The boy planted his hands on his hips and a broad smile lit his face. "My name's Peter. Can I play too?

Enough talk," Peter said, and his eyes flashed. "It's time to turn you three into killers.

Peter stood, cleared his throat, and began to hum softly, then sing, slowly building up the song as his voice cleared. He found the old tune, the song of the Sunbird. And as he sung, as his rich voice echoed off the tall cliffs, the birds and the faeries lent him their voice and soon the tune drifted throughtout the garden.

But Peter had seen too much, knew too well that men-kind didn't need an excuse to be cruel and murder one another.

Men-kind shared this world for but a blink, then, sadly, they became enlightened, found science and religion. The new world of men left little room for magic or the magical creatures of old. Earth’s first children were driven into the shadows by flame and cold iron, by man’s insatiable need of conquest.

That's the spirit, one part brave, three parts fool.

Peter's face clouded. "Everything comes at a price. Or have you not learned that yet?