Lawnol A Mì Te’lan

The fact that there’s supposed to be a six year time jump either between Fire and Ash and the fourth movie or during the fourth movie does not bode well for Quaritch’s “death” during the final battle of Fire and Ash. There’s no confirmed visual on whether or not Quaritch actually died even though it would seem so because he did in fact jump into a pillar of fire from a very great height. But there’s also no confirmation that Varang abandoned the battlefield immediately after being attacked by Kiri. There’s the possibility that she and her nightwraith were still around to catch Quaritch as he was falling. I don’t think that’s a likely thing, but it isn’t completely out of the question. What I’m more worried about, especially given the six to eight year range that has been floating around as the possible amount of time elapsed is that six years is a very specific timeframe.

In the first Avatar it’s stated that it takes more or less six years to get from Earth to Pandora. When Jake makes a comment about how big the avatars have gotten since he presumably last saw them on Earth before embarking on the six-year voyage it’s explained that the avatar bodies fully develop on the trip from Earth to Pandora. So, presumably, it takes six or so years to fully grow an avatar to the state of relative adulthood that all avatars are when they’re decanted.

In The Way of Water, it’s revealed that Quaritch and his squad were turned into Recombinants. As an aside, I do believe it’s mentioned somewhere in the lore of the creation of avatars that sometimes a person’s genetics simply aren’t compatible with the Na’vi DNA needed to create a viable avatar body, so I can imagine that the squad that was seen in Way of Water might’ve just been whoever was compatible with the science needed to make an avatar hence why Recoms like Zdinarsik have no notable human equivalent in the first Avatar while Wainfleet does. It was likely that they recruited a large pool of people under Quaritch to have their memories preserved in a Soul Drive so there’d be room for failed attempts. But the fact that Soul Drives exists technically means that they can keep printing Recombinants infinitely with enough time to grow their new bodies.

It’s ironic, and likely an intentional parallel from James Cameron, that these Soul Drives that save the memories and personality of RDA soldiers are like a version of making tsaheylu with the Tree of Souls or any other direct connection with Eywa. Quaritch makes a comment during his video log for his Recom body about how he’ll remember everything up until but not including his death which is how the memories saved within the spirit world are said to function. They can only retain information up to the last time tsaheylu was made. Which brings up the issue of if Quaritch is resurrected in a second Recom body, he won’t have any memory of anything that happened during or after the assault on the Tree of Souls. He’ll be the same as he was when he first woke up in The Way of Water.

No memories of the Three Brothers battle, or the battle at the Cove of the Ancestors. No memories of Spider, or Varang. Any information he learned, anything that might’ve shifted his personality or mindset will be completely wiped away.

Considering the new dynamics Quaritch found himself in during Fire and Ash:

Wainfleet being his only surviving squad member and seemingly beginning to question the decision his commanding officer was making.

Finding a sliver of common ground with Jake, his sworn enemy, in regards to their “shared” son.

His bond with Varang that definitely seems like a mating bond regardless of if they ever made tsaheylu with that intention (unlikely considering Varang’s hatred for Eywa and general Na’vi traditions and beliefs, and her general weaponising of tsaheylu as a means of control.)

Most conversations he had with Jake, but, most importantly, that final conversation they had while Jake was in containment in regards to Quaritch living his new life based on the life of a man that died fifteen years ago. Dead man’s memories and all.

A new Recom Quaritch would be born into a world that already has expectations of him that have shifted from the last time he was resurrected. There’ll be no new video to bring him up to speed. It’ll be information that was fifteen years old the first time he heard it, now closer to twenty or so years old. And the world won’t have stopped because he wasn’t in it. Wainfleet will still be around in Bridgehead, Varang and the surviving Mangkwan still have unchecked entry to Bridgehead as well, not to mention Jake and Neytiri are still kicking with Kiri and Lo’ak being adults after six years have passed, and Tuk would be the age that Lo’ak was during Way of Water and Fire and Ash. Spider will be older, too, and likely beyond the need for validation from his biological father considering Jake and Neytiri have both accepted him as their child.

Whatever the situation Quaritch is walking into, it will be hard for him to stay static on a third go around. He has all the choices in the world if he comes to the same conclusion Jake did about his human death freeing him. It will be interesting to see where all these threads lead if it does end up being a case of them printing a new colonel to put back in the field.

(And, as an aside, I don’t see Varang abandoning Quaritch if she was told that they can just make a new one. I can imagine Wainfleet telling her that it’ll take awhile but the RDA is gonna get him back and Varang being absolutely fascinated with the idea that humans are so willing to tamper with the Great Balance.

Every clan seems fluent in silence as sunlight spills over the hills in streams of pink and amber, chasing away the thread-thin comfort of darkness. The only song that fills the morning air is the whistling of the wind through the trees and the crackling of fires as warriors gather to eat what might be their last meal. Each bite tastes like ash on your tongue, ash and the salt of unshed tears. 

Food is eaten in quiet contemplation, paint mixed in meditative silence. The stillness is only broken on the first notes of a songcord. Soft music rising from private alcoves where warriors mourn their own deaths. So much is uncertain of the future, the only truth is that of the past. What has already been will never come again. Nor is your next sunrise, your next breath a promise from the Great Mother. Her Great Balance protects only life itself. The grass beneath your feet, the swarm of lìnghaw flying overhead, and the nantang returning to their dens as daylight rises. Each life is precious, but energy is only borrowed. It is Eywa’s decision when it must be returned. Two thousand warriors gather beneath the shadows of Ayram Alusìng. 

Many of them will be singing their songs with the ancestors before sunset. It is a bleak truth that you must hold in your heart as a warrior of the Omatikaya. You’ve seen more than most of what humans are capable of. You think of Sylwanin and the hunters she rallied to protest the destruction of the forest, of watching your friend be killed for protecting her home. Death is necessary for life, and you would give yours willingly to protect the People. 

Tsu’tey was gone as soon as you woke, rising before the sun with the duties of olo’eyktan weighing heavily on his shoulders. He wears the burden well. You see him across the way, surrounded by his People. Warriors, leaders. Mo’at and Ikeyni stand with him, the latter already painted in the red and white of her clan. So many souls, you think mournfully. The might of the Sky People cannot be mistaken, and all of you must face it sooner than later. You find yourself twisting your own waytelem over anxious fingers. The sound of each bead is as familiar as your own heartbeat as you hum to yourself. It’s a dull comfort, a numbing salve for an aching wound. Soon you will have to face the pain, but for the moment you can be mollified in its absence. 

The air is alive with the sound of it, the verses of each person’s life filling the silence with hope. Every person is a song to be celebrated and honored. Not every cord would be cut. You look at your own songcord. The careful collection of beads and knots that spell the entirety of your life. Every triumph, failure; every precious memory. You know the words of your own life, but you also know Neytiri’s, Tsu’tey’s, Sylwanin’s. They have a place in your song just as you do in theirs. The final few beads were added with haste. So many things happening at once, all so important that you know you’ll carry the memories into your last days as vividly as if they had only happened moments ago. A shard of Hometree’s bark for the destruction of your home, a bead of orange agate with a banded design matching the wings of the great toruk. 

There should be two beads between those, threaded side by side. New memories you’ve yet to share with anyone. Even alone you fall quiet, singing the last notes only in your heart. It is tradition to mark your mating in the song of your life, strange to leave the moment for later. You’ve chosen the beads already, though you’ve kept them hidden away in what few belongings you have after the fall of Hometree. A deep purple crystal that sparkles in the sunlight for the color Neytiri wore that night, and a bone that might’ve been a piece of some small animal’s spine. You have no deep knowledge of bones as the Anurai clan does, but the shape of the little bone reminds you of an atokirina’. 

The seeds of the sacred tree float freely today, dancing through the air but never landing. It would be a blessing to be kissed by a woodsprite on this day, but it seems Eywa will keep her blessings. She’s already given so many. It is hard to see them as such when so many things have been lost and destroyed, but you hold tight to your faith because it’s all you have left. The rest of your life is ashes in the forest. All you have is your belief that all of this will be for some greater purpose. There’s no mistake that everything hangs in the balance on this day. For better or worse. Perhaps you’ll never add the beads to your waytelem. If you find your end in battle there will be no one to know that you’ve gone against tradition at every turn since Jake arrived. 

He was blessed by Eywa at the very start. Neytiri had told you the story of her finding him alone in the forest. She intended to kill him, only hesitating when an atokirina’ landed on the poison-tipped head of her arrow. It became her burden to train the dreamwalker foundling she brought home that night, but, like with all things, Neytiri was more than content to do it with you by her side. Somehow the duty of teaching had fallen into your hands as well, and here was the result of it. It is hard to reconcile the idea that the Jake standing firm beside your olo’eyktan is the same uniltìrantokx that came before the clan only months ago. 

In some ways he’s surpassed every true born Na’vi. Toruk chose him, the All Mother herself protects him. It is strange to see how the world seems to bend to fit him. Mo’at allowed him to be brought into the clan, you taught him the ways of a warrior so he might become one of the People. Now he is a legend among men. 

Perhaps he will die, you think. The shame washes over you swiftly. It’s a hateful thought. His death won’t undo what’s been done. Hometree will not rise from its ashes, nor will Eytukan and all the other lost souls return to life. What’s gone is gone. And you can’t deny that small fragment of you would feel his absence. How easily Jake had made himself feel like something permanent in your life. It shouldn’t have happened so quickly–shouldn’t have happened at all. But once an arrow is shot you can’t change its course, only follow where it leads. 

“You’re staring,” Neytiri says, setting a few bowls down beside you. Pigments stain the carved wood; war paint waiting to be applied. “He will come to us soon, yawne, do not worry.” 

The words sound strange to your ears, the feeling of them settling cold and heavy in your chest. Never have you been so distant from Neytiri. Before Sylwanin’s death, no one made any question of who the two of you would be mated to–the only choice was each other. It was duty that had led her to another. In the end, you turned your backs on tradition and responsibility, yet her soul still feels so far away. Her desires are no longer your own, her thoughts do not match yours. Once the two of you were like twin streams running beside each other, but it seems your paths diverged somewhere in the distance left behind. Her heart has not closed to you, it has only grown to fit Jake. It is perhaps your own fault that you cannot say the same. 

It sets an ache in your chest knowing your mate might never understand your heart as she once did. You move your kuru over your shoulder, pretending to fix the strings of beads and feathers adorning your hair. Truly, you are wondering if you will ever make tsaheylu again. It is a sacred bond that opens your mind to another, bares your soul in the truest way, but you can’t be certain you want to burden Neytiri–or Jake–with the dark truth of your heart. You might easily live another lifetime and never want to share such a bond with Jake again. 

That is the problem. It feels as though you’re on an island, alone in the ocean, while everyone else is safe ashore. No one resents Jake for what he did. Toruk has washed everything he’d done before. A dreamwalker, a warrior, and now a legend. But your eyes cannot see beyond the mistakes of the past to recognize the good in the present. 

The things he knew… The truth that you loathe to dwell on is that maybe there was nothing to be done even if he’d spoken up sooner. Jake was not a leader of the Sky People. He told you himself during your lessons how he was under Grace’s command more often than not. You knew Grace, trusted her despite the past. It all seemed for nothing now. If the clan knew, what would’ve happened except a war. Two paths leading to the same place. 

Still, the betrayal stings like the worst venom. Jake catches your eye from across the way, ears twitching with interest. You turn away quickly, busying yourself with the paints Neytiri has brought you. The first is a bright teal to match Seze’s patterning. She’s already painted thick streaks across her arms but her face remains blank. 

Neytiri sings as you paint her, nose wrinkling at the ticklish feeling of your fingers moving over her skin. Her voice is low, meant only for your ears as you draw shapes over her cheeks and forehead. There are brushes for the task but there’s a small sense of intimacy in being stained in the colors of your mate as you trace across the face that you love so dearly. She returns the favor, dipping into the deep purple that matches your own ikran, Txanrr. The paint is cold on your skin as she mirrors her patterns on your features. Your fingers are streaked in blue, yellow, and black by the time you’re done. You finally decided to use a paintbrush for her stomach and back where it takes bigger stripes than your fingers can make to fill the space. 

The light shifts as the sun climbs higher in the sky, each passing moment bringing the enemy ever closer. Your paint is dry by the time the war leaders disperse. Jake wastes not a moment making his way towards the two of you. It’s easy to feign interest in checking your arrows. Straightening a fletching that isn’t crooked, reapplying the toxins to each arrowhead until you can smell the bitter poison dripping from the sharpened stone. Anything to keep yourself busy and out of conversation with Jake. If he notices, he doesn’t mention it. Neytiri fills the space your voice occupied before his approach. You listen with half an ear as she asks about the plan of attack. 

“They’ll have to come to us,” he reassures her. “And they don’t know the mountains like we do.” It sounds like he’s said the words many times over. 

Strange to hear him speak of such things when only months ago he was just as awed by the Floating Mountains as any other alien new to the lands of Pandora. Something that was merely a truth of your life was something novel to Jake. But he had a child’s wonder about most foreign things. Where most Sky People lashed out in annoyance at what they did not know, Jake found joy in learning, even if you were overly harsh in your teachings. He seemed to like that too. You haven’t forgotten the way his ears perked and tail wagged when you’d smack him for nearly touching a poisonous plant or grabbing a dead branch while he was climbing. He’d take every reproach with a puerile grin. Maybe it’s why he isn’t so perturbed by you keeping your back to him. 

Jake is saying something about line of sight, navigation and missile tracking. The words are only vaguely familiar in the context of war. Lessons from Grace dimmed by years of having no need for such words. 

There’s something about the air around the Tree of Souls that acts as a dam to the demon ship’s weapons. A flux. You only recognize it as the waves of blue and purple light that dance like ribbons in the air where Eywa can be heard the loudest. It’s a small advantage. You’ve seen what bullets can do. How easily Hometree had fallen after standing for near countless generations. It sounds like an impossible task to fly against an enemy with such strength, but you had to try. Your clan has been entrusted with the caring and protection of the Tree of Souls for thousands of years and that stewardship will not end today. Even if it means your life. You’ve already made peace with that truth, that you might not live to see tomorrow. The Great Mother will take many into her arms on this day, but it will be a righteous death for all. 

For a moment, the dead embers of your heart warned once more to Jake’s presence. He is Eywa’s chosen. The All Mother will not abandon him, at least. Even if all else falls to ruin, you have no doubt in your heart that Jake will survive. The People need him. You see how the clans flock to him, searching for guidance in his strength. You could almost forgive him for everything that came before. Almost. There will be time enough for you to decide how you feel after you’ve survived this battle. 

“Here.” A sudden touch against the nape of your neck startles you into focus as Jake sweeps your hair over one shoulder. Something settles against your throat and you reach to touch it. The shape is vaguely familiar. It’s the kind of choker you’ve seen Sky People wearing. It’s for communication you’ve learned, a way for your voice to travel great distances. After he’s fastened it, you finally turn to look at Jake. He’s wearing his own necklace as is Neytiri. She touches the piece that sits against her ear, looking half fascinated by the idea. Shouting can only take your words so far, and it is no secret how loud a rain of bullets can be. Like a thousand rolls of thunder tearing through the air. 

The strange piece of metal makes your ear twitch but you don’t pull it away. It’s practical, you know, even as you stifle at the idea of using such a human invention. You refused the guns Jake tried to offer you. The thought of touching such a thing nearly made you nauseous. The idea of holding the very object that had taken your friend’s life was enough to make you feel faint. Though they seemed to fit so easily in Jake’s hand. He had a dozen metal weapons and he intended to use them all to protect the Tree of Souls. It seemed wrong to use the things the Great Mother scorns to protect her, but it would likely be the greatest strength to have against the Sky People. 

