The little girl inside Wendy was crying hopelessly. She looked to Peter, his teeth, white, little pearls, exactly the same as the last time they'd met, many years ago. His teeth were not visible because he was grinning delightfully, but because he was softly growling at her.
The little girl inside Wendy reached out to stroke his cheek comfortingly but he flinched away from her grown-up hand. Her lips quivered slightly, trying to hold in her tears but her child-self had already let go and was crying uncontrollably.
Fear had overcome her.
The fear wasn't because of the way a growl continued to rumble deep in Peter's throat, or the fact that his hand faithfully and silently clutched at his dagger.
The fear came from his fear.
Never, not in all the hundreds of adventures they shared together had even a drop of fear been seen in Peter's eyes, and now, here it was, throbbing in his features, glistening in his eyes by the light of the fireplace.
Love pinched at Wendy's stomach uncomfortably.