Lukes POV

'Luke' had always thought of herself as very adaptable. Until the day, when she gets picked up by Peter Pan from one of London's grimy streets in the docks and he brought her to Neverland. However, she had admittedly not faced... such things.

In fact, Luke had to deal with some new challenges since she had first set foot on the soft sands of Neverland. 'Reality' and 'impossible' were rapidly becoming very blurry words in this place and often enough in the last few days, 'Luke' the supposed 'boy' had had to wonder if he was really in his right mind. He, that is... SHE, hiding under the dirty layers of scuffed clothes, still wavered remarkably often between realism and enthusiasm for the new world to which the mysterious flying boy named Peter had brought her. Back then, there in the pelting rain among the dark, dirty alleys of the London docks, she had taken the hand of a stranger, but she had no regrets - even if she had no idea at the time what the promise of adventure would bring.

Peter brought her together with her brother - because she had insisted on it - to Neverland to the 'Lost Ones'. A motley bunch of young men and boys of all ages. Luke was not the youngest of the Lost Boys, but far from the oldest either. Since it was better to stay undercover as a young lad - and that was equally true in London as it was here - she had posed as a 15-year-old lad. Just young enough that one could perhaps overlook the lack of beard growth. She was curious and open to everything the lost people told her, and there was often a fascinating play of light in the blue eyes when they told her about mermaids and pirates, natives, and crocodiles. Some were more willing than others to explain the rules to the new boy. Well... There weren't many rules (at least that's how they tried to sell it to her).
Luke understood quite quickly that most of the rules were set, changed, and thrown away by Peter as the leader of the Lost ones saw fit. At least she had grasped the most important three very quickly:

1. Do not play with pirates

2. Believe in fairies

3. Never grow up

However, these were only the three oldest - and rule 3 was still a very special thing. There were other rules as well, but they were not tangible and visible to everyone and had been carved into a particularly meticulously maintained area in the trunk of the Hangman's Tree. Things like the fact that the youngest was at the bottom of the food chain of the lost and had to be content with the tasks that those who had been there longer being happy to do - washing clothes (which rarely happened anyway), washing up bowls and mugs, carrying away and burying hunting waste, occasionally mending torn clothes or the unpopular guard shifts. If you won a fight or a fight over something, you got to keep it - which, admittedly, was especially common among the younger ones, who liked to fight over trifles and settle the matter that way.
The newest members were called 'Pips' and had to work their way up the ranks. It didn't matter how old the boys were that Peter brought over from the other world. And so there were also tests of courage that they had to pass and they explained to her sternly that she would only really belong and have a say once she had done that.

She had been here for a fortnight now. At least... she thought it must have been about that time. A fortnight or so was a time that blurred in Neverland and sometimes felt shorter or sometimes longer. Days were not fixed in hours as she was used to in London and they didn't have summer or winter time here or a repeating cycle of seasons. When she had arrived, swaying in the air more drunkenly than a clumsy fledgling in a storm on its first maiden flight, the sun had beamed warmly down on the bright flakes of puffy clouds from the sky. Her first glimpse of Neverland had taken her breath away with silent rapture.

Waves crashed against ivory-colored beaches that merged into the lush green of a vast jungle and sprawling forests. Imposing but dangerous-looking cliffs rose from the sea, azure at one point but darkly churning at those death traps, like bony fingers reaching for the sky. A great bay dug inland in the embrace of sprawling coastline, while a huge mountain, a colossus of ancient times, stretched skywards at its heart, butting up against a silver crown of clouds that shrouded the top even from the air. Luke could see plains further back, perhaps grasslands, and elsewhere what looked like a harbor, with a lighthouse facing the sea on a lonely little island. Ships anchored in the waters away from the mainland, which far out to sea was shrouded in a thick fog as if to cut off the island in its opaque embrace from anything that might be outside. There, the sun had refracted on the surface of the Neverseas like an infinite mass of iridescent diamonds, kissing the full green and angular grey of the island's rocks.

Most impressive - at least to her - was her new home. Close to the main island but not connected, far enough away so that no bridge or rope could link them, a huge rock formation in the shape of a small island hugged by small clouds floated in the air. Smaller waterfalls flowed like delicate hair of shimmering silk at some points down to the waters of the sea. The roots of the gigantic tree, surrounded by numerous trees that towered many times over everything she had seen, hung down like braided strands of brown and green hair, where they were lost somewhere in the sea as if that was all that could stop the island from floating towards the sky. And that was exactly what their new home was to be. At high tide, the tree's roots reached down into the sea - but when the tide came in and the sea's mirror lowered, another stone platform revealed itself beneath the island, letting itself be warmed by the sun. There, hidden among the sharp rocks and coral of the colorful reef, were secret cave passages- leading up to the main island.

At that time, Luke could not imagine what awaited them there and how complex the whole construct of this world might be. Only one day later, when she crawled out of one of the many openings of the huge main tree in the heart of the camp after the first night... the ground was covered with countless colorful leaves of all shades of red, green, blue, and orange. The wind had picked up, drawing a little chill around her nose and making her shiver in irritation as it had suddenly become autumn from one day to the next. And on this day, the sun seemed to refuse to set for eternity. Perhaps that was another reason, that every lost person could come and go as they saw fit - and there were no bedtimes, as some of the boys proclaimed all the more proudly. No adults created rules or forced you to do something. At some point, she had curled up exhausted in her camp, far from her normal sleeping rhythm, and resigned to Neverland's whims. The weather and the seasons were as changeable as the island and its inhabitants.