“Come,” Neytiri says after a moment of Jake lingering too long beside you. “I will paint you.” And she does. Black and orange to match toruk. The beast is perched on one of the stone arches high above the valley. His head shifts with the winds, turning one way then another as if already searching for the enemy. They will be here soon. These last few moments are all that is left of life as you once knew it. Already people are streaming into the forests to find their mounts. Pa’li and ikran all painted and saddled heavy weapons. Somewhere beyond the trees is one of the metal beasts the Sky Demons use to fly, painted in blue and white to mark it as one of your own. You can see Jake’s allies away by themselves. Both intend to fight. 

Norm, the nervous, chattering man you met when Grace was wounded, and Trudy, a warrior of the same training as Jake. A Marine. A defector, Jake called her. Same as he was. Betrayer. At least Jake is here to atone for his betrayals of your clan. But, in taking sides, Jake will always be a traitor to someone. It seems he’s chosen the entire race of his true people as his opposition. He chose this new life over his old one. His new people over the demons from the sky. This new body over the human man hidden somewhere in the forest. 

You’re staring again. You don’t need Neytiri to tell you that. Your eyes trace over the strange shape of the man you’re mated to. Uncanny. You’ve still not forgotten the strange emptiness that had taken over when he collapsed at Hometree. The black paint highlights his eyes, how small they are compared to a true Na’vi. His five fingers. Even the placement of his kuru is wrong though it’s hidden beneath a veil of braids decorated with strings of beads and feathers. At a glance one could think Jake no different from any Omatikaya man, but the truth was plain if you had eyes to see it. It pains you that you can still find beauty in his otherness. This strange face that has no place in your home, yet when he meets your eyes and smiles softly, it stabs through your chest clean as an arrow. 

“Finished,” Neytiri hums. Jake looks down at his chest, his arms. All painted in patterns befitting a warrior. 

Jake nods. “Almost.” 

He looks around for a moment before finding a bowl of white paint. The pure color is uncommon. Meant for leaders, or experienced warriors; to mark something as strong. It would be fitting for Jake, but when he dips his palm into the pale pigment he moves towards you instead. His hand slips under the beads of your top, palm pressed flat over your heart. 

When he pulls away there’s a perfect impression staining your skin. Thoughtlessly, you move to touch it, fingertips smearing the wet paint. Neytiri snatches your wrist before you can wipe away the shape of his fourth finger. Jake gives her a mark as well, white against blue like clouds against the sky. It seems to fit against her skin far better than it does yours. 

“For luck,” Jake says, giving each of you a kiss in turn. “I love you.” 

The last you’d heard Jake say such a thing Neytiri was sobbing, cursing his very existence for the lies he made her believe. But you’d felt it in tsaheylu. For everything he hadn’t told you, all the things he keeps hidden, Jake never lied about his feelings. It offers some small relief even if you don’t return the affection. You’re happy for Neytiri’s sake. 

As for luck, there’s no need for him. Not with the knowledge that the Great Mother herself will act as his shield in the battle to come. You have no such blessings. All you keep as protection is your faith in Eywa’s will. Nothing is done without reason. There is balance in all things. Even this. If you must die, then you will. 

The sound of horns suddenly splits through the air, echoing through the forest. It is time. You find your feet with a strange sort of numbness. It is your turn to be the unlearned novice. You’ve taught Jake so much, but this is a place he’s been before. He was a warrior before he came to the clan. This is something he knows without question where your life of peace has left you with only basic knowledge and instinct. This is not a strumbeast hunt for the new warriors completing their iknimaya. Nor a small skirmish with nomadic clans raiding the clan’s territory. There is no ceremony, no reconciling with words. The Sky People know only the language of blood. 

“Ma muntxate,” Neytiri takes your hands in hers, pressing sweet kisses to your fingers. “Be strong, yawne.” You press a hand against her chest, where Jake had laid his mark. Her heart is a steady drum beneath your palm. A beat that you would follow until your very last breath. She doesn’t flinch when you pull her closer, hands holding her face to pull her into a kiss. A few breaths are shared between you, barely parted, until the horn sounds again and another wasted moment could mean lives lost in battle. Neytiri keeps her hand in yours as you join the waves of Na’vi storming into battle. 

This flight feels different than any other. You’re half a beast as you make tsaheylu and feel your banshee, Txanrr, rise to meet you through the bond. She shares your trepidation, whining quietly as you fit your riding mask over your eyes. You pat her neck with gentle affection. You fear for her as much as yourself as you join the swarm of warriors taking to the skies to lie in wait for the Sky People armies. 

Jake leads, the great wings of toruk beating against the air. Tsu’tey is to his left and Neytiri his right. You ride just behind, closing the front ranks around him. You’ll be one of the first stones thrown against the demon ships. 

Each breath feels like a blessing as you ride farther from Vitraya Ramunong. Over your shoulder, the stone arches curve over the Mother Tree like protective fingers, but if you look for too long you’ll lose yourself. The enemy is not behind you. Every shift of the wind sounds like the metallic buzzing of their flying machines, every flash of sunlight off a cliffside waterfall is the bright glint of metal. But every mountainside is crowded with riders lying in wait. There’s a restlessness in the air. The feeling of burning anticipation as you wait for something terribly inevitable. 

Somewhere ahead there’s a warning call. You see them then, two dark shapes moving through the sky, surrounded by smaller vessels. You recognize one of the larger ones as the ship that shot down Kelutral and your hand tightens around your bow. You keep time by the beat of your heart. One moment, then another, before Jake shatters the quiet with a whooping battle cry. Tsu’tey and Neytiri echo him with their own calls and you find yourself adding to the noise. It’s its own sort of song as voices shriek through the air, shouting and trilling as warriors take flight once more. You string your first arrow, loosing it against the ship closest to you. It pierces the glass shell with ease, sending shards sparkling through the air as the ship careens towards a mountainside. Fire follows the crash, flames so close that the warmth kisses your cheeks before the ship goes spiraling towards the ground. 

All around you, demons and Na’vi both are falling from the air. Bullets come from all sides, the thunderous sound echoing through the mountains. It takes every shred of focus not to slip away into those bloody memories, to be dragged into the past and lose sight of the present. 

The point of your arrow finds somewhere vulnerable to land as the whirring of bladed wings fills your head with its incessant buzzing. Your heartbeat is doubled, the quick pace mirrored by your ikran as Txanrr carries you on the wind. It’s almost all you can hear. A thick wash of noise that flows like water in your ears. Your breath, your heart, the ceaseless firing of guns. Above that there’s the sound of voices. War cries to announce a kill and screams as someone plummets towards the ground. It’s all you can do to keep your own seat as the small ships break away from the larger ones, pursuing every mounted rider with focused intent. 

Txanrr screeches beneath you as you pull tight on her kuru harness, banking to dive behind a mountain as a ship veers towards you. The bright flash of their guns flicker like embers in your periphery, half lost in the wild thrashing at your braids. Your bow is still in hand but there isn’t enough distance to turn it against your pursuer without risking your own skin. Bullets whizz past you, getting closer with every passing moment. You take in a steadying breath, lungs feeling too large in your chest as Txanrr breathes with you, the feeling echoing through tsaheylu. You take a breath, then string another arrow. Txanrr recognizes your thoughts even as they’re half formed, accepting commands before they’re given. Up, we need to go up. 

She changes direction with a shift of her wings, curving until you’re above the ship chasing her tail. You lock your knees to keep yourself from falling. Years of flying have given you unrivaled trust in your ikran. The rest comes easily. Memories echo in every fiber of your muscles, like voices through the Utraya Morki. There’s hardly a thought behind the movement. It’s all instinct as you pull your bowstring. Only a moment between drawing and shooting. The look of astonishment is frozen on the human’s face as your arrow passes through the glass as easily as water, lodging in their stomach. The ship pitches forward, disappearing into the treetops as Txanrr turns herself upright. 

“Good girl, Txanrr,” you thank her, stroking a hand over her head. “Good girl.” It’s almost a miracle you didn’t slide off her back and follow the demon ship to the ground. But one ship downed still leaves many more to contend with. They’re all around like a swarm of stormgliders with so few warriors left to fight against them. The skies are nearly empty of banshees, only a few warriors still mounted. You count yourself as one of the last and try not to think of where Neytiri has gone. She’d been flying ahead of you to start, with Tsu’tey and Jake close by. Now you could only find Jake. He’s impossible to lose atop toruk, as bright as the rising sun against the brown and green mountains. 

Jake is so far that the wind would take his voice if not for the necklace he gave you. He’s the only voice you hear even as he calls to the others. You heard them faintly a few times before, but now the only answer is silence. When his calls to Tsu’tey go unanswered you find yourself searching for your olo’eyktan. He’s nowhere to be seen but you can’t spare more than half a thought to him when there’s still a battle happening all around you. Another demon ship is on your tail, a rain of bullets carve into a cliff just above your head. With a hiss, you lean forward, clinging close to Txanrr’s neck as rubble pelts your shoulders. They’re closer than the last ship, and faster. Or maybe it is you that has grown slower as your breath comes quicker in your lungs, heartbeat rising with every moment that you can’t shake them off your trail. 

Somewhere in the rush, you hear Neytiri’s voice in your ear. Loud and alive. Only fragments of her words reach your ears, your focus taken by the task of keeping yourself alive. 

Something bright and smoking shoots past you, bursting into a burning cloud of smoke just ahead. A moment later, the pain registers. Stinging like venom in your thigh where the burning thing–far bigger than a bullet–had grazed you. The smoke burns as you blink through the veil, though you recognize it as the small blessing it is even as pain blisters across your leg. If you can’t see, neither can they. It’s true, blind trust that lets you close your eyes as Txanrr charges forward. Her movement registers as a swooping in your stomach as she takes a sharp dive and a shadow passes over you. A moment later comes the sound of shattering, like a thousand blades clashing all at once as the metal and glass folds itself around the shape of the island just above your head. Txanrr doesn’t slow in her descent, diving through branches and vines until you’re low enough to see the ground. 

The forest is aflame. Trees and pa’li burning as Na’vi litter the ground, red wounds that you recognize in an instant torn through their bodies. The sound of gunshots echo through the treetops. You flinch, ears folding close to your head. But above that is the sound of stampeding footsteps. Not the heavy metal bodies of the human warriors but the true sound of a herd as a group of ’angtsìk break through the treeline. Loud and beautiful as they flare their fanned crests, bellowing at the sawtute warriors still fighting in the underbrush. Bullets glance uselessly off their armored skin as they knock the massive metal beasts off their feet, crushing them underfoot. The smaller Sky People are caught in the jaws of ferocious viperwolves. It’s its own kind of music as their growls and laughing yips fill the air. 

Eywa has come. With a hissing war cry you string another arrow, putting it through the back of a retreating soldier. The pain that had slowed you only a moment ago fades with the knowledge that the Great Mother is with you. You can only imagine it is because of Jake. He is her chosen one in this generation of songs, for better or worse. You’ll fight for her, for the Great Balance, even if it means fighting beside Jakesully. 

Two more humans fall to your arrows before someone looks up. The sun bounces off the curve of their mask like light off still water, turning their face pure white as they turn their gun against you. You meet the challenge with a drawn arrow. Blinding pain tears through your arm as your arrow finds its mark between the tawtute’s ribs. The next draw of your bowstring sends stars dancing behind your eyes, pain digging like fangs through your injured limb. Txanrr yowls as your agony seeps through the bond. You grit your teeth against the feeling. There will be time enough for tending to your wounds once the battle is won. It’s almost over. You feel it in your heart as you watch ikran swarming far above, overwhelming what few demon ships still remain. Below, predators have made short work of their human prey. None will live. 

Still, Txanrr grows anxious, tiring of flying in circles as you waste your arrows on a hunting ground that will soon be barren of enemy life. 

“Tam tam,” you pant, bloodied hand leaving red handprints on her skin as you try not to think about the hole in your arm. But it’s hard to focus on anything else as the pain turns everything shimmery and warped like heat off an open flame. Blinking only turns you sluggish as you shake a fallen leaf away from your face. You feel yourself slumping in your saddle as Txanrr takes you away from the fighting. It hurts to keep your hand on the wound still weeping blood down your forearm, covering the designs Neytiri had so carefully painted there. You wonder where she is, if she’s still okay. The focus would better be put to worrying about yourself as you sway heavily, sliding like a child that has only just learned to ride. 

With your good hand, you keep pressure on your wound, trying to keep hold of Txanrr’s harness with your bleeding arm. Rivulets of red swell between your fingers. If you pull your hand away you know you’ll no longer be looking at the present. The years will fall away and suddenly it’s Sylwanin’s blood staining your fingers. You squeeze hard at your wound until pain spreads through your body like poison. Focus. You have to focus. There’s nothing to tie yourself to your saddle and if your grip gets any weaker, you won’t be in the air for much longer. 

All it takes is the change of the wind, the slightest dip of Txanrr’s wings, and you go spilling to the ground, kuru slipping free of the bond. Large leaves cushion your fall until you’re tumbling over the grass. Your breathing is stuttered as you use the momentum of your fall to roll to your knees, shaking your braids from your hair as you find your bow that had fallen with you. One arrow left. 

Sunlight swells through the clearing ahead, bits of light bouncing in all directions as it catches off the edge of a human dwelling and another of those metal bodies. The strange approximation of a human shape that seems to move with the tawtute inside. The glass shell is shattered, exposing the soft flesh within. It’s all you can think about as the beast lifts a Na’vi in its giant hand, swinging him by his kuru. Phantom pains shoot down your spine at the sight, made worse by recognition. Jake. He’s holding Jake. Instinctively, you lift your bow. No thought in your mind other than to protect. Draw, shoot. Jake slips free, going disturbingly limp as he hits the ground. But the tawtute doesn’t fall. 

He grabs hold of the shaft of your arrow, the metal skeleton mimicking the movement. You wonder if he’ll pull it out, but there’s already poison beneath his skin. He’s already dead even as he glares at you, gasping inside his mask. Then Neytiri is there, tail lashing behind her as she sends another arrow into the demon’s chest. He falls then, face frozen in agony. The impact is enough to send you to your knees as the ground ripples under the weight of the metal behemoth. It takes you a few moments to find your feet, longer still to stagger towards where your mates are. You make it as far as Jake’s prone body, but Neytiri is already gone, pressed up against the side of the human kelku. She leaves a bloody handprint on the shattered glass before she goes vaulting inside. 

Vaguely, you recognize that Jake has stopped moving. There’s enough strength left in you to lift his head to check his tswin. The braid remains unbroken, still firmly attached to the base of his skull. Good. It is a horrible death to die from the pain of a severed kuru. A worse life to survive and live without it. To be cut off from Eywa so completely? You wouldn’t wish such a fate on anyone, even Jake in his false body. 

He doesn’t so much as flinch when you let his head drop to the ground, the feeling in the hand of your injured arm slowly fading. Your fingers still obey when you try to move them, but the feeling is stippled with stabbing pangs. The wound on your thigh still burns as you crouch over Jake, knife in hand because your bow is all but useless without arrows. You thread it over your shoulder until the string sits across your chest. The sun glints off the edge of your blade, tiny refractions of colorful light dancing over Jake’s chest as you hold yourself in a protective stance. Your legs tremble and arm throbs, but you hold your position, eyes searching for danger until you hear him take in a gasping breath beneath you. You think you hear your name, feel a hand on your thigh as Jake sits up. 

When you try to shake away the fuzziness floating like pollen in your eyes, it only makes it worse. Your head throbs and your muscles tremble, moments away from giving out. Jake catches you before you can fall, flipping you onto your back. His lips move, saying something. Your ears twitch against the hands holding your face but you can’t hear anything other than the blood rushing in your head. You try to speak, to tell him you’ll be fine, to sit up and brush him aside. All you manage is some garbled sound that you feel in your throat more than you hear. Jake frowns, turning away to speak. Neytiri appears above you a beat later. Her voice is silent, too. You blink up at them, trying to focus on the shape of their lips. 

“C’mon, baby, stay awake for me. I need you awake.” Jake says frantically. He sounds like he’s underwater as his thumbs trace shapes on your cheeks. 

I am awake, skxawng, you want to tell him. Can’t you see my eyes are open? Just barely as fatigue begins to catch up to you. Only a second, you think. I’ll close my eyes just for a moment. 

