This is the story of a boy who was made of dreams, and a wolf who was made of magic.
Once upon a time, there was a boy and a wolf. The fog rolled over the moors. Daylight was fading fast, and night was closing in. Sitting on a rock was a boy. He was a tall and skinny lad with bright green eyes and pale hair. In between his nimble fingers was a pan flute, and beside him, a worn shepherd’s stick sat. A smile crossed his face as he blew into the flute and music was made. Sheep were scattered across the hillside, and the boy had no intention of gathering them. His father had warned him about slacking off, that they needed to have a good year otherwise they would lose the farm. The villagers had warned the boy about letting his guard down. His teachers had warned him about lying. The boy would never listen to their words of warning.
The wolf was out hunting when he saw the boy. The boy’s hair was damp from the fog, and his eyes glowed with untapped potential. The wolf had heard of a boy who lingered in the moors, a boy who told lies, a boy who was afraid of death, a boy who only knew how to go far.
The boy stood up, opened his arms, and hollered, “Hellooooo!” His voice echoed and faded into the silence as though it had never been. Satisfied, the boy was about to sit down when an idea occurred to him. “Help! Help! There’s a wolf!” The boy leaped off his rock and pretended to be chased, dodging sheep and rocks before he reached the outcrop of a cliff. Staring out into the vast moors, the boy’s smile fell, and he sat back down, letting his legs dangle off the edge. Carefully the wolf crept closer to the boy and heard the boy talking to himself.
“Wonder what it would be like to fly? If I could just step off this cliff and fall and fall, but then! Then I would soar up into the sky and disappear. That would be cool.” The boy’s voice was melodious, the kind of voice that caused you to stop and listen, and that’s what the wolf did. He listened to the boy talk to himself about his dreams, the silly adults in his town, and how determined he was to never be like them. “You see, there’s this one woman, Mrs. Fink. She’s constantly yelling at me, claiming that I’m the reason her pumpkin patch died or that I’m the reason that it hasn’t rained in the past six weeks. It isn’t fair.” No one could hear the boy but the wolf.
A sheep walked up to the boy and nudged him. Absentmindedly, the boy reached out to pet the sheep. His mind was elsewhere, and the wolf knew his moment had come. “Well, well, well, what is a boy like you doing out here all alone? Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here in the moors?”
The boy stood up startled, and his eyes grew wide as he saw the upright wolf. “HELP, HELP! THERE’S A WOLF!” The boy screamed. The wolf grabbed the boy and covered the boy’s mouth.
Fear was painted across the boy’s face as the wolf grinned. “Now, I don’t think that’s going to work this time.” The wolf chuckled. The wolf spun the boy around, now holding the boy’s back against his chest. “So, tell me, lost boy, what’s your name?” The wolf whispered into the boy’s ear. He removed his paw from the boy’s mouth and gripped his throat. He wasn’t going to hurt the boy, but the boy didn’t know that. Besides, it had been far too long since he had had this much fun.
“Peter. Peter Pan.” The boy gasped, causing the wolf to smile.
“Well, Peter, you may call me Wolf.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Asked Peter, his voice wavered, and the wolf could practically taste his fear.
“Where’s the fun in that?” the wolf laughed. Peter slowly slid his hand down to his belt. “No, Peter, I have something much more exciting in mind for you.”
“Oh, and what’s that?” Peter’s fingers wrapped around his hunting knife, the one his father had given to him as a gift. It was one of the few presents his father ever gave to him.
“Something magical, Peter.” Just as the wolf finished speaking, Peter turned around and pressed the knife to the wolf’s throat. “I’m going to kill you now.” Peter’s voice was steady, and his eyes were cold.
The wolf’s eyes gleamed with delight. “I don’t think you want to do that, Peter.”
“And why’s that, Wolf?” Peter pressed the knife deeper into the wolf’s neck, and the wolf chuckled darkly.
“Because, Peter, if you kill me, you’ll never get your wish.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Ha! You think that I’m that gullible? As if!”
The wolf grinned, “Tell me, Peter, when you screamed for help, who came?” Caught off guard, Peter loosened his grip on his knife, and the wolf knocked the knife out of the boy’s hand. “It wasn’t that no one heard your screams. No, they heard you. They just don’t care. They think it’s another one of your tricks, don’t they, Peter?” The wolf circled around the boy, but Peter followed the wolf’s movements. Two predators, and no chance of escape.
Then Peter had an idea. A stupid, crazy, reckless idea. He grinned at the wolf, flashing his canines with a mad look in his eye. “Catch me if you can, Wolf!” Peter shouted, and before the wolf could reach out to grab the boy, Peter jumped from the outcrop of the cliff.
The wolf looked down in shock and rolled his eyes. “So dramatic.” Then without another word, the wolf walked away.
As the boy fell, he didn’t close his eyes. No, he spread his arms out and lifted his head to the sky. Peter grinned as he fell. He gave into gravity, let his body become weightless and embraced it. Then he felt a strange powder fall on him. It was yellow and glowed brighter than any star in the sky. The powder fell onto Peter’s skin and just as quickly as it was there, the dust disappeared. An odd sensation came over him; he was still falling, but he felt as light as a feather. Then he heard a voice; Peter couldn’t tell if the voice was his own, in his mind, or something else entirely, but something called out to him. “Believe, Peter. Believe.”
The boy closed his eyes and made his wish. He wished for freedom, for adventure, and for magic.
Peter soared up into the sky, his silhouette painted against the clouds. “Cock-a-doodle-do!” he crowed into the sky, and all the world heard the boy. Peter could see everything from up above. He could see father’s house, the village, Mrs. Fink’s pumpkin patch, the sheep, and the wolf. Peter floated down to the wolf and saw him smile. “Now look at me, Wolf! I’m king of the world!”
“Is that so? Well, I hate to tell you this, Peter, but the effects of Pixie dust are temporary.” The boy’s smile fell at the wolf’s words.
“What do you mean?” the boy questioned, his eyes revealing how afraid he was.
“Pixie dust can only make you fly for a short period of time, and after its effects wear off, you can never fly again.”
“No, no, you’re lying!” Peter shouted.
“Well, there is one way…” The wolf began. Peter flew down and glared at the wolf. The wolf stared at the boy, and for the first time in his life, the wolf felt afraid. Peter’s eyes glowed with magic, and his glare pierced the wolf’s soul. “Come closer, and I’ll tell you, boy.” Warily, Peter moved towards the wolf, and leaned in. The wolf whispered a few words, and then held out his paw. Peter grinned and took it. “Now close your eyes.” The wolf said quietly, feeling almost sorry for the boy. Peter’s eyes fluttered shut and the wolf reached into a ruby red bag. The wolf tossed the rest of the pixie dust onto the boy and stepped back and watched.
The pixie dust fused with Peter’s skin, causing him to glow briefly. Peter opened his eyes and smirked at the wolf. He landed down next to the wolf and silently picked up his knife. For one moment, he stared out at the moors, his father’s cottage, and then without a sound, he leapt off the ground.
“Where do I go now, Wolf?” Peter asked.
The wolf grinned. “Second star to the right, and straight on till morning, Peter.” The boy flew into the night, and the wolf’s grin grew. This would be a story for the ages, and now all he had to do was wait. Wait for the Wendy bird to meet the boy who would never grow up.
