Pan watches the artist at work, his eyes following each line of the brush as it dips in the earthen paint and then returns to the rosy canvas of Euryale.  There is noise thrumming outside of the tent, but it goes unnoticed as all focus turns toward the painter.  Before his eyes, the boy sees a rose bloom, and his smile widens at the sight of it.  Oh, to be such an artist, to be able to replicate the beauty in the world on canvas… but Pan could no more draw a straight line than he could paint a rose.  All the more respect he had for the traveling entertainer and her troupe.

He preens when she mentions his compass, and as he turns, the light catches it just so and it seems to sparkle – if only for a moment.  And now, it was Pan’s turn.  Her question lingers in his mind – what would he get… but then, inspiration strikes.  He shimmies a shoulder forward, sending his faded leather satchel swinging down low against his chest.  Rummaging through it, he pulls out a piece of tattered kelp, unwrapping it ever so carefully to reveal Orien’s shell.  It was a thing of beauty, all pale pink and twisting peaks.  Gingerly, he motions to it as the painter settles down to work, the first spiraled edges coming to life against his neck.

I found it he explains, on the beach.  No further explanation is given for the strange and ethereal looking item – and though it once surged with an old and strange sort of magic, now, it simply seems to sparkle in the light.  It was the boy’s prized possession.

The ink was cold against his skin, and Pan shivers for a moment as he watches the artist work, holding still for what seemed like forever.   And done!  He grins at the painter, sliding a rusted coin across the table as he carefully folds the shell back away, turning back toward his new friend with an eager light in his eyes.  The festival brought out the joy in Pan, much like other fanciful things in the world – but it was the liveliness of his company as he’d traversed the various locales which truly pleased him.  Did you see the sea witch?  His voice is a hushed whisper as he peeks around Euryale toward the shambled tent with the wide toothed sorceress.  You don’t think… he gulped, his child eyes wide with wonder you don’t think she really stitches with magic, do you?  But then, Pan had seen stranger things in his life… if only he could remember.

Candlelight falls over them as the moon rises higher into the night sky.  All around them is the liveliness of the festival, people shouting as they offer their wares, musicians playing their tunes.  As they step through the tent flap, the sound assaults his ears, and Pan loves it.  His grin is wide even as Euryale expresses her knowledge on witches.  Pan had never really seen a sea witch.  He’d encountered pirates, and mermaids… but witches were another type of lore entirely.  The boy was intrigued.  As he falls into step beside the pink mare, his gaze flickers back to the toothy sorceress, and his eyes are wide with curiosity.

He nods at her suggestion that they should walk, choosing the side closer to the water.  Though his memories were still hazy, there were pieces which were coming back to him now… and one of those pieces blinked before his eyes as they walked.  I came from the sea.  It is an interesting choice of phrase, allowing Euryale to interpret if in fact the waves had washed himself ashore or if he’d simply lived near the ocean.  Either could be the case, he supposed… for little is known of Pan’s origins.  In many ways, he’d simply appeared in Neverland one day.

It soothes me… being close to the water.  There was just something about the way moonlight shone from the still lake surface, warm and inviting against the cool blue water.  The further they move from the festival grounds, the more that the night court fauna comes to life.  Crickets chirp, fireflies blink, and deep in the distance there is a lone wolf howling to the solstice moon.  There is a peacefulness to their company, and the boy is quiet for a rare moment, listening to the wash of water against the river rock.

Where are you from? he asks rather suddenly, his seafoam green eyes turning toward her with a curiosity and warmth.  I don’t have a home… is yours nice?

I am not of this world.  It is a sentiment that leaves an eerie sort of mystical aire about Euryale, and Pan nods in understanding.  He wants to know more, certainly… but there is something in her tone that keeps him from questioning her.  Perhaps she was some fallen goddess – he liked to think of her that way, tossing a sidelong glance at the way the moonlight met her rose hued coat.  He could certainly see it without having to imagine too hard, because there is something otherworldly about his companion, indeed.  And so the boy simply continues to walk along the wooden deck that rimmed the lake, content to be in her company.

I suppose I had a mother once, and a father too… everyone would… but I don’t remember.  He stops his walking, a puzzled look crossing his face as if the boy was trying so hard to capture a fleeting memory.  There is a quiet sort of smile on his lips, the one which occurs whenever he thinks of happy things.  I’d think she would be lovely, all cream colored with the sea in her hair.  She smells like honeysuckle, and sings like an angel.  Of course, it would be impossible for the boy to know, but he liked to think of her in such ways.  In his dreams, he thought he’d met his mother.

Perhaps my father was a pirate he added.  But I wouldn’t know… it’s just been me for a long time.  Well, me… and Oliver.  As if illustrating his point, the otter which had been until now napping in his satchel quivered and stretched, peeking his curious eyes out from within the well-loved bag to stare at the mare with a quiet chirrup.  It is strange that the creature had been unnoticed to this point, but Oliver always had been a lazy sort of otter… and he napped after his overindulgence on rich festival foods (just as Pan would later).

This is my home now, the boy decided with a resolute tone, as if trying to convince himself.  Not by the lake, exactly… but Novus.  I have a cave, but not a court.  Odd, but not overly unusual anymore, as more and more vagabonds made their way to the wilds.  You should come - find me there, and I'll show you! he offers easily, watching her with friendly and innocent eyes, not wanting their new friendship to end with the sunrise. I have to go... but I hope you'll come. And with that, the boy is lost once more.