Lost Boy

And there was so much to do, for the two of them. The Boy showed Andrew how to use the spear to fish, and to hunt rabbits and squirrels and, eventually, lions. They watched some nights, in secret and shelter, as pirate ships went down the river; ran and danced and sang in moonlight; scared off bears and coyotes with flaming torches.

The Boy told Andrew everything he knew about The Woods, and Andrew drank it all in. He started to suspect, over time, that there was more to the world than even the Boy understood, and he sometimes watched alone as slender and graceful rocketships rose into the night sky, as sunsets tinted their fuselages rose and red and imperial violet; or on other nights, as robots deuled with cannons from the decks of ironclad dirigibles.

"Peter," Andrew said. "I think I'll call you Peter. Like Peter Pan."

The Boy's face darkened. "Damn it," he whispered. He lunged across the fire to Andrew, kicking and scattering burning logs. He grabbed Andrew's shirtfront and shoved him against the cave wall. "Take it back! Why do you have to ruin everything?" he asked. "Why do you have to name everything? Decide what's real and what's -- why can't you just enjoy things? What's wrong with you? .... "