Vaguely you remember the sound of rumbling, the world shaking around you. You’ve been floating between sleep and wakefulness for hours, like being caught in a riptide trying to fight towards the surface. When your eyes finally open your body aching beyond any pain you’d ever known. It feels as though you’ve fallen from the tallest tree four times over. And you hit every branch and rock imaginable on the way down. Still, you try to stand. 

The light is dim. Not with the faint glow of night, but the false sun of human creation. The light is gray and dull, stinging at your eyes as you stare up at the white ceiling. Someone has laid a blanket over you that you toss away easily. It’s thick and prickly as if there were nettles stitched into it. The same can be said of the fabric sling keeping your arm close to your chest. Thin and scratchy. No true fibers of the forest that were usually woven for such a purpose. But there are straps and fastening that you don’t understand, and you can’t lift your arm high enough to slip it off without agony singing through your extremity.  And, beside that, there’s no viable substitute to be found in this strange white room you’ve woken in. The only healing touch that you recognize is the leaf wrapping and poultice around your thigh. 

It is odd to finally see things you’ve only learned of from Grace’s teachings. Bed. Ceiling. And machines you have no name for. Those books that seemed so foreign to you all those years ago cycle through your head. Words on paper. Things your people of oral histories had no need for. Still it had been a novel experience to share in the exchanging of cultures when you were young. A small fragment of true kindness that had survived the storm of horrors that the sawtute brought about with every moment they spent on Eywa’eveng. Their terrorizing of your planet was at an end now. 

There are no windows to the outside in this room. Only a glass wall that leads to another area, but you recognize the door for what it is. It takes more strength than you expected to open once you read the words written on the metal. It takes a moment to truly process the word and place it in your native tongue. Kä’ärìp. Push. You groan under the weight, tempted to use your injured arm to help you escape this place. The second door opens more easily, hissing as it spills you into the blue night. You take in a deep breath, head tilting towards the sky. 

When your eyes open you find a break in the web of the stars. A new dot of light among the familiar patterns. There was always a new star in the sky on nights that more Sky People came to Pandora. Tears well in your eyes as you stare at the faraway glow. This will be the last demon star you ever see. 

“You’re awake,” Jake’s voice comes from behind you, startling you out of a tearful daze. When you turn he’s not where you expect. Usually he stands above you, of a height with Tsu’tey and the other tall men of the clan. But Jake is not in the body you expect. In his place is a human man sitting in a wheeled chair. He tilts his head expectantly, a tentative smile playing on his lips. It’s a look that stabs at your heart. How easily you can recognize that expression that you’ve seen reflected in amber eyes and blue skin. 

“Jake?” He’s as small as any human. Light eyes, dark hair, pale skin. A far cry from the dreamwalker you’ve come to know. But it’s him. His true body. The great distance between your hearts made flesh. A bridge that might never be crossed as long as you hold tight to the anger still burning in your heart. The humans may have left, but there would always be proof that they’d been here. Metal does not return to the earth as all other things do. This place will stand as a reminder of the pain your people have suffered for generations to come. Yet Jake looks ill at ease as he looks up at you, as if he isn’t a reminder of his people, too. 

“Hi, baby.” The night sky is reflected on his mask as you kneel in front of him, ignoring the twinge of pain in your thigh. 

“Hello, tawtute.” There’s an unshakable fascination building in your heart as you stare down at him. You can’t deny your own curiosity. There’s been no time in your life when you made yourself closely acquainted with humans that did not live in dreamwalker bodies. The last one you’d been close enough to touch was Grace as she lay dying. Jake is vibrantly alive, a far more viable source to sate your perverse curiosity of sawtute bodies. You feel half a child again, finding some new plant in the forest to ask your elders about.  

“You scared me, sweetheart.” Jake says, “Thought I lost you.” Sweetheart is new, though you recognize it as something loving. It’s what Grace called Sylwanin. 

Despite his small stature, Jake is able to pull you into his space. Or perhaps it’s because he’s so small, because you know humans to be soft and pliable, easily injured. You don’t fight against his pull. Scared even the slightest resistance will pull him from his chair. His hand touches your cheek and that at least feels familiar enough to keep you from flinching away. These fingers are smooth compared to the callused palms of his avatar body. 

This ending feels like a beginning. Jake is suddenly a stranger once more. An alien. You look around you at the scars the humans have left on the forest. The strange black stone underfoot, the sprawling buildings that will suffer the fate of being useless. No matter what is to come, no one will be returning to this place. You loathe to have woken up here. The first thing you saw was not the sky or the trees. 

“Why are we here?” You ask. Jake makes a small noise as you pull away, his little hand still reaching out towards you. “I do not want to be in this place. I want to go home.” 

But you aren’t quite sure where home is anymore. Kelutral is gone and the clan cannot live near the Tree of Souls forever. Tsu’tey will know where to go, and Mo’at. You want to see your tsahìk, and your mate. 

“Where’s Neytiri?” There are a thousand questions on the tip of your tongue. “Is she alright? Are the People safe?” 

“Yeah, baby, they’re safe. Everyone’s waiting for us.”

“Us? Why?” 

“Tonight’s important.” Jake is grinning, his human teeth are blunt in comparison to the fangs of his usual smiles. You still recognize the expression. If he had his tail it would be wagging eagerly behind him. “We can’t be late for the party.” 

As if they’d been waiting for some secret sign, another tawtute appears. The hiss you let out is instinctual, reaching for your knife only to find it missing. Injured as you are, you aren’t certain you’re in any state for a weaponless fight. Jake doesn’t look so surprised. He brushes a hand over your arm in a soothing gesture. 

“Mawey, baby, it’s okay. You know Norm.” Jake says softly. 

“Kaltxì,” Norm inclines his head, offering you a silent oel ngati kameie. You frown down at this new pink-faced human until you find some vague recognition. This is the man that had helped carry Grace’s dreamwalker body to the dais beneath the Tree of Souls. You nod, but do not return his gesture of respect. Norm doesn’t seem to mind. He rocks on the heels of his feet before clapping his hands. 

“Good to see you up and around. If you guys are ready, we can head out.” Good. You aren’t certain of what tonight will bring, but you want to be away from this demon dwelling as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, that means riding in one of the metal ikran the humans use. A Samson, Jake called it when he showed you Trudy’s ship before the battle. There are at least no doors, nothing to keep you from the forest as you lean out of the ship. The smell of dirt and wet leaves fills your lungs after days of stale air trapped in one place. Jake keeps a hand on your thigh as you make the journey, thumb tracing shapes on the inside of your leg. 

“You did not say what this celebration was for.” It was not uncommon to celebrate victory, but you’d been asleep for days. The clan would not have waited for a single person to wake to commemorate the triumph over the Sky People. 

Jake grins. “It’s for me. It was Mo’at’s decision, but she said that I should complete the consciousness transfer.” He looks down at himself as if seeing this body for the first time. Quieter, almost to himself, he says, “This will be my last night in this body. Tomorrow I’ll wake up and I’ll be looking at the sky, not the inside of a lab.” 

Consciousness transfer. The words fall over you like crumbling stone, burying you beneath their weight. The idea was not something strange after seeing your tsahìk attempt such a feat to save Grace, but that had been a moment of dire need. Grace was dying. Jake looks perfectly healthy despite the pronounced thinness of his legs. There’s no sickly paleness to his skin, no shallowness to his breaths. A small cut, already half healed, sits high on the curve of his cheek. The only injury you can find that isn’t some scar from a lifetime that he lived across the stars. He was a Marine after all, a warrior. He’d proven that no matter his body, he was born to be a fighter. Now he was something of legend. 

It made sense that Mo’at would offer Jake such a thing as thanks for his hand in defeating the Sky People. Toruk Makto is revered among the People. This, at least, was deserved. More than love or forgiveness. 

His words made sense now. His last night in his human body. Once the transfer was done, he’d have no need of his human skin. His body would die, be returned to Eywa. You wonder what the Great Mother will do with such strange energy. Death is part of the Great Balance; the other half of life. A circle that must remain unbroken. You can’t help the feeling of mourning that sweeps over you. Even in knowing that Jake won’t be gone, only reborn. This demon body that you should loathe is touching you so gently, smiling at you. There are pieces of him that you never knew and all too soon they’ll be gone. Forever. Jake doesn’t seem to share your same apprehension. 

He’s never spoken much about his human life. The man that was far off in some distant corner of the forest didn’t exist while Jake was with you learning the ways of the People. You didn’t know his eyes were so blue, his hair so short. You didn’t know that his legs were as skinny as liana vines. 

He purposefully kept you and Neytiri away from his human life. It was for the better, you knew. Any reminder that was too stark, too different, would draw a scowl to your lips when you were teaching him. To be reminded that Jake was only being taught because there was something to learn, something to unlearn. The greed and insanity that poisons human hearts, flows with the blood in their veins. Every moment Jake reminded you that his heart moved to a different beat, felt like chipping away at the affection you’d slowly built for him. 

Still not enough to call it true love–despite tsaheylu tying your souls to one another–but enough to be friends. As much as you truly hate the Sky People, you might’ve learned to tolerate the man leaning against your shoulder given enough time. Though time seems of little consequence to Jake. It’s only been months but he has lived every year that any other true born Na’vi of his age would’ve until now. He’s learned and grown, done what might’ve taken others fourteen years. He has claimed an ikran, conquered his dreamhunt, and made his bow from the wood of Hometree. He has mated before Eywa. He’s Toruk Makto. All this in such little time. 

It feels like rushing to be so eager to be rid of his human self, but Jake has never been one to do things slowly. Neytiri only seemed to encourage him. Her way was to learn fast or die, and death was not an option. Until now, perhaps. This human body will die. The blue light of the forest dances over him as the Samson descends, startling the stingbats from their roosts. They go shrieking into the night as you leap from the ship before it’s landed. The shock of impact shoots through your leg, worsening your limp. The poultice will have to be changed soon if you are not more careful, but you’re more than eager to be free of human invention. To be surrounded by trees and the glow of syuratan. 

The ship lands close by the Tree of Souls and you can hear the voices of the clan rising through the night. Outriders come quickly, yipping as they appear from the dimness on pa’li still saddled for war. Neytiri is among them, her hair once again hanging loose around her shoulders. Her joy is hard to deny as her direhorse toes at the ground, churning up flecks of glowing dirt as it bounces with restless excitement. Neytiri leaps from her mount with a call of your name that sounds more beautiful than any song. She has her arms around you before you can take another step. She frowns as she pulls away, eyeing the alien contraption supporting your arm. 

“We will change this,” she insists. “I am happy to see you, yawne. I prayed day and night for the Great Mother to watch over you in that place. I did not want to leave you alone but…” You understand. She is still the daughter of tsahìk, still needed by her clan. Her father had asked one thing of her as he lay dying, “Protect the People.” Even her mates must come second to that calling. But you’re together now. 

Despite the small audience, Neytiri takes to scenting you. Rubbing her face against yours, a soft purr building in her chest. You must smell strongly of that place though your nose has gone blind to the scent. Even if you smelled like nothing at all, you would let your mate scent you to her heart’s content. When she is satisfied she simply presses her forehead against yours. The world falls away for a moment until it’s only the two of you, the sound of her breathing, the smell of her skin, her hair between your fingers. She tastes sweet, like yovo fruit, when she kisses you. 

A hand on your tail distracts you, small as a child’s. It isn’t so strange. When Hometree still stood, there was no lack of children in the clan. Playful little younglings that were still learning their reflexes, trying to catch their elders’s tails as coordination practice. It takes a moment to remember that there are no children here. The scouts that had accompanied Neytiri to the clearing have disappeared into the brush, and even the humans that came along in the ship are gone, leaving you alone with your mates. Jake is hardly paying attention to you despite playing with your tail. He moves his arm in a circle, watching the blue appendage curl to keep hold of him, like a healer checking for broken bones. There are none and you lash at him until he lets go of you. He laughs as you hiss, tilting his head in that playful way he always does. 

“Na txim a txìmmì,” you grumble at him. He only smiles wider. He’d taught you the English phrase for that once. Pain in the ass. 

“Ma Jake, do not upset our muntxate,” Neytiri chides jokingly, “She cannot hit you when you’re like this.” 

Neytiri was used to shoving and pulling Jake as a way to correct him when she was teaching. Pushing him aside when he was in the way and smacking an arm or leg when his stance was wrong. It had little strength behind it when he was in his dreamwalker body, but you’re sure it would leave a mark if you so much as jabbed him too hard with your finger while he’s like this. 

“After tonight, she can hit me all she wants. Right, baby?” Jake smiles, so eager to be rid of the body he’d been born into. Neytiri shakes her head, laughing with him as she lifts him from his wheeled chair. It would not fare well against the uneven terrain, and such things are against Eywa’s Laws to begin with. She leaves the chair with the ship, carrying Jake like a baby towards her pa’li. The direhorse is strong enough to carry four men. Two women and a tawtute fit easily on her back. Neytiri keeps careful hold of Jake, setting a slower pace as she turns towards the Tree of Souls. 

It feels like reliving a memory as you undress Jake so that he can enter the sacred place without his human vestiges. There’s no blood as you remove his chest covering, no dire need to put his spirit in a new place. This is a perfectly viable body being tossed aside and it feels as though you’re the only one questioning why. But if your tsahìk has given him the choice then there is no place to question her judgment. It would be questioning Eywa’s will. 

The Great Mother welcomes her chosen one as Neytiri wraps him in the same vines that had covered Grace, atokirina’ gathering around Jake’s body. He opens his hand to one and it lands daintily in his palm. Perhaps the last thing he’ll touch with these hands. It seems fitting. 

The clans that had come to the call of Toruk Makto have gone in the time you were asleep. Only the few hundred surviving Omatikaya remain. The clan parts to allow you through, Neytiri ahead of you carrying Jake’s tawtute body and Takuk behind you with his uniltìrantokx form. Both are laid at the foot of the Mother Tree where Mo’at is already waiting. The thin roots reach greedily to cover Jake, glowing green over his pale skin. You watch the tendrils swallow him up, covering the details that you’ll never get to memorize. It feels wrong to be mated to a man when you only knew half of him. Less than half when you think of all the things Jake kept from you. He’d known from the start that the yellow machines that eat away at your forest were coming. He knew that the Sky People would come to destroy your home. 

It feels wrong to care so much about such trivial things. In a few moments it won’t matter that Jake’s eyes were blue; that he had a scar on the smallest finger of his left hand; that beneath the tattoos that you’ve only known those of the reef clans to have, are hundreds of freckles so different from the ones that glow on the skin of his dreamwalker body. It won’t matter. Just like with the claiming of toruk, this will be another mark wiped clean. Still, you pray with the rest of the clan because it is what is expected of you. Neytiri sits above you on the edge of the stone terrace, closely watching Jake’s face through his mask. Atokirina’ dance around the two of them, landing on both halves of Jakesully. After a while Neytiri calls softly to her mother and Mo’at raises her hands to command silence. You rise then, moving towards the tawtute you’ll never know. 

His eyes are closed, chest still. Neytiri removes his mask. She leans forward to press a kiss against one eye then the other before moving towards the body that’s become so familiar. Jake is still for a beat, long enough for you to wonder if he returned. Neytiri touches his cheek, brushing her thumb over the scattering of his tanhì. Both of you bow close around him, heads nearly touching as you watch his face for any sign of life. You count Neytiri’s bated breaths. One, two–the third stutters as Jake opens his eyes. 

So many songs were sung and yet there were more still. Prayers and celebrations, a mingling of hope and mourning as the clan slowly rebuilds itself. It is slow work. Bit by bit, piecing together the remnants of that which was lost. It seems so futile yet there is still a slim glimmer of hope, like a thread of spider silk catching in the light. Eywa will provide. In times of strife when it seems as though the world has crumbled to nothing, the Great Mother will care for her children. 

Vitraya Ramunong tumbles out around you, sinuous roots trailing like rivers across the basin. The sweeping branches sway in the breeze as if dancing to the song of The People. Another prayer for all that’s been lost. 

