The boys cheered, "This is going to be fun!" Pip cheered, waving his slingshot so that the rubber piece came back and clipped him in the nose. He rubbed it, glaring fiercely at Basil who was bent at the waist with laughter.
"Well, then let's get started!" John clapped her on the shoulder and turned her toward a table full of finely made weapons. Where did they get all of them? "Go on, pick one."
Wendy walked hesitantly over to the table. Her hand hovered over the tops of the various weapons. She wasn't sure which one she should choose until a hand came over hers. The fingers slid across her wrist and directed her hand to the right. She could feel his breath against her ear, his chest brushed her back. "Petyr," she whispered softly.
He stopped her hand over a finely made short sword, closing his hand around hers he made her grab the handle, "This one." His words tickled her neck, sending shivers up her spine. Then he stepped back and she turned to face him.
The lost boys hovered in a semicircle behind her, eyes darting from Pan to her. Petyr was gauging her, eyes sliding up and down, neutral yet with a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Okay, now what?" she asked.
He drew his own long dagger upwards and gripped it with both hands, "You'll want a steady grip at first." She copied his movements, spreading her legs to give herself a wider stance, her eyes focusing on his dagger. Suddenly, it was arching towards her and she flinched, pulling her sword upwards at an angle to try and block it. The blades clashed together and she gritted her teeth against the vibrating pain. Petyr drew back quickly, "Don't stare at the blade, the blade only gives away so much. You must watch everything: the feet, the hands, the eyes. No matter how good a fighter is, they always give something away."
Wendy nodded and tried to focus on Petyr. He lunged again, this time coming straight towards her. She hopped backward and swung her blade down to try and swipe the weapon away.
"Move faster," John yelled.
"Easy for you to say," Wendy muttered.
Petyr took a few steps back and waited for her to adjust. She watched him in anticipation. It was slight, a mere flicker, but she saw his left shoulder tense before he switched the dagger to his left hand and swung at her. She parried awkwardly but managed to deflect it. The lost boys clapped and cheered. Wendy smiled, and that is when Pan came at her one more time. This time he came from above and she blocked it easily, they were face to face now, her arms and sword raised over her head, his dagger pressing down and then his other hand came up to her throat, a smaller dagger brushed the bottom of her chin and she froze.
"Foul!" Pip blurted out, before being hushed by someone–probably Basil.
Petyr's voice was low and dangerous, like the blade hovering near her neck. "Never let your guard down. If you think you've won, then you've lost."
Wendy stared into his eyes, they burned with a cold fire that chilled her and yet his lips were so close that she wanted to brush against them with hers. No! Her mind hissed at her, never that. So instead, Wendy waited for him to lower the small dagger before she brought her knee upwards into his groin. A sharp oof burst from him as he hunched low and began to fall backward, but she hadn't anticipated that he would grab her wrist as he fell. With a sharp tug, she heard a familiar popping sound and pain shot through her forearm. Letting go of her sword, she tumbled forward to land on top of Petyr. Her head struck his chest and she saw stars. Something quickly shoved her sideways and she landed on her back, then a heavyweight bore down on her.
I get what I want...
Her body tensed and she looked up to see Petyr above her, legs and arms on either side of her body. She knew it was him, but the memories washing over her brought the stench of Joe to her nostrils, rippling fear paralyzing her as it had at the small pool.
Petyr was opening his mouth, a sneer forming on his lips when he truly looked at her. Something in her face, her eyes, stopped whatever insult he was about to throw at her. He brought up a hand to gently caress the side of her face. She softened, the tension banished with his light touch. He cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over her bottom lip, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. Petyr began to bend his face toward hers when a loud cough stopped him.
Wendy looked over at the lost boys, realizing that they were still there, and saw them standing at the ready, eyes on some figure at the edge of the clear. Petyr stood slowly and then helped her up, she clutched her throbbing wrist and he was careful not to touch it. Before she could see who the figure was, Petyr stepped in front of her, blocking her from their view.
"What do you want?" He called out harshly.
A snort followed, "I was sent here by Chief Sundance, you are the last person we want to ask for help."
"Help?" John frowned stepping forward, "Help with what?"
Wendy stood on tiptoes to peek over Petyr's shoulder. A tall, broad man with long black hair twisted in a braid; dressed in tan pants and moccasins, bare-chested and covered in paint or tattoos–she wasn't sure which–stood tall and proud against the treeline.
"It's Tigerlily," He said, eyes never leaving Petyr, "She's missing."
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