Everything followed a pattern that she was not yet capable of understanding-perhaps it was even only those who lingered in this place for such an eternity that they became part of the dream. It was a world of wonder, but just as formless as one. There was so much to discover that at first, she did not even know where to direct her eyes and steps first.

In the camp of the lost, mighty trees rose into the sky until their branches intertwined with each other in the canopy that towered above them. Wooden paths, footbridges, and bridges were between the colossi, providing natural camouflage. Rope lifts, steps or simply climbing paths connected the countless huts in the treetops or even caves within the trunks. The appearance and style of those dwellings were as varied as the boys who lived in them. Some were teardrop-shaped and hung like tears in the treetops, where the wind made them sway slightly. Still, others resembled shelters because they were mostly open on the sides. Some of the boys had their camps giddily high, others preferred tents or dwellings on the solid arch of the forest. But even under the light, tunnels, and paths hid among roots, rocks, and earth. At the heart of the camp were several small fireplaces, tables that looked as if they had been thrown together blindly or plucked from dreams: Sometimes built from stumps or branches, then they looked like driftwood, already partly overgrown with moss or fungus.
Everywhere it was a crude mixture of nature and improvised pieces of furniture, huts, and... numerous lost people of all ages, from boys who were certainly no older than 8 to those in their mid-twenties who had already matured into men. Each went about their daily routines or tasks assigned to them by Peter and the elders. Some sat together and whittled, still others tinkered with the huts, knotted mats or blankets, ate together, went hunting, fought, and rolled around each other. Some looked cleaner, and some were filthy and wore torn clothes and not even shoes. Still others... looked in part as if they had grown up rather with wild animals, for they dressed under skins and leather.
The smell was one thing she noticed immediately... Earth, forest, something tangy, often laced with dirt and sweat. Not many of the lost seemed to think much of regular bathing, so at first, she had to pull herself together not to screw up her face or wrinkle her nose the odd time. Even though she lived on the streets, she washed regularly - just because she dressed like one of the 'rats' of the alleys didn't mean she smelled like one.

Luke usually joined the lost at one of the fires or in the rooms of the sequoia at the heart of the camp. She got on particularly well with Crow- a 'native' of their world, America as he reported, who had long ago belonged to a tribe that had already been wiped out. Already in his mid-twenties, the prodigal had the athletic build of a Native American, with high cheekbones and jet-black hair framing eyes the color of dark ebony. She had also made friends with Curly - the 'healer' of the lost, as the others always proudly repeated, patting the shoulders of the young man with the wild, red-blond curls, who was not one of the warriors of the horde. Curly was built lanky rather than strong or broad-shouldered, but there was an intelligence flashing from his alert green eyes that were beyond the years of his comparatively young body, which might have been estimated in his early twenties. He was usually joined by Slightly, the most humorous of the young men, who never missed a chance to play a joke here or there, however inappropriate it might sometimes be to the situation. But the tall man with blond-brown hair and the slight laugh lines around his eyes always managed to take the tension out of situations.

Her brother Jake also seemed to fit in very quickly and easily. He had quickly clashed with the twins Twigg and Fogg, with whom he got into a nasty fight on the very first day because they were after his little treasure - a knife and heirloom from their father. Luka had stood there as white as a sheet, unable to intervene and held back by Slightly and Crow, while Jake and Fogg rolled across the floor like wild dogs let loose on each other. Twigg had been keen to get involved, but to keep things fair (after all, that was the point of the Lost) Peter had initially stopped him from joining in the fray.

However, after Jake had knocked the other out, Twigg joined in after all and continued the fight for his twin. In the end, none of the three could stand, they all looked badly battered and Luke did not understand where a winner could emerge. However, it seemed that Jake had gained enough respect to keep his knife - and he wasn't going to be challenged again any time soon, after the three bloodied boys even ended up dragging each other arm-over-shoulder, with a wordless pat on the back, into Curly's den.

Since then, Jake had somehow become an integral part of the Lost - at least in terms of fighting, roughhousing, and big mouths. Sometimes Luke couldn't help but roll his eyes with a smirk, but it was all right with her. It soon became clear that Luke didn't have his brother's temperament and fighting skills - and thanks to the new trio, who fitted together like a glove, Luke had been involved in fewer fights than other newcomers might have been. In general, the lanky boy preferred to stay out of fights anyway (for good reason, after all) and generally preferred to stay on the sidelines.

She listened while the boys talked and tried to somehow tell the newcomer all sorts of things about Neverland in a hopeless jumble of information. At first, she smirked in disbelief at most of the stories. They were incoherent, chaotic tales of boisterous children and sometimes child-headed adults.... at least that's what she believed. Adventures with pirates or Native Americans, proud tales of hunting great monsters. Until they spoke of the flesh-eating, treacherous sirens, and the expression of even the young men, who had long since ceased to be 'boys', formed into a mysterious but sinister grin. They told of crocodiles that were supposed to be as big as whole ships - so that they were even a danger to the pirates. They reported that you could hear the crunching of bones when Neverland was particularly quiet at night. They had told of the nefarious pirates. Especially about the worst of the pirates: The gruesome and vile Captain Hook, a living demon of the Neverseas. Vile tales... so vile that Luke could only hope that they were exaggerations by the young men and children, simply describing their worst enemy. But she had quickly understood one thing: Besides all the beauty that Peter Pan promised her here, the 'adventure and fun', Neverland hid dangers whose extent she could not yet grasp. There was much to see and even more to learn in order to survive in this new rhythm. Her feelings these days wavered between high joy, worry, and unhealthy curiosity.