Twilight.

The Marooner continues heading south with the island on our left. I lean against the door to the captain's cabin and admire Salt at the helm. Footsteps break out below and Skip and Trap climb the stairs to the quarterdeck, their colorful faces anxious.

"We have news," Skip says.

What news could they have gotten on a pirate ship at sea?

"Share," Salt suggests. He speaks it pleasantly enough but I can sense the commanding authority in his voice. He is the captain of this ship.

"Hook's fleet is headed north. At this rate we will intersect before we can dodge," Skip confirms.

"Damn," Salt exhales, cursing. His eyes find mine before turning back to his men. "You're sure of this?"

"Aye," Trap nods. "Patch climbed to the nest to confirm. You can see the sails over Peg Leg Point."

"Shall we switch, course?" Skip asks, eager for a command to follow.

Salt ponders this. He turns to the south –his eyes glued to the horizon. I scan the seas myself and can just see the indistinct outline of the pirate peninsula. Glowing dots spring into life as lamps are lit upon the ships –too many orange stars to count.

"We'll stay on course. Sail right for them," Salt says, headstrong.

"Straight ahead?" Skip's excitement is boundless.

"Aye," Salt nods. He looks at me with wide eyes and I furrow my brow, waiting. "How do you feel about jumping?"

I roll my eyes at Salt's grin, thinking about the last time we jumped from a ship together. The riot at Cannonball Cove already feels like it happened in another lifetime.

"I feel good." I nod too hard, more to convince myself than Salt.

"Skip, bring up the port side close to shore. Close as you can get. Darling and I will jump." Salt instructs.

Trap takes over the helm as Salt pulls me over to the ship's edge. I rest my hand on top of the seahorse figurehead. The sturdy planks creak beneath us as Trap turns into the wind. The hull smacks into the waves –up and down, up and down. Each crashing blow makes me more resolved to jump from the deck.

Wave.

"On three," Salt shouts beside me. The wind howls fiercely between us, so I nod.

"One."

I place both palms on the ledge.

"Two."

Wave.

I lift my boot to boost myself up. Salt grips the rail beside me.

"Three!"

I'm two seconds behind salt as once again, we plunge together into an unknown depth.

///

The solid ground feels welcome beneath my sea-legs.

I half swim and half crawl ashore. Salt is ahead of me –so accustomed to cutting through waves at a record pace. He pulls me upright and over to the edge of the beach.

"Where are we?" I pant, doubled-over. I do not recognize this side of the island.

"Midway Beach," Salt answers.

"And that's where exactly?" I ask.

"Midway between the north side of the island and the southern tip. Cannonball Cove." Salt shakes out his hair. He starts wringing out his tunic next and I do the same. He looks different without all his effects. No sword or hat or pistol.

"At least we're alive," I hiss under my breath.

"At least we're about as far away from Skull Rock as this place allows." Salt cocks his head.

"At least it's warm again," I sigh. Salt laughs.

Our calm is short-lived. The leaves on an untidy bush rustle as a dark figure steps onto the beach.

Even in the growing darkness I can see the definite outline of a bow in hand. He is a giant of a man –broad and muscular and tall. He must be close to 7 feet! Nothing like the last Archer I crossed.

The man steps towards us and I gasp as he comes into clear view.

My eyes fall to his shirtless body where I can see every detail of his musculature! He has muscles I didn't know existed. A brown hide is tied around his waist in a sort of skirt. Dark red tattoos crawl up his torso and onto his neck, disappearing into his thick black hair.

"Name yourself," Salt commands.

"Big Sky," he answers. His bare feet make no noise as he crosses the beach.

"We are–" I begin, panic rising. I've never been this close to an Indian before.

"I know who you are," he answers, monotone.

"You –You do?" I frown.

Salt shuffles his weight, uneasy beside me. I can see why –Big Sky dwarfs him!

"Of course. But you are the one who's escaped," he says, accusatory.

"Escaped?" I peep.

"Skull Rock. Pan has spread word across the island. He is looking for you."

