After dinner it is story time and I am keen to hear one tale more than all the others.

"This is Winema." Tiger Lily introduces the tribe elder.

A frail looking woman, her face wrinkled like leather, gathers her robes and walks to the center post. She stands next to the totem in silence. All around the campsite, the Indians and visitors alike are rapt with attention.

I am no exception.

"Neverland has many secrets of its own. Some are shared and some are unknown." Winema's shrewd tone demands respect.

Maybe it's her sage voice or frail and wizened manner, but I find myself already clinging to her every word.

"This particular secret begins with my own story. I have left and returned to this island many times. Sometimes on purpose and other times accidentally. But always when it was meant to be.

"I was a child my first time visiting Neverland. It is an age-old tale recounted by many. A spritely boy had visited in the night and whisked me away from my home. After many adventures I returned home and many moons passed. Now I was 11, arriving on the island with other children my age. Peter Pan was playful and adventurous and I didn't notice he had changed.

"I spent many moons here my second visit, but still I returned home. Upon my third homecoming, I must have been 16. I saw Peter Pan as a young man, still captivating and alluring, but most certainly not the same spritely boy I had last left on Neverland."

Winema pauses for dramatic effect. Her words –her story –are so like mine. Could Pan have aged with her as well? My heart beats loudly in my chest and I wonder if Salt can hear it. Salt's chest rises and falls in my peripheral sight. I concentrate on his deep breaths to calm myself. Winema continues.

"Still I returned home. And this time years of moons passed until I woke one morning to find myself back on the shores of this Indian Camp, summoned by the island, having visited and left too many times.

"I was older now and wrinkled with age and sure I would never see the famous Peter Pan again. Then he came to me. And I saw his boyish grin and round cheeks, but they were changed. His wrinkles mirrored mine and his hair had whitened with age." Winema closes her eyes as if losing herself to a fond memory.

Salt and I lock eyes. A breeze carries sea mist up the cliffs and into the chilly camp. Big Sky throws several more logs into the blazing fire and sparks light up the dark coast. All eyes revert back to Winema

"The spirit of Peter Pan reflects the age you project onto him. To a seven year-old he is a playful companion, to a 13 year-old he is a daring teen, and to a 17 year old, Peter Pan seems a young man. Whatever your age, Peter Pan exudes a magnetic charisma; he is spirited and bold and brave."

Most of the Indians seem unperturbed by this news. Even Salt shows no outward signs of the crushing disbelief I now feel boiling in my core.

Peter Pan ages after all, but how can he? How can he age alongside everyone that's ever visited this island?

Winema's eyes are closed, her face still. I will her to explain more and after a moment, she does.

"Many have guessed about our fabled island what so few know to be true: Neverland sprang into being, born out of necessity for dreamers –for those seeking wild adventures of hope and possibility."

I focus on Winema, careful not to miss a single word.

"But who should visit this island and how should they arrive in their dreams?" Winema asks, rhetorically I am sure. "After some time, the island manifested itself a spirit. This spirit, drawn to belief and desire, would seek out young children and bring them home to Neverland."

The island manifested a spirit.

Understanding pries itself into my heart. It's how he's a million different ages –how he's old and young and grows alongside each individual –how he's so inviting to everyone at once. Peter Pan is Neverland –its spirit anyway.

"The island would have been content with its youthful guests visiting in their dreams. It was enough for Neverland to continue on, feeding off the sheer belief. To Peter Pan, visits in sleep were not enough and soon the spirit took on a force of its own. It now leaves the island in search of hopeful souls. Pan brings them back, tethering their souls to his –ensuring they remain on the island forever."

So Peter Pan is stealing souls. Or merging them into his own soul so he grows stronger. I feel an unmatched revulsion. Pan makes Hook seem cordial.

Winema stands, but I step forward. I don't care about hearing any other stories tonight. I need answers.

"Can Pan be killed? Can we destroy his spirit?" I'm surprised to hear my own voice –surprised to find I asked this out loud.

"Your fire is strong, child." Winema peers upon me, questioning.

"Er –right," I mutter. "So can he? How do we rid the island of Pan?"

"Alas, Peter Pan cannot be destroyed. It would mean the end of Neverland." Winema closes her eyes. The white curtains framing her face flutter in the breeze. "But he can be stopped, his spirit contained."

Tethered. Like how he merges the Lost Boys' souls into his own.

"How?" I breathe.

"You will not find the answer here at Camp Black Cliff. It is knowledge beyond me, beyond us," Winema says, indicating the entire Indian camp. "But the heart of the island, where its spirit was born, may hold the answer you seek."

"Heart of the island?" Salt asks for me. "That would be where, exactly?"

I wonder if Salt is thinking the same thing I am –praying we don't have to make another visit to Time Trap Forest.

"The answer is with the faeries," Winema says.

The faeries. Of course.

Tinker Bell!

"The faeries, will they help us stop Pan?" I plea.

"The faeries have long despised Pan's plot. His dark magic betrays everything they stand for. I believe the faeries would be sympathetic to your cause." Winema nods.

The ember of hope smolders again.

"Big Sky," Winema calls.

The tall man that greeted us with Tiger Lily answers Winema's summons. His broad shoulders dwarf Salt's as he stands between us.

"Big Sky will lead you to the entrance of Golden Grove," Winema says.

"We can leave at first light," Big Sky says, agreeing.

"I will accompany you," Tiger Lily announces.

I am surprised, considering her history with Pan. We lock eyes and I watch her cheeks flush pink. She must sense my cynicism.

"I once cared for Peter. Make no mistake that is my past. He has disgraced the island and all of us who call it home." Tiger Lily declares, impassioned.

"Thank you," I smile.

"We will take all the help we can get," Salt says for me.

Tiger Lily guides us to our separate tents and I find myself crestfallen as I watch Salt disappear across the sprawling campground. Still, I'm thankful to be sleeping somewhere that's not a beachy grotto or a forest floor.

But I did not hate the coziness of his captain's quarters.