SEVEN

“THANK YOU.” Prilla felt so relieved. Mother Dove did love her. Prilla wanted to throw herself into Mother Dove’s fluffy feathers and stay there, safe.

Mother Dove sensed Prilla’s blinks over to the mainland and her blank spots about being a fairy. “You’ve had a hard arrival, haven’t you?”

Prilla nodded, feeling understood for the first time.

Mother Dove cocked her head. She couldn’t see the future in any detail, but she sometimes saw hints. “I’m afraid your hard arrival isn’t over yet. You’ll need your inner resources.”

Prilla nodded again. With Mother Dove looking at her so sympathetically, Prilla felt she had inner resources for anything.

She turned a cartwheel in the air. “I don’t mind.”

Pleased, Mother Dove said, “Would you like to see my egg?”

Beck was surprised. Mother Dove didn’t show her egg to every new arrival.

“May I?”

Mother Dove raised herself on one leg. “I never get off completely.”

Prilla saw a pale blue egg, bigger than an ordinary dove’s egg and smoother than the finest pearl.

“It’s very pretty,” Prilla said politely. She didn’t see anything extraordinary about it.

But it was extraordinary. It was this egg that kept all the animals and Clumsies on the island from growing old. The egg was responsible for the Never in Never Land.

“Thank you.” Mother Dove cooed happily. “Do you know, Beck, I think Prilla is hungry.” Mother Dove loved it when a new fairy was hungry. “Is anything left of the nutmeg pie?”

Beck opened her picnic basket and cut a slice of pie. She lifted the slice onto a plate and placed the plate on the nest in front of Mother Dove.

Mother Dove pecked off a fairy-size bite and held it out in her beak.

Prilla took it. Ah. It was as good as Dulcie’s roll.

Mother Dove pecked off another bite, and Prilla took it. Of course Beck could have given Prilla a fork, and Prilla could have eaten on her own. But this was better. The nutmeg pie was sweet. Mother Dove’s love was sweeter.

Bite by bite, Mother Dove fed Prilla the rest of the pie.

Tink closed her eyes, remembering Mother Dove’s first words to her. Oh, my, Mother Dove had said. You’re Tinker Bell, sound and fine as a bell. Shiny and jaunty as a new pot. Brave enough for anything, the most courageous fairy to come in a long year. Then Mother Dove had fed her. Tink had known, and still knew, that Mother Dove loved her, from her toes to her ponytail.

Finally, the last crumb of pie was gone. Prilla reeled back, dizzy with fullness and feeling.

Tink came out of her reverie. “Mother Dove, do you know what Prilla’s talent is? She doesn’t.” Tink paused, feeling uncomfortable, then blurted out, “Is she incomplete?”

Prilla was astounded. Tink thought her incomplete?

“There’s nothing wrong with being incomplete,” Mother Dove said, a hint of sharpness in her tone.

“Am I incomplete?” Prilla asked, scared.

“Prilla is complete.”

Prilla thought, What’s my talent? Say it, Mother Dove. Say it.

Mother Dove cocked her head again. She became aware of something new about Prilla, something that had never before been in Never Land. “You have a talent, dear, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Will I find it?”

Mother Dove smiled. “I believe you will.”

Believe? Prilla thought. She just believes? What if she’s wrong?

“Could Prilla be an animal talent?” Beck said. “We need help with the chipmunks.” She turned to Prilla. “Do you like chipmunks? They’re big and sometimes dangerous, but they’re honorable.”

Prilla nodded. She didn’t know if she liked chipmunks, but she was desperate for a talent. And if she were an animal-talent fairy, perhaps she could be Mother Dove’s companion when Beck was busy.

“She isn’t an animal talent, Beck,” Mother Dove said. “She doesn’t knock on the door of my thoughts, as a beginner would, or slip right in, as you do.”

Prilla tried to knock on Mother Dove’s thoughts. But nothing happened.

“Each talent is glorious, Prilla,” Mother Dove said. “When you find yours, you’ll be part of its glory. Would you like to see what Beck can do?”

“Yes, please.” Prilla was curious, although she expected to be awfully jealous.

Tink burst out, “I have a ladle to fix!” She hadn’t wasted this much time since her days with Peter.

Mother Dove nodded agreeably. “Yes, dear.”

Tink knew what that meant. It meant, Hush, Tink. It meant, Your ladle can wait.

Beck shook a grain or two of fairy dust on a swarm of midges flying below the nest. She beckoned, and a midge flew to her.

Beck held out her finger, and the midge landed on it.

Prilla shrank back. Ugh!

Beck said, “Midges love this. Watch. Bump. Ump.” At bump the midge flew straight up. On ump it came down to Beck’s finger. “Bump, ump.” Up, down. “Bump ump, bump ump.” Up, down, up down. Beck spoke faster. The midge upped and downed faster.

Prilla found herself nodding in time with the midge. Tink kept thinking about her ladle. Mother Dove noticed the wind again. She’d been noticing it on and off all day.

Beck spoke faster and faster. The midge became a frenzied blur. Beck’s words began to run together, and the midge stopped.

“Thank you,” Beck said, laughing. She flicked her finger at Prilla.

The midge flew to Prilla and landed on her nose. A midge on a fairy was as big as a bee on a Clumsy. Prilla stiffened. She crossed her eyes, trying to watch it, wishing it would go away but afraid to brush it off. It climbed up her nose and then back down, exploring with its antennae.

“Thank you,” Beck said again. “We’re finished.”

The midge flew away. Prilla relaxed, and realized she wasn’t jealous of Beck. Not a smidgen. She smiled inwardly. Not a s-midge-n.

“Now you can go to your ladle, Tink,” Mother Dove said. “Show Prilla your workshop.”

“Do you want to see it?” Tink would have liked to be rid of Prilla—except for the chance she might be a pots-and-pans fairy.

Prilla nodded, although she would rather have stayed with Mother Dove.

“Prilla could be a tinker,” Mother Dove said. “It’s possible.”

Tink’s wingtips quivered. “Come, Prilla.”

The wind was worse on the way back to the Home Tree. When they got there, Tink flew to the second story and pulled open a door under a steel awning.

“This is it.” She always felt shy when someone saw the workshop for the first time.

But Prilla wasn’t seeing it. She was in a mainland toy store, lying on a railroad track. Yeow! A locomotive was streaking toward her, smoke billowing. She flew straight up and then raced the train, laughing as she flew.

“Look!” a Clumsy girl yelled. “A little fairy!”

Prilla turned and flew backward, waving at the girl, half concealed by smoke.

“Watch out!” Tink yelled.