Don't let them win. Don't let them beat you. Don't let them steal your magic.

Your dreams are your spirit, your soul, and without them you are dead.

There's a reason why we're born with brains in our heads, not rocks.

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

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.

Peter," she whispered and reached out, touching his cheek. "My little Peterbird? You flew back to me.

Peter glanced up at the stars and a wicked smile lit his face. "Time to play," he whispered to the stars and winked. And the stars winked back, for Peter's smile is a most contagious thing.