Everything has been stripped away. No home, and nearing the cusp of no hope as Eywa remains silent. Mo’at says that something has already been set in motion, that the Great Mother has done what she can. For the first time in your life you feel the tsahìk’s words ringing hollow in your chest, starved of the usual warmth her guidance brings. There was no comfort in this strange unknown, the silence that followed this storm Jake had called upon your people. The rains had come and washed clean all you knew and now you must wade through the flood waters to higher ground. Yet that salvation seems so far out of reach, a vine hanging just beyond your grasping fingers. 

The wounds of loss are still new and raw within you, stinging at every sight and sound. A family that had once been four now crushed to three, a child that once had both parents clinging only to their father, a mated pair now torn apart. It seemed unfair, selfish, that you had two mates and both were living when so many had perished. What balance was that? The pain of it is made worse knowing that you had joined yourself with the enemy. It may have been by Jake’s own blundering ignorance, but it was done before the eyes of the Great Mother. And what was done by Eywa may never be undone. The bond would not be broken, the lives never returned. The grief settles so heavily upon you that food is without taste and songs are without enjoyment. Perhaps this is punishment for allowing a dreamwalker into the clan. It is an inconceivable thought, yet in your grief you find yourself wondering if Eywa has turned her back on your people in their time of need. But perhaps, even in this, there is balance. 

There cannot be happiness without sadness, no joy without sorrow. The rain comes and goes, the tides rise and fall. All must be as it is. She protects only the balance of life. The words cycle in your head like a mantra. These terrible others, the Sky People, have been a scourge on your planet since before you were born. A plague that’s persisted through the years. Eywa has done all she can to thwart them, but, you imagine, there must be some things that you must do for yourself. Life is precious and should not be wasted, yet death will continue to come in droves if the invaders of your home aren’t sent back to their distant star. The loss of the few might save the many. Generations to come that will live without the shadow of these alien outsiders looming over them. 

Tsu’tey speaks of such things in secret alcoves away from the clan where only his most trusted companions may hear him. It seems strange that you are still among those he trusts. It weighs heavily on your shoulders that you are keeping such a betrayal from your olo’eyktan, but what choice is there but to bear this burden in silence? Now is not the time to see yourselves divided over petty squabbles. It may have been keeping with tradition for Neytiri to be mated to Tsu’tey, but it was not what she wanted. To take her sister’s mate had been like swallowing burning stones. Neytiri warred against the thought from the moment the decision had been made. It was cruel, unfair, and left her without a choice when it was clear she’d already chosen one for herself. Now it was known that she had mated with Jake. The rope tethering them together had been severed and Neytiri’s rights as tsakarem revoked. She would never lead the clan and now they must find another. It would be as if she, too, had died in the fall of Hometree. 

“Mo’at will not allow this,” Takuk says. It is true. With all the losses the clan has suffered, the tsahìk would never allow more to be sent to their deaths at the hands of the Sky People’s devistating weapons. Their arrows that rain fire and ikran without skin. Metal abominations that sought more destruction than what was needed. They lacked the delicacy of a hunter taking only what is necessary. A clean kill free of greed. The word was strange. Greed. To take more than what is required. An affront to the Great Mother’s balance of life. If a tree was cut another must be planted; if an animal was killed, its body must be used to its fullest potential lest its death be in vain. So much these demons did not care to understand. 

“I am olo’eyktan now,” Tsu’tey reminds him. “I must lead the clan as I see fit.”

“A leader weighs the cost to his people.” You say carefully. He scoffs at that, his face pulling into a sneer. There’s a hint of teeth flashing from behind his lips, a hiss poised at the tip of his tongue. 

“She speaks true,” Maru says before Tsu’tey can offer a rebuff. “We do not have the warriors to go against such forces when we’ve just lost so many. Our clan is only so large. Especially now.” 

“Nor, I think, do we have the strength in our hearts.” Saeyla says. She’s the most hesitant to speak against Tsu’tey. Her eyes carry the girlish longing of youth as she watches the olo’eyktan contemplate your words. Another string that would need to be cut before it caused further tangles. Though Tsu’tey isn’t the kind of man to back down from his responsibilities no matter his inner feelings. He would honor the promise he made to the late olo’eyktan to be mated with his daughter and lead the clan if only Neytiri would have him. Jake was ostracized, abandoned. A bond had been made but the clan can still be led by an olo’eyktan and tsahìk not joined by tsaheylu. 

His staunch devotion to duty and honor left little room for Saeyla’s budding affection. And even if he didn’t already commit himself to a future with Neytiri–if there still could be a future by her side after all that’s happened–it was likely that Tsu’tey would’ve never spared Saeyla a glance. His love had been Sylwanin. Still is Sylwanin. If the clan were a field of flowers, every woman was dull-petaled beside the memory of his love. But the girl is young. If the clan survives this war that Tsu’tey speaks of, then perhaps she’ll find a mate that has eyes only for her. The thought stings at your heart. There’d been a time where Neytiri saw only you. Now everything is muddled like dirty water. 

“We have strength.” Tsu’tey insists. “Many of our best warriors still live.”

“But can they bear to fight knowing the weapons the Sky People possess?” Maru asks. 

“They must.” The olo’eyktan says gravely. They must. Tsu’tey always sees things in clear strokes with no space for mixing. Waiting could mean a slow death. Sick with anxiety, wondering when the demons will attack again. Jake said that they wanted Hometree, but what truth could that be when he’d already lied for so long? They could come again, wipe your clan from the face of Pandora. It was within the power of those demons from the sky. They could make fire rain and the clan would suffer for it. Death in battle was a far worthier death. The few of you gathered close to Tsu’tey know this. To die defending the clan is a good death. They will sing songs of remembrance in your names. But what of those that still needed time to mend in body and soul. To condemn them to war so soon after a battle was lost. It feels cruel. And Tsu’tey is not a cruel man. The olo’eyktan sighs. 

“I will speak personally with Mo’at. This decision I cannot make alone. But I will go with your blessing.” Maru gives him a grave nod, silence falling over your small group. It is what must be done to rid Pandora of this evil. There are many clans beyond your Omatikaya. Clans that deserve to remain untouched by the savagery of the Sky People. The sawtute have always been close with your clan. Though Grace had spoken once of interactions with other peoples, it seems your clan has always been their focus. Now, with Hometree a smoldering ruin, you know why. 

Jake’s face comes into your mind unbidden as you return from Tsu’tey’s private meeting. The shape of his pil and his small eyes. The human irregularities that adorn his Na’vi body. Five fingers. Eyebrows. Tsu’tey wanted to kill him from the start. It was the voice of your tsahìk that overruled his call for blood, yet you find yourself wondering what purpose Eywa had for such a man now that he’s so utterly betrayed the trust the clan has shown him. Neytiri said there had been a sign. It isn’t within your heart to question the Great Mother’s judgment of the warriors she calls to serve a greater purpose, but, in moments of silence, you begin to wonder. 

Tsu’tey joins Mo’at on the raised stone that holds the Spirit Tree aloft. The tsahìk has spent nearly every moment beneath the swaying branches, communing with Eywa as she seeks to guide her clan through this dark time. She raises a hand when Tsu’tey begins to speak, answering with her own words. You’re too far from them to hear what is said but there’s an agitated twitch to Mo’at’s ear as if she’s admonishing Tsu’tey. He must’ve been direct with his desire for action. It might’ve been better for him to speak gently of his idea of war, but it likely would have done nothing to soften Mo’at’s decision. 

“We are in no place to attempt such a thing.” You hear Mo’at say as you walk up the terraced slabs of the stone. 

“We will be in no place at all if we continue to sit idly.” Tsu’tey hisses. Mo’at stands quickly at that, tail lashing behind her. 

“Mind yourself, Tsu’tey. You may carry the mantle of olo’eyktan now, but you still have much to learn. Do not think of making such decisions in the heat of your anger.” Mo’at scolds him as if he were still a child and you watch her tone slice at him. His ears pull back as he casts his eyes away from her, silent in his acceptance. It’s what you expected from the matron of your clan. She is more learned in the ways of leadership. It’s rare that your peaceful clan has a need to pass on the duties of olo’eyktan so soon. Eytukan had many years left before him, but it was all cut short by the whims of the Sky People. You had no doubt that Tsu’tey would be a good olo’eyktan someday. But he still had more to learn in the way of restraint. He revels in his anger and hurt, has worn it like armor since Sylwanin’s death, and this tragedy has only made it stronger. It will take time to shed. 

“What we need now is not violence,” Mo’at insists. “We need peace.” 

She turns away from him then, calling the clan’s attention as she leads everyone in prayer. Tsu’tey motions for you to join him and Neytiri appears soon after, kneeling beside you so close that your shoulders touch. Her voice swims in your ears as she joins the prayer, lashes fluttering as she closes her eyes to the feeling of being swept up in her mother’s chanting. It isn’t the time but you still reach to touch her face as if to be sure she’s still beside you. As if instinctual, Neytiri leans into your touch, eyes still closed as she sings along with the rest of the clan. Her devotion is grounding. Mo’at had said that in mating with Jake she had turned her back on the path of a tsahìk, but you can see the way she’s still full of love for the Great Mother. Eywa shines brightly through her and it reminds you that all things happen as it’s intended. Even the worst of things come as a way to balance the good. Without sadness there would be no way to feel happiness. You join the prayer. Quiet at first, only a soft murmur until you find yourself lost in the words you know by heart. These songs you’ve heard since your birth and they’ll be sung long after your death. 

Time passes slowly. Prayer and song, melodies that seem to stretch on into eternity. You imagine that they were once shorter in the time of the First Songs, but each generation has added their own verses. Each beat carries the hopes and dreams of the ancestors that came before you. It feels like an embrace as you sing. 

Suddenly, the soft harmony is shattered by a shrill scream stabbing through the air. It rings wide as a shadow falls over the clan. The silhouette of wings wider than any you’ve ever seen spread wide, black and terrible against the orange sunset. Bodies move as one, stumbling against each other like waves of deep blue water as people clamor away from the descending beast. 

Toruk lands with a screech that shakes the ground beneath your feet, the wind stirred by his wings knocking people off their feet as they skitter away. He rears fiercely, a graveled shriek spilling through the basin. It seems to echo off the sky as you watch him stretch out his immense wings. A figure slips from his back, dark against the amber light until he steps into the shade. Jake is familiar even from a distance as he brushes his hands across toruk’s head. The creature lets out a quieter trill. Soft, companionable. Behind you, there’s a stuttered gasp. 

“Toruk Makto,” Mo’at breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. There is awe stitched into every syllable of the words.

Jake Sully, you think bitterly. 

A dreamwalker has done what the People haven’t seen in generations. Only five riders of Last Shadow have ever emerged. Now Jake makes six. It seems implausible yet here he is walking towards you. The clan parts to allow him through. Murmurs float through the air as people bow, touching him as he passes. It’s an echo of the first meeting. Far more reverent than the curious prodding he’d received upon his first arrival at Hometree. Neytiri leading a band of hunters with an outsider in tow. Him in his human clothing, clumsily introducing himself. You weren’t certain if Tsu’tey would’ve bested him that night when the man said he could kill the alien warrior easily, but it hardly matters now. Things are far different now than they’d been then. 

No one jeers or japes. There’s only the soft utterance of his name, of Toruk Makto. Jake has turned himself into a living legend. No one among the living has seen a rider of Last Shadow, so long has it been that the bones of the last rider’s mount were old and cracked with age. Now they’re ash in the ruins of Hometree. Burned to dust with every other totem and touchstone that held such importance to the Omatikaya people, to you. The looms, the weavings that had lasted generations. The sight of Jake brings the pains back to the surface, but it seems like you’re the only one not awestruck by the presence of such a figure. Truly, you should be. Toruk Makto is said to be an unrivaled warrior. His presence is a harbinger of destruction and peace, rebirth. Yet all you see is the man that irrevocably broke the trust of every person standing before him. 

Still, Neytiri moves from beside you, stepping off the terraced stones to meet Jake halfway in his approach. It’s the reunion of two lovers as Jake holds her face in his hands. You turn away scornfully, eyes finding Tsu’tey’s by chance. He seems beyond his anger now as he glances between you and Jake. In bonding with toruk, Jake has proven himself to be a true Na’vi in a way no other feat could. Not his shedding of human comforts, or his learning of the ways of the clan, nor the completion of his iknimaya. 

Whatever animosity Tsu’tey might’ve held towards Jake has washed away like tracks after rain. The realization sweeps you up in a feeling of deep loneliness as you cling to your resentment. No matter what he’s done in taking up the mantle of Toruk Makto, it hasn’t erased the pain of his betrayal from your heart. Jake seems to sense this as he moves towards you, slow as a hunter stalking his prey. You glare at him, tail flicking fiercely behind you. His ears fall flat when the hard set of your mouth doesn’t soften at his approach. He fixes his eyes on the olo’eyktan instead.

“Tsu’tey, son of Ateyo, I stand before you ready to serve the Omatikaya people.” He speaks so he’s heard by all. Then, quieter, Jake says, “You are olo’eyktan. You are a great warrior. I can’t do this without you.” 

Tsu’tey looks almost fearful, sick with awe as he stands before a man only spoken of in song. Your mother’s mother hadn’t known Toruk Makto. How long had it been, yet here Jake stands. A rider of the Last Shadow. Tsu’tey swallows hard before he approaches Jake, placing a hand on his chest with such care that you almost forgot he had raised those same hands to strike Jake only days before. A blade to his throat had become a hand on his heart.

“Toruk Makto,” Tsu’tey says. “I will fly with you.” His words are absolute. The olo’eyktan speaks for the clan. Jake nods appreciatively but you can tell he has more to say. He hesitates a moment, jaw tensing before he gets the words out. 

“My friend is dying.” He whispers. “Grace is dying.” Despite yourself, your lips part around a gasp. The words stab through you like an arrow. “I beg the help of Eywa.” 

It’s past eclipse by the time Jake returns with Grace’s true body. She’s wearing human clothes and Neytiri advises against allowing her to wear those into such a sacred place as they prepare Grace for her first commune with Eywa. Despite the amount of time she’s spent on Pandora, Grace has never deigned to think she could speak with the Great Mother as other Na’vi do. She knows the deep bond the People hold with Eywa, so she has never asked to be part of it despite her, too, having a kuru. And despite the pain it causes, she allows you and Neytiri to help her out of her bloody clothing. It feels like dressing a child, her human body small beneath your hands as you wrap her in vines. There is no time to fit her with a proper loincloth. 

No point, your mind whispers, if she doesn’t survive. The thought is near inconceivable. Grace has been a pillar of your life since you were young. Though so was Sylwanin, and her father Eytukan. So was every clan member that was lost in the fall of Hometree. There must be great times of happiness just over the horizon for so much agony to be bringing the clan to its knees. 

“You haven’t spoken to him.” Neytiri says as she ties a final knot to secure the coverings around Grace’s body. A simple net of leaves to preserve her human standard of modesty. 

“And I won’t.” You say tersely, standing to leave once she calls for Jake. He arrives in an instant having only stepped away to give Grace a bit of privacy as you changed her clothes. He opens his mouth as you pass but you don’t wait to hear what he has to say. Whatever happens tonight, you’re doing this for Grace, not him. 

Jake carries her as Tsu’tey and Norm arrange her dormant avatar at the base of the Tree of Souls. Mo’at presides gravely over the proceedings, pacing beneath the swaying tendrils of the tree. Each branch glows brighter as they brush against the tsahìk’s body, tossing strands of light across the shell of Grace’s mask. It’s bright as crystal, smooth as still water as the contraption feeds her breathable air. Each of her breaths come shallow and labored as the bandages around her stomach become more sodden with blood. A terrible thought spears through you, sharp enough to send you to your knees; there’s not enough time. Each exhale is weaker than the last as Grace clings to the last scraps of her life. Her soul is leaving her and there’s hardly a moment left to spare. 

