Gwen lifted her eyes off her feet to meet the voice, but she could not sense where it came from any better than she could determine Puck when he wanted to make a fool out of her.
“Whit ye gawn?”
“Who's there?” Gwen yelled back. From the way the voice flickered like a flame, she already knew.
Stopped in the collapsing wilderness, she turned around full circle, searching for any shape or sight to pin the voice to. Even the little will-o-the-wisp flames had vanished, though, and she continued to turn, searching the distance, until she turned around and met him face-to-face.
The boy stood inches from her, and had snuck up to her like light moved. He seemed made of embers, his skin smoldering under an aura as blue as a gas flame.
“Ye's uh curious ane, in't you, lassie?” he asked, his mouth moving like a shadow puppet, and light bleeding past his crooked teeth as if he had a candle for a tongue. “'Ell, sum caw me Will o' the Wisp, an' sum caw me Jack o' the Lantern.” The apparition leaned in yet an inch closer and whispered, “But tem that noe me dan't call me nawthing at all.”
Gwen ran, now too afraid to fly, and only the fiery, ghost-like laughter followed her, nipping at her confidence as she bolted still deeper into the woods.
“Peter!” she screamed. “Peter, where are you?” She had no doubt her voice would carry—what could impede it on this shrinking island?
She ran and screamed his name, calling for him and refusing to spare a second's thought on the temptation to follow the will-o-the-wisp's beautiful lights—the last magical thing left on the island.
She couldn't let Peter die here—but if the stars had decided it and the mermaids proclaimed it, what could she do? She could not accept that she had no power. She might not have had a plan, but she would summon some power, she would do something to shape and help whatever had to happen in Neverland's final hour.
The aviator overhead no longer flew circles above the island. Through the receding, thinning tree branches, Gwen could see the thick, cloudy trail his plane left against the blue sky. The letters formed slowly: first an F, then an O, an L after that…
“PETER!” Gwen yelled.
She threw herself through the jungle, and snagged her foot under the protruding root of a blackened tree. The root snapped, but only after it tripped her and sent her tumbling down the incline.
Covering her face and screaming as she toppled, Gwen's head spun even as she came to a crumpled stop at the bottom of the hill. She pushed herself up and tried to establish a functional relationship with gravity. Covered in scrapes and scratches, she was grateful the fall hadn't actually hurt her. Looking up, she realized she had stumbled out of the jungle altogether.
The grass yellowed by the second, but Gwen recognized the meadow. Limp lilacs fell at the feet of their bushes, and cornflowers faded until their pale blue turned white. As she had stumbled onto the Never Tree when in need of great magic, she found the meadow again in a moment of great distress. At least, that was how Gwen felt as she got to her feet and saw Peter emerge from the jungle on the other side.
“Peter!” she yelled, her voice cracking in this final cry.
He had already seen her. He came running, and Gwen got to her feet to run to him.
All around them the foliage continued to wither away as the once magical Neverland became a desolate desert. The aviator still buzzed overhead writing another L, an O, a W, but flight was hardly possible without a plane as Neverland dissolved into an oppressive environment. As she ran to Peter, she forgot her surroundings and felt transported to a day long since passed.
She remembered dashing across this meadow, returning from the mermaid's lagoon and feeling lost as the reality storm blew in that first newsprint bombing. Peter had come looking for her. Peter had led her to safety.
Now here she was again, trying to outrun a far worse storm, and still out of control. It felt like a fairytale. The only difference was that this time Peter couldn't help anything. They ran into each other with such force, they almost fell over when they flung themselves together. Embracing as the ground dried and the grass died beneath their feet, Gwen wondered what happened to fairytale worlds when their stories stopped being told.
Worlds were made and unmade all the time.
She followed Peter's eyes as he looked up and saw the aviator's sky-written message: FOLLOW ME.
“Their boat won't be able to keep pace with the aviator and children in flight,” Peter announced, trying to reassure Gwen, or himself, or both. “He's made enough passes over this ocean. He knows where we can take the Never Tree. As soon as it's planted, it'll start hiding itself again.”
“Then we need to go now,” Gwen told him. She didn't dare mention what fate the stars had alloted her. She knew if she wanted any hope of helping Peter escape his destiny, she could not waste time trying to fight her own. She would go as far as she could with him, and do what it took to keep preserve his youth and all that it stood for. “We need to get off the island now.”
Peter needed to say nothing to agree. If he had entertained grand hopes of saving anything else on this island, those goals crumbled in the face of this pressing crisis. He took her hand and started to run. They didn't get far.
“Look out!” Gwen shouted, a moment before the shadow grabbed Peter. He wrestled ins its grip, but only managed to knock himself off balance and fall to the grass. Gwen's frightened hands shook as she reached into her satchel for her flashlight. She pulled it out and put the beam on Peter's attacker, but before she could discourage its assault,
