For once, Peter doesn't argue. He takes a deep breath and holds it, then lets it out when he realizes that's not going to work too well. The view of the ground beneath him isn't too reassuring, but he screws his courage to a sticking-place and flaps as hard as he can. As soon as he lets go with his feet he thinks better of it and really wishes he hadn't, but then it's too late and there's nothing to do but flap hard and hope. He doesn't exactly move through the air with grace or purpose, but he does at least flutter his way to the ground without falling like a stone. He crouches among the blades of grass, panting and feeling a bit proud of himself.