“What are you going to do?” Jake asks as Mo’at looks over Grace’s body. The threadlike tendrils of Eywa’s roots cling to her skin, twining into a thick rope, like a tswin, at the nape of her neck.  

“We must save everything that she is,” Mo’at sweeps a hand over Grace’s human form, “in this body.” The avatar remains still as the tsahìk touches her shoulder. 

“Is that… possible?” Jake sounds hesitant.

“She must pass through the eye of Eywa and return, but, Jakesully, she is very weak.” There’s no fear in the tsahìk’s voice. What will be will be, but she will do her duty as tsahìk to try to preserve Grace’s life. To let her walk among the People as a true Na’vi. 

A new prayer begins. Neytiri kneels beside you, lost in the words as the clan begs Eywa to spare Grace from her wounds. Mo’at has always had an understanding between her and Grace. Two women with great respect for each other. Leaders of their own factions coexisting in harmony. Mo’at was the one that gave Grace leave to build her school, and after Sylwanin’s death, it was Mo’at that rescinded her permission for the children of the clan to attend. You learned later that Grace still went to the school for a long while after that fateful day, hoping against hope that someone would return. None of you ever did. Now it felt like all the time that had been lost was suddenly sweeping over you in a cold wave. A riptide tugging your feet out from under you. You’ve seen Grace go against the words of those human warriors, heard her bark orders with the same intensity as any olo’eykte. 

The woman you knew can’t be reconciled in your mind with the weak creature of pale, wounded flesh bundled at Mo’at’s feet. Blood seeps from her body like a red steam as tsahìk leads the prayer. Eyes rolled back and body convulsing as she loses herself in the chanting mantra. Your voice is lost in the din of so many others, hoping against hope that the All Mother will spare this human. Her heart is kind, you know. Grace can be rude, authoritative, but she is kind. 

There was an earnestness to her teaching, and a willingness to learn from the children of her school. She’d sing the silly songs that were common among clan children, play the games that you all taught her. She treated each of you with a gentility that no other dreamwalker had. She is a human deserving of respect and perhaps that’s why her own people had tried to kill her. No other could’ve put such a wound in her belly. You think of Sylwanin with holes in her body and taste bile on your tongue. Tears well behind your closed lids as you pray harder, begging for Grace’s life to be spared. So many others have already been taken. Too many. 

Just before the tears fall in earnest, Mo’at suddenly calls for silence. Your eyes open, vision blurred as you watch Jake kneel beside Grace. She reaches towards him, hand shaking with the last of her strength. Her voice is near silent, only the barest wisp of a sound as she whispers, 

“I’m with her Jake, she’s real.” 

A beat passes, then Grace falls still.

Her head rolls and her eyes close and the breath rattles from her lungs. The light dies out in waves, teal syuratan giving way to darkness once more. You can hear Jake speaking beside you, asking questions, but what more is there to know? Grace is gone. Mo’at tells him that there was not enough time as Neytiri removes her mask, placing a hand against her cheek. Grace looks like a sleeping child as Neytiri’s palm cups her face. 

There are no tears left to cry. Anger and sadness give way to echoing numbness in your chest as you watch Jake struggle to his feet. His movements are slow, weighted, his gaze numb. There’s a gnawing emptiness deep inside you that doesn’t feel like your own. A dull echo of a half-smothered bond. Then the nothingness gives way to rage as Jake begins to speak. Your ears are ringing, drowning out his voice and Tsu’tey’s translations, but all around you the clan is rising to the call of Toruk Makto.

The ringing never stops. It’s always there in the back of your mind. High pitched, like a thousand animals screeching out all at once. Long and mournful as if the Great Mother herself is screaming out across Pandora, railing against all that has happened, and what’s yet to come. 

War. That is all Jake speaks of now. War and reclamation. Strong words from the lips of an alien. An uniltìrantokx, a demon. He holds the guilt of his creation heavy on his shoulders. You see it. Even if the rallied clans will not look beyond the man he’s become–a warrior of the Omatikaya clan, Toruk Makto–you See him. 

It is worse that you can feel him, too. Above the screams swinging between anguish and apathy, there are your mates. Each nested in an alcove of your soul. Neytiri is a warm comfort like sun against your skin, a soft breeze and the scent of sweet flowers. It is natural, like she was always meant to be there. It’s a selfish thought knowing every ripple in the waters of your lives that led to her standing by your side. 

In your youth it was easy to hope that she might be yours, that you’d knot your braids in tsaheylu and be mated for the rest of your lives. Then Sylwanin died and she was promised to Tsu’tey in her sister’s place. Even that was natural. The order of things. If one plant wilts another is seeded to grow in its place. But Jake had not sprung from careful planting and tilling. He was a weed pushing up between the fertile soil of a garden, greedy and poisonous. 

Through the bond, you feel his grief and pain in faint echoes. He mourns for Eytukan, Grace, the fallen people of your clan. His pain is yours, yet you can’t bring yourself to comfort him. The clan sang his praises at every turn; he could live without the love of one woman. 

His voice called forth the might of more warriors than you’d ever seen in your life. People of the plains and the sea, warriors mounted on pa’li and ikran. Jake had swept the forests in search of every warrior willing to fight beside Toruk Makto. A call that is so seldom heard must always be answered. Now the valley of the Tree of Souls has overflowed with a larger war party than any Pandora has ever seen, but you aren’t certain it will be enough. For all the might that a single Na’vi wields over a human, the Sky People have powers beyond your comprehension. 

Guns, fire. Terrible, horrible weapons that have already torn your world apart time and time again. The ashes of Hometree still fall from the sky. They will do worse to an army, as Jake calls this gathering of clans, much worse. But you have to try. For as much as you hate Jake for calling down this wrath upon your clan, you know that he is right in striking back. Tsu’tey thought the same and he is olo’eyktan now. If not now, then when? If it means your life, you’ll give it in the hopes that the future of your people might live brighter days without the shadow of sawtute hanging over their heads. 

But with so many warriors coming together, there’s nowhere to go to be truly alone. The forest is truly crowded. Temporary dwellings have sprung up over the swathes of grass, cookfires blooming like red flowers in the blue-green darkness. Yours is as far as you dare to go. Tsu’tey expects you to keep close, as do Jake and Neytiri, though you’ve seen so little of your supposed mates in the time since Grace’s death. They’re with each other as is customary after mating. A fledgling bond is meant to be cherished. Any further distance and you might sever the bond almost completely. It will always be there, but it grows fainter. Fading faster with each passing day. It feels like cutting off your own tail, but the pain must be endured. You’ve lost Neytiri once, you can stomach losing her again if it meant keeping Jake away. Though things are hardly ever as simple as wishing for it to be done. If prayer and hope could turn things true, Hometree would still stand.  

Jake comes sniffing after you as the fires begin to burn out for the night, ducking under branches as he comes prancing out of the blue gloom. He looks different now, carrying himself with a more severe air. Tsu’tey has named him eyktanay and the responsibility looks to weigh heavily upon his shoulders. But, more than that, he’s taken on the look of a true Omatikaya warrior. Someone has done the honors of shaving his head and braiding his hair. He looks handsome, as much as you loath the thought. Some small part of you still holds fondness for him. It was easier to ignore when he was at a distance–across a crowd, never within reach. Now he stands close enough to touch. Far harder to ignore when you can smell his skin and hear his breathing. Still, you turn away. Staunch in your stubbornness. 

Your own fire has burned to a few embers but all around you the foliage is aglow. Bright enough to see the frown on Jake’s face as he moves closer in your periphery. His steps are soft and deliberate as if you’re some prey that will bolt away at the slightest hint of danger. Maybe you are. Already your tail has coiled tight behind you, back straightening at the approach of some foreign person. Jake is no longer safe to you. You’ve made the mistake of trusting him once before and the consequences of your open heart are rising up all around you. 

A war to right the wrongs done by people like Jake. Strangers from the sky that know only death and destruction. You see the pain flicker across his face when you stand and take a step back, carefully keeping the distance between you. There’s safety in the space left uncrossed. Reassurance that he can’t drag you into his current once again, deceptive as a rising tide. Jake loses patience with your retreat quickly. A shadow falling over his eyes as he lowers his brow, lips curling in the barest hint of a snarl. It only makes your instinct to flee worse. 

“If you run,” he says to break the tense silence, “I’ll chase you.” He takes another step, quiet as before, but you turn to bolt like an animal hearing the snapping of a twig underfoot, kicking dirt over the vestiges of your cookfire before sprinting into the woods. 

Jake, true to his word, comes barreling after you. He learned the ways of a hunter well, taking after your own teachings. His pursuit is nearly noiseless as you duck under branches and leap over raised roots. But night provides less cover than the day. Your body can be lost in the sea of blue shadows, but the light springing up underfoot will always lead back to your racing feet. It would almost be a game if you didn’t loathe the man trying to catch your tail. A play between mates where Jake would catch you in his arms and lay you down in the grass beneath the eyes of Eywa. 

Instead, you hope he will lose interest. What sense is there in chasing a woman that doesn’t want him when Neytiri is likely waiting for him to return to her side. Though Jake has never been known for his thoughtfulness. He’s stubborn, through and through. He’s still at your heels, tackling you when you take a beat too long for you to decide which direction to bank around a tree. His full weight slams into your back, knocking the breath from your lungs as he takes you to the ground. 

Dirt seeps between your fingers as you claw at the grass, trying to pull yourself from beneath him. Jake snarls and wrestles you onto your back to bare his fangs at you. The aggression is returned with a hiss of your own as you try to buck his weight off your hips. He doesn’t move at all, heavy as stone on top of you. You thrash until the heat of anger bleeds cold. It flushes the fight from your body until there’s only the tingling numbness of a lost spar. There’s dirt under your nails and on your cheeks, your beaded top has shifted across your chest, and your tail is pinned beneath you. Slowly, you tilt your head back against the grass, eyes looking towards the endlessly blue sky. Jake rewards your bared neck with a kiss against your fluttering pulse. You suppose the following nip to your throat is a punishment for running in the first place. 

“Told you I’d chase you.” He’s barely breathless as he nuzzles against your skin. It feels like his lips are counting the stripes that pattern your neck, higher and higher until his teeth are scraping against your jaw. For a moment, you’re blinking up at the sky, then Jake’s shadow is overtaking the stars as he leans over you to fit his lips against yours. It’s hardly a kiss, just a press of his mouth. Soft and hesitant, like he’s expecting rejection. You satisfy the concern by turning your face away. Blades of grass press into your cheek, pale green light shining as the ground reacts to your touch. 

Jake sighs, kissing your cheek then the point of your ear before he pulls away. He only goes far enough to let you sit up and you don’t think to mistake his distance for freedom. It would only send you running just to be captured again. An endless cycle like the rising of the sun. So strange that everything about this man before you seems so inevitable. 

Eywa truly chose him for this, you think mournfully. It is only your misfortune that you’re a line in his song, a bead on his waytelem. He could’ve gone to any clan, found any woman, yet the Great Mother led him to Neytiri, to you. She told you of the atokirina’, the signs from Eywa that kept her arrows from piercing his heart. Everything had aligned to keep this man alive, to lead him to his place among the People. Every lesson, every moment had brought him here and now he has become a hero. A song made flesh as the sixth man to bond with toruk. 

Even without the legend, the dull thrum in your chest is evidence enough that you’ll never fully be free of him. Jake watches you, still enough that the world around him has gone dark while you shift uneasily, each shift breathing light into the small clearing. The trees bend forward as if to bear witness to the majesty of Toruk Makto. But all you see is Jake. Somehow that hurts more than seeing an alien wearing the face of your People. 

“Come back with me,” Jake says softly. It isn’t a question but you can hear the longing in his voice. So many days have passed since you parted from him and that fragmented part of your soul still reaching towards him begs to be heard. A quiet yearning that you wish to smother. The man you tied yourself to no longer exists. The Jake that you’d known is gone, replaced with this war leader that had only been a fledgling in the ways of manhood only months ago. Jake has been by your side for so long. He slept with you, ate with you, lived with you. With Neytiri, and the clan. Yet, still, he betrayed all of you. From the first steps inside Hometree, he meant to destroy you. Even if that mission had been abandoned the outcome was still the same. Inevitable.  

It makes you long for before. But how far back would you have to go to find true happiness? Youth bred ignorance but even that had been soured when those human soldiers murdered Sylwanin in a place Grace swore was safe. Now even Grace herself is gone. 

Warmth touches your cheeks, bleeding in a slow trickle as tears fall down your cheeks. Wet and silent. There are no sobs left in your lungs. No words. There is nothing to be said that might undo all the horrors your clan has suffered. For what it’s worth, Jake allows you your silence. He kisses your wet cheeks then your lips and that broken part of you leans forward to chase his touch. There’s nothing else to steady you save for his presence. So strange that the last you’d been this close to him had been in the flames of Hometree. You’d been angry then, screaming and cursing him as a traitor. He came back even still. Back to Neytiri, back to you. You can’t be sure if it’s a blessing or a curse. 

“Come with me,” Jake says again, keeping your eyes on his. He’s nearly begging. It seems to be the only way you hear his voice anymore. He’d begged you as the sawtute set your home ablaze; begged you to free him, begged you to run. You hadn’t. A traitor’s voice falls on deaf ears. Now he’s begging again, and you feel yourself slipping into the comfort of his familiarity. For a moment he’s the man you knew before the fall. Soft, nebulous memories float to the surface as he pulls you into his lap, hands firm on your waist. It’s an echo of that night that seems so long ago. 

“Look at me, baby,” he implores, and you do because he’s holding your face in his hands like you’re some precious stone, fragile in his palms. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” 

Words for another woman. If it were Neytiri in his arms, she might’ve been soothed by his declaration. You should be, you know. He is your mate for better or worse. The deed was done before the eyes of Eywa. It almost feels as though Jake is your punishment from the All Mother. The Great Balance was upset. Neytiri was meant for Tsu’tey, and you weren’t meant for Jake. But for taking something for yourself–indulging in selfishness you knew to be beyond your grasp, taking Neytiri as your mate–this is your retribution. 

It is beautiful in certain lights. So far from the war camp that the Tree of Souls has become, you can forget, for a moment, how terrible your mate is. You reach to touch Jake’s face, fingertips following the dotted lines of his tanhì. He leans into your touch and it nearly breaks your heart. You don’t love him the way you should. Not the way Neytiri does. So wholly and without thought. All you can do is think. Think of every moment he spent by your side, living a lie. But why should his tongue not have been as false as the whole of his body? 

Somehow, even with Jake so close, you feel alone. You’ve been alone. Alone and scared and angry. The reason for it all sits before you, holding you in his arms. Demon. Alien. Jake. If only for the night–this last night–you give in, collapsing into the feeling of closeness. You’re with him. Because if you stand against him, you’ll be standing alone. You’re falling, you know, sinking deeper into the darkness of grief, and Jake has opened his arms to catch you. He kisses you again when you look up at him. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” he promises with a surety that might be undeserved for anyone else. Jake wears it well. The confidence, the authority. He’s always been all quick wit and easy smiles, damningly personable. An apex predator luring everyone into a false sense of security. He’d fooled everyone with his willingness to learn, his eagerness to please. Perhaps he’d even lulled himself into thinking that the winds would change and your clan would be spared. Or perhaps he never thought for a moment that the fall would be anything but inevitable. Even in his desperation, Jake had admitted the truth. He knew. He’d always known. 

It feels shameful to be in his arms, but he’s holding you like he needs it, like he’ll break if he can’t keep you close. You feel yourself settling into acceptance the same way you had when Jake invaded your tsaheylu with Neytiri. What was done was done. Once a flower is plucked it can not be stopped from withering. There is no fixing what’s been broken, only gathering the pieces and making something new. Jake seems adept at not looking back. You’d seen flashes of it when you bonded. The feeling of freedom and renewal that came with this new body, this new life. There was nothing he had worth going back to. And he’d used all of you to burn those bonds to ash. 

