Wendy heard the sound again, and without thinking, she let go of the branch and dropped feet first into the vertical reeds. It was time for answers. The soft reeds broke her fall, though her body pushed through them easily. She heard a crackling sound, and then there was nothing but air and . . . Wendy was submerged. Water rose up over her head. She felt her feet bounce off a shallow bottom, and she pushed up, kicking and pulling for the surface, which wasn’t far. Sputtering, she emerged, fresh water running over her face. Her dress was a cloud of blue sky around her. With water dripping from her hair and hands, she waded out of the shallow pond, pushing her hair out of her face, scolding herself for being so impulsive.
Above her, reeds silently closed around the body-shaped hole she had left. Wendy looked around her. She was in the middle of a shallow pond, maybe only twenty feet across. The water was perfectly clear—she could see her toenails under the water, being surrounded by curious tiny black fish flecked with silver. She looked up, noting that in fact, everything around her was flecked with silver—the branches, the reeds, the grasses that grew out of the pond, the base of the pond. Wading through the water, Wendy came up to a narrow sandbar made entirely of silver flakes. She moved slowly, her hand outstretched, for Tink was curled upon it, staring silently at Wendy, tears filled with stars leaking out of her eyes and down her cheeks. Her ratty brown shroud was wrapped tightly around her, and her eyes were still as she watched Wendy slowly move toward her.
“Tink?” Wendy tried to keep her voice as low as possible. “Tink, are you quite all right?”
“Are you?” the fairy asked, her head buried in her knees. Then she sniffed.
Moving slowly, like she was approaching a rabid dog, Wendy climbed out of the pond to sit beside the fairy. The silver flakes of the shore crinkled when she touched them, breaking apart like wafers in tea.
Tink hesitated for a moment before turning her face away with a sob. “Go away, you silly girl!”
Wendy didn’t move—instead, ever so slowly and ever so gently, she brushed a piece of Tink’s impossibly golden hair back to look at her face. Tink’s skin was white-hot to the touch, and underneath its porcelain exterior, Wendy could see the glowing tendrils of flight, tracing off her pores like wisps of fog. When Tink finally turned her face to the light, Wendy let out a cry. Her left eye had a deep swollen bruise underneath it, the size of a quail’s egg. Purple and yellow bruising stretched out from the mark, marred by a deep cut that ran from the side of her nose down to the curl of her lip. On the other side of her perfectly sharp face, an angry red cut protruded from the side of her forehead. Dried blood and sparkling silver dust mingled together.
Wendy felt tears of empathy fill her eyes. “He did this to you. Peter.”
Tink turned her head. “I deserved it. I tried to poison you.”
Wendy uttered a sob. “Yes, you did. But no one deserves this. Not ever.” She reached down and tore a huge strip of fabric off her dress, then walked over to dip it into the edge of the pond, wringing it out the way she had seen her mother do a dozen times for the boys’ endless injuries. As she walked back toward Tink, the fairy flinched. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” said Wendy softly.
Settling beside the girl, Wendy carefully reached out and began wrapping the cool bandage around Tink’s head. She winced and whimpered. “It hurts.”
“I know, I know.” Humming a gentle Christmas tune, she began carefully tending to each of Tink’s wounds: wrapping the bruises in the cool cloth, splinting the arm that Peter had wrenched, wrapping the legs that had been kicked again and again. When Wendy finally raised her head to wipe the sweat off her face, she saw that Tink was staring at her with tears running down her pale cheeks, tears filled with bursting stars.
“Why are you doing this?” She let out a strangled sob. “I tried to poison you! I kicked you off the walkway!” She took a deep, labored breath. “I hate you!”
Wendy shook her head. “It’s not me that you hate.”
Tink scoffed and then winced at the effort. “I love Peter. More than anything. He is the moon and the stars and everything in between.”
Wendy blinked. “I believe that you think you love him. But love and fear aren’t the same thing.”
Tink sneered as Wendy smeared some mud on a bruise. “He doesn’t love you, you know. He only thinks he does. Because you’re his shiny new toy.”
Wendy remembered falling. “Then Peter has a strange way of treating his toys.” She gently touched the bruises on Tink’s shoulder. The fairy shuddered, her shrouded wings giving a shake of dust.
“I messed everything up. He did this because I tried to poison you. It was me. Stupid, stupid Tink!” Tink reached out and struck herself hard before Wendy grabbed her hand.
“Stop that! Right now! Peter does not have a right to hurt you, do you understand? Ever.”
Tink dropped her eyes. “You don’t understand anything.”
Wendy let out a sigh. “I’m tired of being told that. Tell me. What do I need to understand?”