Safe on the ground and with the morning sun finally lighting the world, I take my first real look at him. He certainly doesn’t seem like any Peter Pan I’ve ever seen. He’s no child, for one. He’s taller than the Captain, but he looks about the same age—Pan, too, is maybe a couple of years older than I am. Though the barest hint of light stubble lines his jaw, his face is missing the worn, exhausted quality I now realize was the Captain’s defining feature. His white-blond hair stands on end in an artful disarray that gives the impression he’s constantly in flight, like the wind itself can’t
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