You’re still human, you want to tell him. You’ll always be human. Tonight, he’ll close his eyes to sleep and wake up somewhere different. He won’t be looking at the sky above your heads, but a metal dwelling of the Sky People. His body will be different. Different skin, different eyes, even the breath in his lungs. He’s here with you now but in a moment he could be gone. His stolen hand strokes your hair, borrowed mouth kissing your scowled lips. It feels wrong, yet, in your weakness, you can’t muster resistance when he pulls you to your feet. He lifts your arm, spinning you in a circle as he’d done in the river. He catches you again, laughing when you hiss at him. A matter of life and death sits just over the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise, but Jake can find a moment of levity in the quiet night. 

Half the clans have gone to sleep when you return to the larger camp. Jake is still holding your hand, swinging your arms lightly between you. You pass mates asleep against each other, tsaheylu tied even as they rest. Children curl against their parents, friends hold hands beneath the pale glow of the stars. Some are still awake, drawn in pensive quiet as they sharpen blades and string bows. Others busy themselves with making adornments for the battle. Strings of beads and ornaments of brightly colored feathers. Pieces of home to carry into battle. 

Neytiri is still awake when you find her, twirling her knife in her hand. The edge of the obsidian blade catches the light, tossing ribbons of lavender light over her skin. She looks beautiful even when dressed for war. The Omatikaya is not a clan that favors armor, but even a child knows loosely fitted garbs would only be a hindrance in combat. There was little joy in the work of making a vesture for battle. Only the quiet of mind that came with familiar tasks. Weaving and beading, singing work songs to stave off thoughts of what’s to come. It’s how you’d spent the last few days of solitude. 

“Syulang,” Neytiri says softly. You take her outstretched hand and even the slightest touch feels different when it’s her. Bitterness poisons your mind as you try not to think of Jake as a parasite attached to your bond. He kisses your shoulder before moving to settle beside Neytiri. There’s little left to do but sleep, yet you know Neytiri must’ve been restless. Times of sorrow come so seldom to your peaceful clan. To think that death hides just over the horizon will make it hard to find rest, but she sleeps eventually. Neytiri curls herself against Jake’s chest. You sit beside them, watchful, waiting for the moment Jake leaves his body once more. When both are gone to the world, you move away. Your path to leave is intercepted by a voice calling your name. It’s quiet, gruff, but you can recognize Tsu’tey by even the barest hint of his brusque tone. 

He sits a ways away, bedroll spread a few steps from where Mo’at and the other tsahìks have made a private place to convene. The small hut is a mix of different weaving styles and patterns from all the clans that have joined beneath the Tree of Souls. It’s a strangely beautiful sight. Something hopeful to see as you prepare for what might be your last living moments. There will always be others with kind hearts and helpful hands. Most of your use has come from hunting; providing and protecting. It’s made you a close companion of your olo’eyktan. 

Though it has come before his time, Tsu’tey lives up to expectations. When it comes to tradition, he has never strayed even half a step from his allotted path. Guilt wells in your chest, poisoned words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t bear to speak them. I am becoming like them, you think. Lying like a human. But to admit your betrayal would only be another knife between his ribs, and there will be enough anguish come sunrise. You hold your tongue, sitting in silence beside one of your oldest friends. 

He called for you, but it seems he wanted nothing more than another’s presence beside him as he crushes pigments for war paint. White and blue minerals turn to dust as he grinds stone against stone. You take up a bowl of yellow rocks, looking to keep busy. Sleep has been fitful of late and you’re glad for some distraction to keep you from it for a few moments longer. But eventually there is nothing to be done but close your eyes. Tsu’tey sets aside his work and takes the bowl from your hands when you don’t follow his lead. 

“It is enough,” he says. There’s something beneath the simple words. It is enough. More than the pigment that now dusts your hands. This gathering of warriors that have come to heed the call of Toruk Makto are enough. They have to be, because defeat would lead to more ash in the sky, another connection with Eywa severed at the root. The Tree of Souls hangs over you, dancing in the light breeze. To think that it might crumble to dust should the Sky People triumph is inconceivable. 

Jake never does wake up. It’s like tossing a crystal off a cliff and watching it shatter on the rocks below, watching hundreds of glitter shards scatter to the wind and knowing there’s no way to gather them all. Once a cut is made there’s no removing the presence of the blade. There will always be a scar. Healed and faded but never completely hidden from view. There was always the knowledge that Jake lived with a false body, that he was a Sky Demon wearing the face of the People. But knowing is different from seeing. Knowing that his body is empty, not asleep, a cup spilled and hollow without anything to fill it. Someone was kind enough to help Neytiri find a place to settle his body. 

If not for his chest rising and falling, it would be easy to imagine his stillness as death. But his skin is still warm, his heartbeat still thrumming through his veins. He’s pliable as water, running between your fingers as you lift his arm, bending it this way and that as if to find some new flaw in his stolen physique. His veins march in rivers beneath his blue skin, patterned with the same dark markings of any true born Na’vi. His likeness is remarkable save for the things the human scientists could never perfect. As a child, Grace had explained that their hands and feet with those extra appendages were like a syaksyuk’s split arms, to remove one would be to unbalance the creature needlessly. Like removing a Na’vi’s tail. A body used to having five fingers would need to relearn to use only four, she told you. Jake’s hand is heavy in yours as you turn it over between your own. Warm and hardened from months of training. When he’d come to the clan on that fateful night, led by Neytiri and a sign from the Great Mother he’d been smooth. Soft and thin as a child, but in time he’d learned and grown into a man worthy of the Omatikaya clan. His palms are calloused and muscles defined, pulling taut beneath his skin like the string of a bow as you rediscover the shape of his body. 

It’s so strange how closely you’ve become acquainted with the form of an uniltìrantokx. All your life you’ve been taught to fear the demons from the sky, the monsters that descended upon your peaceful home and ravaged it like a sickness with no cure, a plague upon all that they touched. The very ground beneath your feet bears scars of the Sky People. Poisons leaked from their dwellings and swathes of land lost to the metal creatures that know only to seek and destroy. Tears burn anew in your eyes as you think of the yellow behemoths chewing through the glade of Spirit Trees with no regards to their sacred value. All of those that had gone before you, yet lived on within Eywa, lost in an instant like a scent washed clean by the rain. 

Somewhere, Tsu’tey is rallying the clan to strike back against the terror these demons have wrought. The tenuous bond that was made with the intentions of peace has been slowly fraying, day by day, and now it’s been severed completely. A knife that cut clean and quick through the years of fragile peace. Retribution is in order. What they’ve done is not a slight that can be taken in silence. A weeping gash has been torn through the clan and the suffering must be returned in kind. First blood has been drawn. 

With the iknimaya celebration having passed not even a day ago, it all seems to have happened with such perfect timing. As if the Sky People knew of the warriors that would be joining the ranks of the adults within the clan. A few days earlier and some might not have been considered to defend the People. Children are precious and only a few are ever chosen to join a fight before their time. Your eyes fall to Jake. His face looks just the same as it has for the past few hours as the sun creeps higher in the sky. Grace is laid a few paces away. Both quiet as death. A bolt of doubt strikes through your chest like an arrow dipped in acid. A burning that spreads through your chest like a web, poisoning every corner of your mind with ideas of those you’ve allowed into your home betraying the People’s trust. Grace who you once called sa’nok. Jake who you had bound your life to, albeit with great hesitance. He was your mate now, for better or worse. And it seemed that with each passing moment, a storm was drawing ever nearer. 

A shadow thundering over the horizon as you remain at your post, watching over the demons as Tsu’tey had instructed. He didn’t trust Neytiri with the task and he needed every one of his students present for the war council. His trust weighs heavily on your shoulders, misplaced and absolute. It hadn’t been only Neytiri that betrayed him, hadn’t been only Jakesully that mated with his promised woman. But now was not the time for such confessions. Another severed bond would only serve to further weaken the clan from within. So you shut the guilt tight within yourself, burying it deep within your heart to be dealt with when the time comes. For now, all that plagues your mind is worries of the war to come. You’d been far closer to the might of these Sky People than most. Thoughts of blood and bullets crowd your mind, hand curling tighter around Jake’s for comfort. 

Seeking out your mate with an instinctual fervor even as the bond slips in and out of focus like blinking water from your eyes. It’s shimmery and elusive. A single thread where there should be an unbreakable rope tied between your hearts. The bond wavers, made worse as you try to reach for a person that isn’t there. Jake is only a body at this moment. An empty vessel waiting to be inhabited. Your nails dig desperately into his skin as fear chokes you, clutching tight to his hand. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. He lays still as panic overtakes you. The feeling threatens to drown you. Tears burn in your eyes and drip across his skin as your feelings roar forth all at once. It is as safe a place as any to allow yourself to be lost in your anguish. Though there are three bodies in the alcove hidden within Hometree, only one is real. Somehow, even in company, you’re completely alone. 

The feeling burns through your, in your eyes and beneath your skin. Simmering like nectar on a hot stone, bubbling and turning acrid as you sob through another wave of grief. It’s like stones being stacked on your chest, the weight growing and growing, threatening to crack through your ribs and crush your heart beneath the weight. It had started as a few pebbles. Small slights and forgettable offenses committed by the Sky People in your childhood. But in the time since, they’ve only grown more audacious, more greedy. Taking and taking until there’s nothing left to give. The loss of Utraya Mokri is nearly enough to crush your spirit to ash yet you’ve remained standing. Though there’s no certainty for how much longer you can bear it. One more devastation and you’ll surely crumble beneath the weight. You squeeze Jake’s hand again as a sob silently wracks your shoulder, muffled and choked as you try to contain your sadness. This time there’s a slight twitch to his fingers as if he’s finally noticed the weight of your hand in his. Grace comes to first, rolling to her knees and then scrambling to her feet. 

There’s a frantic look about her eyes as she tries to gain her bearings before her gaze settles on you kneeling beside Jake. He wakes with the same erraticism, jumping to his feet so quickly it knocks you to the wayside. It’s so strange that in a single moment the comfort he offered has dried up. Seeing him return to his false body reminded you that he was nothing more than an illusion, that his soul could never truly be bound to yours, or anyone else’s. In the silence there was the comfort of familiarity but seeing him awake, kneeling before you as the tears dry on your cheeks. Jake suddenly looks like a stranger. 

“I was sent here to–” The words echo in your mind even as his thumbs brush away the last of your tears. He presses a kiss to your lips, his forehead resting against yours, and all you can muster is a feeling of betrayal. Who was this man that was speaking to you so gently? 

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” he’s telling you as if you’d been in fear for his safety. Perhaps Neytiri had been afraid. Her voice was scratched with panic as she went to Grace’s side; her eyes flashed with rage after Tsu’tey dared to set his blade against Jake’s neck. Yet all you could muster was fear for yourself, for your home. Fear of what kind of people you’d let into your heart. Once, you’d thought Tsu’tey’s persistent hatred to be exhausting. Anger for the sake of it when all you wanted to do was forget. But now you see it for what it is. A desperate bid for self preservation. There was no forgetting the scars carved through your life by the hands of the Sky People. No masking the hatred that burned deep in your heart for what they’ve done. Hostility is an instinct taught to you from birth, and you chose to ignore it to please the whims of your heart. Neytiri had learned kindness and so too had you. And that gentility has been taken for granted. 

It makes you cry harder. Jake soothes you with a sort of hastened affection as Grace paces the small hollow. Her tail curls anxiously, ears pulled tight against her head as she clenches and releases her fists. 

“Baby, look at me.” You want to tell him that you’re not a baby. That your tears are well-founded, but you can’t find the words as his thumbs brush over your cheeks. “We have to talk to Mo’at and Eytukan. Now, right now.” 

“It can’t wait,” Grace insists as Jake urges you to your feet. By the time the three of you reach the heart of Hometree, your tears have dried, though you aren’t certain of how long it will last. 

Neytiri is the first to notice the three of you, coming to Jake’s side with a swiftness that takes his hand from yours before anyone could take note of it. If Grace had words for how she felt hearing Jake speak so intimately with you she kept them to herself, far more interested in the more pressing matter of an audience with your tsahìk and olo’eyktan. Neytiri calls to her parents, pulling Jake behind her, and they part from their war plans with a guarded curiosity. Mo’at raises her hands to silence the buzzing crowd so Jake might speak and be heard. Nearly the entire clan is gathered. Young and old, man and woman are gathered to hear what the dreamwalker has to say. He draws in a deep breath as if to gather his strength before he speaks. 

“A great evil is upon us. The Sky People are coming to destroy Hometree.” He says in carefully enunciated Na’vi. Quieter, to Neytiri, he says, “Tell them they’re going to be here soon.” And she does. His words move through the clan like a ripple over still waters, raising a hum of fear and aggression. 

“You have to leave, or you’re gonna die.” His words are final. As though he’s already seen what will come of this. And perhaps he has. How easily they’d turned the Trees of Voices to ruin. Though Hometree was far bigger, it seemed something these demons from the sky were capable of. With their rumbling metal beasts and their sparking guns. A chill rushes over you as cold as rainfall. More bullets. More death. It was all these Sky People were good for. 

“Are you certain of this?” Mo’at demands. Moments ago her most pressing concern was seeking vengeance for the destruction of a sacred place. Now the tsahìk has to contend with the thought of her clan’s ancestral home being annihilated. Your eyes sweep over the open space within the roots of Kelutral. There is the fire pit still smoldering with the breakfast cookfire. The totem of toruk’s skeleton that has been passed down through generations of the Omatikaya as a precious show of strength and resilience. The mother loom that even now has hands weaving upon it. Your very life has been kept safe within the cradle of Hometree and these demons seek to destroy it. 

A pit opens in your stomach. Hollow and gnawing as your fingers dance over the shape of your songcord. It’s an act of comfort, touching each bead and knowing each memory by shape alone. The bead for Sylwanin’s death, the flat river stone to match the color of your ikran, the jagged bit of crystal for your iknimaya. The litany of beads and knots to commemorate the chorus that ties every Na’vi life together. Soon there’d be more to add. For your mating. For a battle with the Sky People. The loose end of your cord is frayed between anxious fingers as you pull at the threads, waiting for a shred of reassurance. None comes. 

“They sent me here, to learn your ways, so one day I could bring this message and you would believe me.” Jake says. 

I was sent here to–kill. Destroy. Lie. A word that had no meaning before these demons descended upon your home. It was your mistake for thinking Jake could be any different. Though he wears his anguish plainly, as if your pain is shared when he meets your eyes. His gaze is heavy, pleading, and you step back as if to lessen the weight. This isn’t your burden to bear. All that he’s done, he did for himself. Neytiri isn’t so hesitant in her disbelief. She pushes forward. Reaching towards him as though her hands might reshape the words he’s said. 

“What are you saying Jake?” Her voice is unsteady as rushing water. “You knew this would happen?”

He hesitates for a moment before he speaks. “Yes.”

“Look, at first it was just orders, then everything changed. I fell in love,” he tries to smile. “I fell in love with the forest, with the Omatikaya people,” he reaches to hold her and it’s like a spark that lights a fire. Neytiri pushes his hands aside, her face crumbling beneath the weight of his words. 

“With you.” He says as though it will fix anything. 

“I trusted you,” she says quietly. Jake’s eyes cut between the two of you. You stare back, tears welling in your eyes. The love you felt for Jake was not the same as Neytiri’s. She was in love with him. Consumed by the desperate fervor that made her betray all the plans that were made for her. She was willing to throw her life away for him. To deny her calling as tsakarem and never assume the mantle of tsahìk. She made a sacrifice with her very soul. As had you in some accidental, tangled moment of lust. Your spirits were now bound until death and it had only taken mere hours for Jake to so utterly betray that bond. The tips of your ears burned hot with shame. It simmered within you like a poison, searing through your veins until all you felt was an encompassing numbness. Like a salve being spread over a burn, the pain fizzled and faded until your heart felt cold as stone in your chest. This is what kindness has gotten you. Perhaps if you’d been hardened by your pain like Tsu’tey, this moment might’ve glanced off your skin like rain hissing to steam over fire. 

