There is a genuine eagerness in the boy, his eyes bright with hope as he flips through the pages of his cherished book.  If you’d asked Pan years ago if he’d become such a voracious reader, the scaled colt might have laughed in your face.  It was Tarquin who had taught him to read – and for all the trouble the fairy was worth, it might have been the one kindness he’d offered to the boy without a sense to know his trickery.  Had Pan known that Tarquin would lead to the downfall of Neverland and all he’d held dear, he might not have revered the barb-tongued male so much… but there was a hero complex for Pan where Tarquin had been concerned.  Like every interaction in his life, he’d gone about his relationship with the fairy with rose-colored blinders on.  Still, the reading had stuck with him even as the memories had faded to dust.

Concentrating on the pages, Pan’s tongue stuck out the side of his mouth.  He was certainly a quirky sort of creature, but Pan didn’t pay any mind to the laughs or raised eyebrows.  Truthfully, he likely didn’t even notice such things.  Completely engrossed in Asterion’s words, he nodded emphatically and turned toward Tinea Swamp.

Once, long ago, he’d explored the murky waters and cat tails with Flora.  They’d found the hedgewitch in the swamp, and she’d offered to train him in the voodoo magicks she practiced.  Now, there was only murky water and the blink of fireflies… but it was still an enticing thought to the boy, and he nodded eagerly as the tome went back into his satchel along with his herbs.  Don’t worry, I’ll come back… and I’ll let you know if I find you plant.

And the boy is off on another of his adventures once more.