Peter," she whispered and reached out, touching his cheek. "My little Peterbird? You flew back to me.
Peter stood, cleared his throat, and began to hum softly, then sing, slowly building up the song as his voice cleared. He found the old tune, the song of the Sunbird. And as he sung, as his rich voice echoed off the tall cliffs, the birds and the faeries lent him their voice and soon the tune drifted throughtout the garden.
Almost lost you," he thought, surprised to find himself blinking back tears. "Been through too much, me and you. We're going to finish this thing together.
Had not enough gone wrong?
The darkness is calling. A little danger, a little risk. Feel your heart race. Listen to it. That’s the sound of being alive. It’s your time, Nick. Your one chance to have fun before it’s all stolen by them, the adults, with their cruelty and endless rules, their can’t-do-this, and can’t-do-that’s, their have-tos, and better-dos, their little boxes and cages all designed to break your spirit, to kill your magic.
Peter finds the lost, the left-behind, the abused. Is that not why you are here? Did Peter not save you?
Then let us go and be terrible.
For Peter's smile is a most contagious thing.
There is always something left to lose.
Peter stood up and let a wicked smile slide across his face. "Time to play.
Did he dare trust this insane boy?
Enough talk," Peter said, and his eyes flashed. "It's time to turn you three into killers.
The boy planted his hands on his hips and a broad smile lit his face. "My name's Peter. Can I play too?
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