Jake and Neytiri exchange the same words. Over and over. With you. I trusted you. One is present, constant. Jake loves Neytiri even now. Yet the same can’t be said for her, for you. Whatever love you might’ve had for the uniltìrantokx was lost the moment he voiced his betrayal. 

“Trust me now, please.” He’s begging now. Quietly, he says your name as if you’ll have words to heal what has been hurt. His pleas fall upon deaf ears. Neytiri speaks for both of you as she rages at him. Screaming and hissing, pushing him away and stripping him of the one thing he’d been fighting for. 

“You will never be one of the People!” 

“Neytiri, please–” He steps towards her, arms outstretched as if to hold her, but you take the moment from him. Neytiri falls heavily into your arms and still Jake moves closer, begging desperately. 

“No!” You hiss as Neytiri buries her head in your neck, tears wetting your skin. No. He doesn’t get to speak to her. He doesn’t get to look at her. Not her. Not you. “No.” 

Neytiri’s quiet sobs ring in your ear as Mo’at wraps her arms around the two of you. A soft, comforting whisper of “ma ite,” reaches you over the sound of Neytiri’s whimpers as the tsahìk takes pity on her daughter. Both of you were led astray by the lies of an outsider. Mo’at’s hand brushes over your hair as Eytukan calls for Jake and Grace to be bound. 

“You have to leave!” Grace insists. “They’re coming!” It doesn’t matter. This is your home and none of you are leaving it without a fight. Tsu’tey deals with the traitors, binding Jake’s hands and leading them to the seldom-used platform erected just outside of Hometree. It’s a simple structure decorated with bones. A place of quiet death. It’s meant for the worst offenses committed within the clan. That which cannot be atoned for so easily. It’s a place meant for the People, to offer dignity even in death. Sky People do not deserve such treatment. It proves the clan’s respect even in the face of such great betrayal. You stand by as Tsu’tey’s warriors bind the traitors, heart conflicted as you watch your mate and teacher be prepared for death. Part of you wonders if it would only mean death for these bodies. You know that somewhere far away, their human bodies are safe from reach. But to kill them in this way would sever the bond they’ve formed with the Omatikaya. It is greatly deserved but there is a fragmented piece of you that mourns the loss of the people you thought you knew. 

“Watch them.” Tsu’tey grunts before heading back towards Hometree. It is a show of trust that he would leave you with his students to mind the captives. There isn’t a thought in his mind that you might think to free them the moment his back is turned. There’s a fierce loyalty within you and it will not be bent or broken by Jake’s pleading. He says your name so gently that you almost imagine that he could truly love you the way he says. But a man that loves you would never do this to you. To your people. To your home. Still, he speaks as a mate would. Calling to you to help him. 

“Baby, please, you have to listen to me,” he begs. “They’re gonna burn this place to the ground. You have to go now.” 

“Be silent. I will hear no more from you.” He doesn’t heed your words. Jake has always been talkative, filling the air with the sound of his voice, but now more than ever you wish for him to be quiet. There’s no amount of simpering and sorrow that would get you to abandon your home without a fight. This was the place that had seen your birth. Countless lives had bloomed and withered, returned to Eywa, within the comfort of Kelutral. To leave now would be to forsake your ancestors who had lived and fought for the life you lead now. Their memory is worth defending no matter what is to come. 

The humans are not silent in their approach. The thundering buzz of their flying ships echoes through the air, seeming to come from all sides. For a moment the sky is a clear blue, then shapes dark as storm clouds are closing in from above. It feels like a storm has gathered as the whirring ships bring heavy winds. Leaves stir through the air, slicing against your skin as you hold tight to your bow. Something shoots from the ships, small and shining in the sunlight. Each one arcs overhead and lands between the roots of Hometree, bursting in clouds of gray-green smoke. They’ve made the first move, though blood may not have been drawn. Eytukan gives the order to shoot, but every arrow seems insufficient. They glance off the largest ship like stones skipping over water. It feels futile even as you deplete your arrows following the olo’eyktan’s orders. Your arrows fly and fall in quick succession, arms burning with the effort it takes to draw your bow so quickly. It’s all meaningless as the demon ship fires again, flames burning bright as the sun overhead as weapons you had no name for hurtled towards Hometree. 

Larger than any bullet you’d ever seen, they landed with an earth-shattering certainty. The flames took to Kelutral with the swiftness of the wind, plumes of smoke billowed from between the large roots as fire roared through the place you’d been raised. Inside you knew the totems you’d been taught beneath, the looms you’d learned to weave upon, the memories of your childhood were being reduced to ash as simply as wood in a cooking pit. More than that, clan members that had chosen not to fight were still inside, and higher within the tree must be Tsu’tey and his warriors because you’d yet to see any banshees take towards the sky. Your home, your people were burning. Another arrow shoots from your bow and as you reach for another your eyes catch on Jake and Grace still bound amid the chaos. Jake shouts as though he’s been wounded, eyes round with fear as he watches Hometree burn. Then his eyes catch on yours, still staring at him with your arrow half string. There’s a reason for your hesitance that you can’t place but Eytukan is calling for a retreat and you don’t have a moment to wonder over the stall in your actions. 

The air is choked with a haze of smoke and rain of leaves, screams piercing through the buzzing of the Sky Demons’ flying machines as the clan flees to the forest. One moment, you’re alone in the chaos and the next Neytiri is crashing into you, shoving you forward. Running only takes you so far before the earth is rippling underfoot, buckling your knees before knocking you to the ground. Then everything goes still. There’s a moment to gather your bearings and you rouse to your knees, pulling Neytiri close to your side. She clings to you so tightly that her nails bite into your skin and you let her. The pain wards off the numbness that’s begun to consume you. It feels as though you’ve walked into a stream. Shallow at first, then deeper and deeper until the water has swallowed you completely. Everything is cold and muffled as your eyes stare up at the canopy. As a child, it seemed as wide as the sky, Hometree unshakable as a mountain. Yet the mountain is beginning to crumble. There’s a groaning noise like stripping bark to make a bow and then Kelutral pitches forward. Falling. 

Darkness grows as the massive tree topples towards you, too quickly to outpace. There’s only mere moments for you to evade the falling limbs. Shards of bark rain like arrows, pricking at your skin as you sprint towards the closest piece of light you can find, a place where the shadow of Hometree doesn’t touch. Around you there are the screams of those that weren’t quick enough. Loud for a moment and then silent forever. When the ground goes still, you shakily find your feet. The air is full of dirt and ash, and the anguished sound of mourning. For the fall of your home, for the death of your people. Broken branches scatter across the ground and you’re struck with a sense of disbelief. Hadn’t this place been filled with happiness only hours before? The night had been spent in celebration. So quickly the music and laughter had gone silent. A sound shatters through the sound of blood rushing in your ears and it isn’t until Neytiri pulls you into her embrace that you realize you’re screaming. It’s something past tears. Anguished wrath bubbles in your throat, loud and steady until your voice begins to give out in shuddering waves that chip off into silence. 

Neytiri’s sorrow is quieter. Her breaths come quickly in your ear, gasping as if she can’t quite believe the sight set before her. It seems so impossible. Hometree has stood for generations as the ancestral home of the Omatikaya and now it was simply and irrevocably gone. 

“Ma sempul,” she says at last, “ma sa’nok. They’ll know what to do.” Because something must be done. She speaks with empty regard. There is truly no way to know if they’ll know what to do but what more can you think to do than look to your olo’eyktan and tsahìk for guidance? There is nothing else left. It’s all burning. Neytiri stumbles away, bow in hand, in search of her parents. She’s slow at first but you watch her walk past the bodies strewn across the ground and pick up her pace. Voice calling out for her father. You go in the opposite direction in the search of the tsahìk. Many will be seeking Mo’at’s guidance and you can only hope the Great Mother has preserved her life as you sidestep those that were lost in the fall. Bodies streaked with blood and ash. Hands still clutching their bows and most precious belongings. 

It’s easier to recognize yourself slipping away this time. How many? How many more of the People will die at the hands of these demons? So many lives lost without reason. Simply because they had the strength to do it. Even an animal did not hunt with this much impunity. There was always cause, balance. As the Great Mother intended. 

Only moments ago, you’d been running. Leaping over fallen branches and ducking beneath curling ferns, but as you fall deeper into your mind, your gait begins to slow to a stumble. It feels as though you’re trudging through mud as you stagger through the rain of ash. No longer certain of what you’d been running from or towards. Small fires flare around you like the flames of a cooking pit. Warmth licks at your legs as you pass in your confusion. There’d been something you were looking for but you can’t seem to place it. It feels as though you’re chasing a memory. Walking towards some unreachable destination. Still you walk on, weaving a sinuous path through the ruins of your home. There’s something warm on your face like the kiss of sunlight but when you touch it your hand comes away slicked in red. Your legs fall still, no longer chasing that unknown place. 

It’s suddenly all around you. The school and yet Hometree. The blood is yours and Sylwanin’s. A garbled scream tears from your throat, low and graveled as she walks towards you. Her voice sounds wrong. Her hands feel wrong as they grab your shoulders. She hadn’t gotten close enough to hold you though you remember her bloody drying sticky between your outstretched fingers. It’s all wrong, made worse when the voice solidifies in your head, brings you back to yourself. 

It’s Jake. He’s grasping at your shoulders, brushing the blood from your cheek. He seems uncertain of himself, though you can hear the attempt at comfort in his voice. It does little to soothe you. Something in your heart aches at the way your bond seems to strain and fray with each passing moment. But never breaking. Tsaheylu is made with the intention of eternity. Jake will be your mate until death no matter the regret that comes. He says your name with just the right cadence for you to regain some semblance of strength and you shove him away. 

“Don’t touch me!” You hiss. He jerks away from your rage. “Traitor! Get away from here. Never come back.” And he does. There’s a great hesitance in his retreat but he leaves you, eyes shimmering with longing. It’s too late for such affections and if your heart weren’t already crushed by his betrayal and the carnage that followed, you might’ve felt your soul tearing in two as you watched your mate turn his back on you. It would be alright, you had another. 

Neytiri finds you later, after the long journey to the Tree of Souls. In times of great strife such as this, there was nowhere else to seek refuge but at the place where Eywa’s presence was felt the strongest. It was almost like a heartbeat thrumming beneath your feet as you bathed in the purple light of the clan’s most sacred place. Anyone that knew how to heal was busy with the injured and Neytiri had only just found a moment to join you in the alcove you claimed for yourself. The mossy stone was no replacement for the comfort of Hometree but it was all that any of you would have for some time. Already the elders of the clan have begun to weave. Kelku are simple enough to make but they take time to weave the outer walls and craft the wooden frame. Other things could not be so easily replaced. You thought of the mother loom and the totem of toruk. How long had his bones and his legend been passed down through the Omatikaya and now there was nothing to show that such a great leader had ever existed within the clan. There’d be only songs and memories now. 

“I am sorry, yawne,” Neytiri says to break the silence. “I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve never opened my heart to that man.” 

She still can’t seem to bring herself to insult him. Demon, Tsu’tey had called him. A traitor is what he is. And yet Neytiri can’t bring herself to call him anything more than a man. Her hand wrings the braid of her tswin as if trying to scrub away his touch. She looks as you must have last night. Awkward and unsure, but mated all the same. Jake tied tsaheylu without knowing its true meaning. While knowing his original intention for joining the clan. No matter how his plans had changed, he was still a betrayer. Had Neytiri not been his teacher–if he’d been given someone more abrasive as his guide–his orders would’ve likely been heeded without question. It was only because he couldn’t help but fall in love that he tried to abandon his mission. A liar and a coward. A man that no longer deserved his place among the People. It’s your hope that the memories of Jake would turn to ash in your mind, like forgotten wisps lost to the wind. He was no mate of yours. 

Neytiri sags against you, her face buried in the length of your throat. Her nose is a cold spot against the warmth of your skin, warm breath washing across your skin. So much had changed so quickly. Only last night you’d been unmated and willing to let your love for Neytiri wither and die. Months ago Jake had been a stranger encroaching on your clan’s hunting grounds and now he’d betrayed the trust Mo’at instilled, that you’d so naively taken to heart. With time, perhaps you could’ve loved him as a mate. There were moments when you might’ve been content to live beside him despite it all, if Neytiri was mated to Tsu’tey as had been expected since her sister’s death. So many plans had been unmade by his presence. And some came to fruition quicker than expected. Tsu’tey has ascended to his position as olo’eyktan years before his time. Neytiri had found her father when she went searching for him. Found him dying in the rubble of your ruined home, shot through with a fragment of Hometree like an arrow. As she clung, weeping, to you, she shared his last words, “protect the People.” They were all that was left. The clan was a people not a place, though Hometree had become such a symbol of safety and togetherness. A home shared between hundreds. Now it was gone. 

Sounds of mourning rang through the stone cliffs surrounding the Tree of Souls. Voices lamented the melody of lost songcords, of those that couldn’t be found in the flame and ash. Young and old had been lost. Mothers lost children, brothers lost sisters. And without the Tree of Voices, songs were all that was left to remember them by. Not even their cords to ponder between their fingers as they’re been left with the bodies that wore them. Everyone that wasn’t breathing still was left behind. A burden that would not be worth the effort to carry so far. Grace had been one such person spared from abandonment. She’d collapsed at the crest of a hill, body falling still and silent in that death-like way Jake’s always did when he slept. Her soul had been torn from her body once more. You expect that Jake suffered the same fate wherever he was in the rain of ash. He was one that was left behind. No one would sing the few meager beats of his fledgling songcord. 

In your ear Neytiri hums soft as birdsong. It’s a familiar melody that you’ve heard throughout your life. Mo’at sang it as she worked and Neytiri when she was distraught. It was her father’s song. One that spoke of strength and duty. While Tsu’tey has spent his life training to take his place, Eytukan has cast a long shadow for him to live up to. Though he is trying. He stands on the raised stone beneath the swaying branches of the Tree of Souls, lingering beside Mo’at as she addresses a group of people. From a distance you can’t hear their words, can hardly see their faces, but they seem comforted by the words of their tsahìk. 

“You should be with them.” You nudge Neytiri gently, trying to coax her from her spot hidden beneath the veil of your braids. Her eyes are bright in the waning light of the sun, eclipse settling with a sense of melancholy. 

“I can’t,” she mumbles. “Mother said that I chose this path, that I might never become tsahìk now that I’ve tarnished myself. My life will be wasted.” All it had taken was a moment of weakness and she was tainted forever. The bond of tsaheylu will not wilt or waver even in death. Such things dig deep, sprouting roots upon your very soul. Jake, in his ignorance, had no way to truly know what he was doing, but Neytiri did. You did, and yet you tied your kuru even still. Hidden in the recesses of your heart like a single flower blooming in the darkness of a cave was your love for Neytiri. Sequestered in a place where it might never see the light of day. And yet in a moment of selfishness you had tossed aside the years of teachings that told you it was best to stifle some desires in service of the greater good. 

Neytiri as tsakarem could be mated to no one but the future olo’eyktan. This was known. A belief that had been passed down since the time of the First Songs. It’s hard to imagine that there had been no other tsakarem who desired someone she could never have, yet she’d done her duty to the clan and mated with her arranged partner. There was honor in doing what was expected of you yet Neytiri had lived so much of her life without expectation. She wasn’t meant to be tsahìk, she was meant to be yours. Surely the Great Mother would not fault her for faltering on the path her sister was meant to walk. After all, it was Sylwanin that was meant to be tsahìk. If she had lived, none of this would have happened. Or perhaps her survival would’ve only prolonged the inevitable. 

Light blooms underfoot, swelling and fading like ripples over water as faint syuratan rises to meet the shadows gathering beneath the night sky. The last dregs of amber sunlight pierce through the treetops like arrows, the warm light glowing like a flame behind the silhouetted canopy. The shades of firelight fade to blue darkness as the forest swallows the last whispers of daylight into the darkened horizon. A path towards the clan’s new settlement is carved in pale green light, each step echoed by the glowing moss blanketing the tree limbs. The newly lit plants burn brighter at the slightest touch, flaring as a breeze brushes through the trees, shuffling one leaf against another until entire branches are bright as torchlight. And when the wind settles the air is filled with the sweet taste of nectar, the hanging plants swarmed with insects that fill the night with their buzzing song. There’s always music in the forest, the sounds of life thrumming through the air like the distant voices of a forgotten lullaby. The chittering of nantang and the shrieking of riti, the thundering footfalls of ’angtsìk. 