Salt and I stare, mouths agape, at this curious Indian stranger. Has Pan really put a bounty on my head? How will we hide?

"Fear not. Our chief saw your ship sail south. I have come to collect you," Big Sky declares. He puffs out his chest with honor.

"Big Sky?" A faint whisper flows from the other side of the bush.

I look up to find a petite and strikingly beautiful woman sauntering down the beach.

Tiger Lily.

"Ah, you found them!" She exclaims, happy. "But what's the delay?"

"They are frightened," Big Sky shrugs.

"Are not," Salt insists.

Tiger Lily stops at my side and beams at the two of us. "Welcome to Midway."

I measure her –for the last time our paths crossed she was on Pan's side. You could even say she was the object of his affection. Now she seems proud and kind, smaller than I remember. Then again, I was 12 last time. At 17 I am a head taller than her.

"Come. We offer shelter," Tiger Lily says, eyes bright.

Salt shrugs and I nod in response. We have no other option. The entire beach belongs to the Indian Territory. I suppose it's better to be with them than against them.

"This way."

Big Sky leads our party across the flat earth.

The beach ends at the wooded edge. It is warm and sticky in the forest and the smell of bonfire is so strong I taste it. I fall in step with Tiger Lily, her narrow frame much less intimidating than Big Sky's.

"You have grown," Tiger Lily says, her cheeks flushing pink.

"You remember me?" I gasp.

"Wendy girl." She smiles, nodding. I cannot quite return it.

"It's Darling now," I correct her. My old name still stings. "And I have aged."

"It's been a long time," Tiger Lily says quietly. "A lot has changed."

Her chocolaty eyes hover on mine for a second. I search for the meaning behind her words. What did she mean a lot has changed? Perhaps she no longer believes in Pan. She is helping aid his fugitives after all.

"Keep up!" Tiger Lily shouts over her shoulder.

I didn't even notice I had stopped walking.

The two Indians move swiftly over the terrain and in no time at all we emerge through the trees at the base of Indian Trail. My eyes follow the sloping pathway upward to the silhouette of Camp Black Cliff.

Set atop a flattened circular cliff, the infamous Indian campground is easily distinguishable against at the dark sky. Its many pointed teepees are clustered together, nestled between the tree grove. Steely smoke rises from the peaks, promising life and warmth and then dissipating into the night.

"Welcome to Camp Black Cliff." Big Sky's low deep voice is soothing now that I'm unafraid of capture.

We climb and I prepare myself to face the Piccaninny tribe for the first time in 6 years.

The atmosphere enveloping the cliff-top campground is stark in comparison to that of Star Point. It's hard to believe both belong to the same island. Camp Black Cliff's ambiance is welcoming and warm and nothing like I remember.

Big Sky leaves us at the smokehouse. We pass the watering hole on our way to the largest of the canvas tents. Six horses are tied to the post out front, their tails swaying back and forth. Tiger Lily stops in her tracks.

"You may wash up inside." She motions for us to enter. "There is much to share. We will feast at the fire at midnight."

"Thank you," I smile. I'm still thinking about her earlier assertion. A lot has changed.

///

We spend an hour scrubbing grimy soil from our shirts, digging sand from beneath our nails, and doing our best to wash the salt from our hair. The steaming barrel of hot water feels like a heavenly cloud to my sore body. Salt and I rejoin the others outside –along with what seems to be most of the tribe. At least 100 curious tan faces stare at us as we walk across the campground to the center fire pit. Most walk up to us, a few peer from gaps in their teepees, but very few look away.

"Here."

Tiger Lily ushers us to a log bench beside the campfire. I take a seat next to Salt, thankful for the warmth returning to my toes.

The aroma of smoked meat and barbeque permeates the sweet air. My mouth salivates at the sight of the feast and my stomach lurches. Every new smell is more delicious than the last.

Drums signify the arrival of the chief. He is just as I remember. Only his headdress has changed.

"We have much news to share with our visitors," the chief announces. Heads twist towards us from all directions. "But first, first we eat."