After a quick return trip through the portal, I am proud to state I arrived standing on my own two hooves. Unlike our brusque arrival into Neverland, we simply drifted back up the shaft: the ceiling slid open like a wafting spring cloud, and we settled on the shadowy landing, grouped together before the newel post.

The window overlooking the stairwell resembled a dark panel, not a drop of light shone through. If the moon had risen, some opaque obstruction stymied its glow. This left me both comforted and disconcerted.

When we departed, darkness would hide us from prying eyes but likewise leave us susceptible to any spies on the hunt for Scrivenger’s foes. Our mission required utmost caution.

The others also perceived this. The trip through the portal brought an unmistakable change to our little group. To a bystander, the changes would have been indiscernible, but nonetheless, they endured in the silence of our posture. A current of anxiety surged through us. Even Peter’s unflappable aplomb grew weak.

The brief respite in Neverland brought to light the noxious evil pervading Rockledge. Something tainted the air. A strange muddy orange hue hung in my peripheral view. It stained everything. With each inhalation, my lungs became heavier, as if they couldn’t aerate, as if some unseen force pulled all the oxygen from the air.

Peter swayed and mopped his forehead. “I don’t feel so good.”

“He’s going down!” Duncan cried.

Peter took a great shuddering gasp and fainted. The boy fell into me, and I lifted him in my arms. Tinker Bell tossed fairy dust on everyone and chattered at Sen, who immediately tapped on the newel post. Amid the glow of fairy dust and secret magic, the floor dropped out beneath us and ushered us back to Neverland.