The festivals had taken a toll on Pan. For days, he’d spent his time in the Night Court, enjoying the revelry and taking in the sights. He’d danced with beautiful girls, touched exotic silks, tossed dice with pirates, and eaten so much that he could barely move. Long into the nights, he’d celebrated with the citizens of Novus, sleeping long into the morning so he could reset to begin it all again the next evening. It was a welcome thing, after being locked away on the island for the past many moons. The boy loved the company, the liveliness, and the spirit of the celebration, even if it did wear him out.
He napped in the dappled sunlight, uncaring of who saw him sprawled in an ungainly manner in the grass. His green eyes are closed, his mouth still formed into a smile, and his scaled belly blinks and twinkles in the sunlight, greeting the world. It could be strange, seeing a horse sleeping on its back – but then, Pan had never been conventional. A small otter naps beside him, curled neatly into a ball of warm russet fur. Not far beyond the furry creature is Pan’s satchel, slung carelessly over a rock, heavy with Pan’s treasures (junk by any other name).
The boy made an interesting picture for the stranger to stumble upon, only taking heed of the approaching stallion when his shadow blotted out the sun. With a yawn, Pan blinks up at Michael, slowly making out his form against the halo of sunlight which surrounds him, offering a sleepy boyish grin. What time is it? he asks hazily, yawning as he rolls to his feet, shuffling off the last remnants of sleep as he sluggishly makes his way toward the satchel. Rummaging through it, he draws out an apple pastry, nibbling on the crust while fishing out a second one for his friend. Want some? He offers it with a friendly smile, nothing but naïve trust in his mannerisms.
Such was the way of the lost boy and his trusty otter companion – too foolish for self preservation – too unquestioning. It was good that Michael is the one who approached him, and not one of a more nefarious nature – though even then, Pan would have found the good. He always finds the good.
Did you come from the party? Nevermind that it was morning now, and the celebration wouldn’t begin again until dusk. As far as the boy was concerned, the gathering never really ended. He was eager to take every bit of it, banishing away his loneliness with every stranger he meets.
“A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river but then he’s still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he’s still left with his hands.”
Dawn creeps in, and then out, smoothing the day over the dry grass of the prairie with a slow but deliberate fervor. The sun is bright, a grinning sphere framed by columns of thick, white cloud.
Michael sleeps late, too--rises only as the sun peaks, when his neck aches from the heat and his eyelids feel heavy and dry--but it is not for any good reason. Perhaps this has always been the difference between Pan and Michael, even the Michael-that-used-to-be with his bright smiles and a heart that does not just dump blood into the void: that Pan lifts his head from the grass with the satisfaction of a cat with a bowl of cream, and Michael rolls first to his knees then his feet and feels somehow more tired than when he began.
He wonders if he will ever be anything but tired. He wonders what people do, when they are not creaking old ships and the spears of bleached whale bones, half-buried by sand and seaweed and panicked crabs.
This is how Michael walks from the city to the mountain on an endless loop, praying to gods that don't exist for things he doesn't want--as if he is seconds from giving out altogether, laying down in the long, yellow grass and just closing his eyes until at last the earth burns down to nothing beneath him. When he finds Pan, first just legs visible over the shallow slope of the field, Michael is almost not happy to see him. It seems so much easier, especially today, to just turn and go.
To close his eyes like he wants to.
To take a deep breath and resolve to be a better man on a better day.
But before he can decide, Pan's eyes are open, he's smiling and stretching and blinking the sun out of his eyes and Michael knows, it is too late. Perhaps it is always too late. Perhaps he wants it to be.
"Midday, or something like it." Michael answers. He does not say that the part of him that wants to run is shrinking. He does not say that the sun is so bright and so warm that it glances off she shields of Pan's scales and makes Michael squint. He does not say that there is cool relief filling him, a sort of calmness that he's not accustomed to, the sort of comfort that comes only from being the least interesting man in the room--no responsibility to be anything or anyone of consequence.
He likes it.
It should be his default state, because there is truly no thing less consequential than Michael is, but he has never quite captured it until now.
Did you come from the party? Pan asks as Michael takes the pastry he's offered, turning it over in his grip before taking a bite. (It is sweeter than he expects, but so are most things.) At first Michael wonders what party? Has he truly been so wrapped up in his life that he missed the string lights, the soft flower tea, the drinking, the laughing, the dancing to fiddles and flutes a chorus of song?
(The answer is yes, this is exactly what happened - because Michael has been thinking too much, about Moira, and monsters, and gods with hearts that beat like war drums.)
"There's a party?" he asks, smiling. "So then you've come from it, for sure, right?"
Michael takes another bite of the pastry, chews thoughtfully, and swallows, staring at Pan the whole time. "Did you have fun?"
Pan does not know all that clouds in Michael’s mind. He doesn’t understand the worries that grown-ups had, always thinking of past regrets and second chances. Like a child, Pan lived for each minute of the day, never allowing himself to become stagnant or dwell on lost dreams. Instead, the world was open to the boy and ripe with possibility. With each rise of a new sun came another chance to get things right. With every turn, another adventure lies in wait… and so the boy could never be bored by the hum-drum of life. He would never allow the weight of the world to drag him down.
This is why he would never grow up.
Ironically, he’d been alive far longer than everyone here. Years passed, but the boy remained the same, lost to the world and trapped in the cradle of childhood. Friends had grown older, having children of their own, their children having children too – but Pan had stayed the same. So, when Michael reluctantly joins him, the child-stallion does not notice the subtle hesitation. He simply munches on his apple cake and weaves another story.
I was at the party… but then I got dizzy and tired, so I came out here to take a nap. Matter of fact, but that was Pan. I think it’ll happen again tonight… it’s been happening every night. You should come! He couldn’t get enough of the chaos, thriving in the bright colors and loud music. If he could, the boy would come every night to dance beneath the summer moon and feast upon the festival treats.
Oliver and I always have fun at the party. Did you know that there are horses who breathe fire like dragons, or that the future can be foretold from cards and crystal balls? Of course Michael would know – for he lived in this wonderous place with its entertainers and bards. He would know their names and faces, and even the tricks they played on gullible visitors. Pan didn’t mind though… for the illusion was as much of the appeal as the party itself. He came to be enchanted, even if the fortune telling and baubles were merely a spectacle.
For Pan knew that summer would end, and with it, the caravans would pack up their circus tents and head on to their next destination. The playful breezes would give way to a blustery fall, and then a snow-capped winter. Summer could never last forever – a pity, he decided… for in the summer, the boy felt most alive. What do you think they’re celebrating? he asked, not knowing that Michael was part of the “they”.
