’s trying not to let it turn into a proper cry.

“I said I’m fine. Leave me alone!”

He bellows the words then trots away from her, not looking back. Up ahead, Peter gives a triumphant shout.