The noises of the night build as the stars begin to dot the sky, swallowing your nearly soundless footfalls as you weave through the foliage, running along the twisted roots bridging the distance between the trees. The ground rushes up to meet you as you jump from the high perch, ears twitching towards a disturbance somewhere nearby that makes your landing sound like stones rolling down a hill, fumbling and clumsy. Loud enough to be worth a closer look as voices begin to break through the foliage, terse with agitation. Your feet are quick enough to catch the tail end of the confrontation. 

Hunters. Some mounted and others on foot. A mix of Na’vi and uniltìrantokx, separated by dignity and appearance. The sawtute are easy to parse from trueborn Na’vi, even at a distance. They’re like fiery red blossoms in a sea of yellow flowers, so plainly out of place. Speaking their human language and wearing their human clothes even when most of their kind have long since been banished from Pandora. The night had been clear when they left and a new star bloomed in the darkness, bright as a white flame in the deep blue sky. Most claim not to mourn the loss but others seem less inclined to surrender themselves to the Na’vi way of life. It is clear that the topic of disturbance involves such cultural differences as you creep closer. 

Someone cuts a biting remark, gruff and steeped in a thickening accent the more terse their words become. An uniltìrantokx returns the venom-stricken tone with their own heavy accent, Na’vi words sounding as intimidating as a child when spoken on such a foreign tongue. One of the mounted hunters cracks a smile, a sardonic laugh slipping past his lips. These avatars are like humans. Babies that need teaching especially after being so suddenly stripped away from their system of support. There aren’t many of them left in their place of human dwelling. That strange metal cave system that spirals out like the bloated roots of some shimmery plant. These are supposed to be the truly loyal humans. The kind humans left after the rot and ruin of the rest was scraped away. There are kind souls that remain but some are far too stubborn, like clay dug up from a riverbed and left to dry before it was fully molded into shape. They’re stiff and unchanging despite the offers to be taught your ways of life. 

It is a fair argument they are having from what you can hear at the fringes of the clearing. The avatars are being far too liberal with their bows. Eager arrows lead to messy kills and there is no reason to cause unneeded suffering for a lack of discipline. An injured animal will run if it is able and sawtute are far less adept at traversing these forests. It would be easy for them to lose their intended kill and leave the animal to suffer with an arrow in its hide. A mounted hunter says as much, pa’li unsteady beneath her, the direhorse churning up dirt beneath her hooves as her rider’s anger is surely reflected through tsaheylu. When the humans have nothing to say back the silence stretches like a rope pulled taut, slowly fraying under the strain until it snaps and the leader of the hunting party gives the gruff order to return home. 

The word still sets an ache in your chest like pressing against a bruise, dull and throbbing as “home” has changed shape. You follow in the trail of light left by the hunting party. Not towards Hometree that always stood above the forest like a fist punching towards the sky, but to grounded dwellings flanking the humans’ nearly abandoned home. The hunting party continues on after passing through the newly made village, escorting the avatars back to their massive metal kelku. Their refusal to learn has stunted their ability to be trusted in the forest alone. Truly like children that need to be guided lest they be met with an accident that could’ve been prevented with proper teachings. 

The sounds of the forest give way to a din of voices as green syuratan fades to bright orange firelight. It sounds much the same as Kelutral had, conversations mingled with laughter as everyone gathers around cookfires for their nightly meals. It’s far less communial with the separate homes of woven fabrics over wooden frames. Different sizes denoting the size of the family living within. Your own is modestly small, just large enough for one. Truly it was meant for an avatar if they felt more inclined to immerse themselves in village life but it went unused for so long that you took the honor of christening it as your own, sleeping here most days despite having mates of your own and a more homely kelku to return to. It’s been days of careful avoidance despite the olo’eyktan and tsakarem’s greatest efforts to draw you back to their side. 

Unexpectedly, it is Jake that has been more insistent rather than Neytiri. That was something you hadn’t thought to consider a possibility. His longing was enough to make you avoid any member of the clan altogether. You’ve shared no more than a few words with anyone in the days since Jake began sending his warriors chasing after your tail in an attempt to coax you back home. They’d come to you bearing gifts of delicate bracelets made with the rarest beads and feathered hair ornaments of the brightest colors, lingering for a moment to ponder over your rejection before trailing back to their leader with a defeated hunch to their shoulders. 

The fire you tend to is only just large enough for your purposes. This kelku is set every so slightly apart from the rest and a light flickering at the fringes of the village is sure to draw unneeded attention whether it’s a kind elder sending children to be sure you have enough to eat or another of Jake’s men coming to present you with another of his finely made gifts. His effort is wasted. Pretty adornments aren’t enough to stitch the wound that’s been scored across your very soul. So much has happened in so little time. So quickly that you were hardly given a moment to mourn. Even as the days fall away to the past with the rise and fall of the sun it still feels like a wound is festering in your heart, refusing to heal as old memories poke and prod, stinging in the back of your mind. No, a new necklace or freshly made arrows won’t be enough to soothe the pain you’re suffering. Everyone might have begun to move on, picking up the fragments of what was left behind to rebuild something new, something better, but you stayed there. Every night, in your dreams, the sky is raining ash and the People are screaming. 

The hunger leaves you as the taste of salt invades your mouth, memories of uncounted tears souring your appetite. The small fire is snuffed and the food is set aside with the intention to eat it should you wake with hunger pangs in the dead of night. Sleep has been an elusive thing in the time since the fall of Hometree. Something terrifying as your mind reminds you of the pain and betrayal. Over and over. And there is no place of solace to return to. No Utral Aymokriyä where you might hear some shred of happiness from those that have gone before you. Everything has been torn apart and reknit in a new shape and the only one that seems to truly notice the strangeness of it all is you. But life must go on. A tree does not stop growing when clouds cover the sun. 

Sleep is expectedly fitful, full of stuttered moments of jolted wakefulness that find your cheeks wet with tears. And when the hour is bright enough that you can banish any attempts at resting you rise and pad off into the pinkish light of dawn, nibbling on your cold dinner as you trail off into the forest before the rest of the village has time to wake. As usual there is no direction to your walking, no destination in mind. The only thought is to be away from the village and all the people that seem so foreign to you now. Not only are there more humans and avatars mingling with the People but even those that you were once close to seem to have a different face. And that is only those that remain. The rest were lost, gone to a place you can only reach in short grasping moments. 

Home is far away, in distance and in feeling. The new settlement feels nothing like home even as the clan has begun to rebuild. So many ancestral pieces were lost in the fall of Hometree. Totems and precious items passed down and preserved between the generations of the Omatikaya. Once you could touch something and know that hundreds of hands, long before your time, had touched the same place. Your favorite had been the wooden looms worn soft and smooth by the gentle hands of weavers that passed their craft down to their children and to their children until the knowledge found its way into your hands. All the memories since the time of the First Songs that had survived in the safety of Hometree, gone in an instant. Everything that the Omatikaya clan was, washed away like footprints in sand. 

Now these trees seem so foreign as you traverse through the morning light. In moving to settle closer to the humans’ dwelling the clan has been distanced from the lands you’ve known since birth. Hometree may have fallen but the estrangement seems unnecessary. Maybe to fledgling eyes the forest looks the same but here there are plants that didn’t grow close to Hometree. You’d grown up learning every patch of ferns and every bed of flowers and now you’d need to learn it all again. New berries that prefer the unfiltered sunlight where the humans cleared the trees away and new landmarks to lead you from one place to another in the sprawling forest. Moving was necessary but Jake chose not to claim a new Hometree for the clan and as olo’eyktan his word has become law. With Eytukan and Tsu’tey gone the burden of leading the clan has fallen to Toruk Makto. So strange that only a year ago he hadn’t even existed and now he is leading the People as if he was born to bear the honor when he only just passed his iknimaya. 

The ground is cold, drops of dew seeping into your skin and sending shivers up your back. The feeling is enough to keep your mind steady, to keep the memories at bay. On any given day you’re likely to slip into the past and be lost in your own mind, like a vision from a Spirit Tree. It seems memories are all you have as comfort as of late. With so much change, the past is the only thing that has remained steady. In your mind you can pretend that Hometree still stands, that Jake never arrived to complicate everything. But he has and here you stand, lonely in a foreign corner of the forest, wishing desperately that you were able to unravel the knot that’s been made of your life. What is so wrong with you that you can’t find happiness in the peace that’s been made now that the humans have been defeated. One war has ended and yet another wages inside you with no end in sight. 

The loneliness eats away at you but the alternative of acceptance seems so wholly unappealing, like eating a spoiled fruit. Resigning yourself to the same budding happiness the clan has been enjoying in the time since the final battle against the humans seems so strange after nearly a lifetime of fighting and uncertainty. Humans were on Pandora long before you were born and your childhood was spent in Grace’s schoolhouse with the looming threat of the tenuous bonds slowly fraying as the humans took more liberties with the lands that were not theirs to pillage and destroy. 

A sound rustles in the trees behind you, a soft brushing of leaves that could be nothing more than a breeze through the underbrush, but your bow is drawn towards the sound in an instant. The tension balled like a fist around your heart eases as a familiar face emerges through the foliage, but doesn’t abate completely as Jake steps into the light. His steps are slow and deliberate as if he were approaching a wounded animal but you hiss at him even still, embarrassed that you’d been so distracted in your thoughts that you lost track of your surroundings. Had you been paying attention you would’ve caught his scent before he made a sound. The same scent that’s always clung to Neytiri’s skin because she favors cooking with firewood that is more fragrant than most, making her food a hint sweeter when she eats it. It’s a smell that used to offer comfort but now it’s only the wisp of another memory that was burned to ash the moment Jake arrived to the clan. 

What would’ve changed if it hadn’t been you and Neytiri tasked with teaching him? Perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself tangled in a mating bond shared between three people. A crowd compared to the traditional two. 

“What do you want?” You ask, lowering your bow even as your voice still bristles with hostility. 

Jake stalls in his approach. “What did I do, baby? What’s wrong?” In the time since he took up the mantle as olo’eyktan, Jake has begun to fully immerse himself in the ways of the People with more vigor than he had even before the fall of Hometree. He speaks in Na’vi when he can manage it but slips back into English when his tongue trips over an unknown word. But one word he’s never let go of is “baby.” A human term of endearment–not just a word for a newborn child–he’d explained once. Like yawne or paskalin it’s meant to show affection between mates. And despite that being what you are to each other you feel unsettled by the innocent word. 

He takes a step closer that you reward with your own backwards retreat. His brows pinch, ears drooping as his hands reach out as if he can bridge the gap between you with a simple touch. You’re worlds away from each other even as he stands so close. 

An uniltìrantokx, an alien. A human wearing the false face of one of the People. Yet he is also Na’vi, a son of the Omatikaya. He bears the title of olo’eyktan and Toruk Makto. He’s so close and yet so far. Once you would’ve met him in the middle, your hand reaching toward him. But now, knowing what he’s done…. Forgiveness is the farthest thing from your mind. Whatever friendship, whatever affection you’d once had for him has burned away to an aching emptiness. And even before it had begun to slowly unravel, thread by thread, breaking apart until you were left with a tenuous bond at best. Before Jake, before Sylwanin’s death, Neytiri had been yours. You understood her duty to the clan following her sister’s death. It was not her desire to become tsakarem, no nobility in the decision being made for her at the hands of the sawtute. Killing and taking with no remorse. She was betrothed to Tsu’tey and you accepted it as the way of things. 

Jake’s introduction to the clan had been tumultuous at best, but as Neytiri’s closest companion you found yourself joining in on their lessons. And watching her fall in love with someone that wasn’t you. At least, with Tsu’tey there had only been friendship. A mutual agreement to not disappoint the clan’s expectations despite their hearts belonging to another. With Jake, she had no such reservations. Neytiri loved him. Loves him. Yet she can’t let you go. Neither of them can. So now it is your time to do as duty suggests, even if your heart aches with the effort to pretend to accept Jake into your heart for all he is, for all he’s done. Banishing the humans from Pandora after so many years of suffering might’ve been enough for others, but when you look at him you see flames. 

“Everything you touch is destroyed.” The words slip out unbidden, before you can stop the bitterness from leaking off your lips and Jake stills as if you’ve struck him. The shock only lasts for a moment before he’s rushing towards you, arm winding around your waist as his four-fingered hand cups your cheek. The tears are unexpected as he wipes the wetness from your eyes. When did you start to cry? So long ago, truly. It seems the tears never stop, only taking brief moments of reprieve before stinging at your eyes once more. It feels like you’re being shattered, a river crystal smashed against a rock as glittering shards fly in every direction. Impossible to collect and rebuild. But Jake tries, so desperate does he seem to want to hold you together in his arms even as you come apart at the seams. You fight against him. Hissing and clawing like a hunted animal trying to preserve its life. Some innate piece of your mind knowing that a man like him is dangerous. 

Sawtute. Uniltìrantokx. The words are synonymous with death and the unknown. And Jake has proved that no matter how close you become, friends can turn to enemies in the blink of an eye. Lovers can turn to strangers. Happiness can wither into a type of sadness that never dissipates. Still, Jake tries to keep you together in his arms. Whispering and pleading, trying to soothe your sobbing. So long have you spent simply walking forward, one step at a time with only brief moments to think about how far you’ve come. But with those few words you’ve turned back to see all that was left behind and it’s tearing away at you. 

The ground is cold beneath your knees, the chill shivering through you as you fall. Jake hasn’t let you go, still keeping his arms around you as if you’ll turn to ash if he looks away for even a moment. Perhaps you will and wouldn’t it be better if you did? What is left for you now after so much has been taken? Everything has been stripped away. Friends, family. The few things that you thought would always be yours. Gone in an instant. 

You try to speak through the thickness in your throat, voice rough as stone when the words finally come out. “Get away.” Jake doesn’t seem to hear you but you say it again and again as you struggle to your feet. “Get away! Get away from me!” 

All you want is for things to be as they were. But you’re longing for a life you’ve never gotten to live. The humans were here long before you were. You’ve never known a life where they weren’t lingering just out of sight, corrupting your home to fit their alien desires. It burns in your chest, this desire to return to some semblance of normalcy and the knowing that everything in your life has always been precarious, balanced on the edge of a cliff. It seems that now you’ve finally fallen and there’s no knowing what will meet you at the bottom. Jake wants to catch you. You can see the desperation in his eyes as he tries to hold you, hear it in his voice as he begs you to stay with him. 

You’re here in mind and body, but your soul feels like it’s been gone for so long. Left behind in the smoldering remains of Hometree, left behind on the battlefield. Now you’ve only been living because you hadn’t truly died. And everyone has been pretending you’re still the same as you were. Jake is pretending you’re still the same woman he met all those months ago. Had it truly been a year since an ignorant dreamwalker had come stumbling into Hometree? He’d been nothing then. A new kind of uniltìrantokx that needed to be studied. A warrior in a new, untrained body. A chore for Neytiri as Mo’at dictated that it would be her that had to teach him the ways of the clan. Of course, she had made it your responsibility to assist her in the endeavor, ever grateful for every moment spent together even if it involved teaching a man the things a child would know. 

Truly, you’ve all changed since that moment. Jake has learned. Body and mind, he’s learned to walk as a true Na’vi does. It is clear that in his heart he is one of the People yet there’s still doubt in your mind. How, if he was so committed to the clan, had he let those monsters burn down your home with barely a word of warning? Yes, he led the battle to seek revenge and cull the plague of humans from Pandora, but if he had such determination why had he not done it sooner? Humans are secretive, duplicitous. Things that Na’vi had no concept of before their arrival. Your hearts are true and open. Yet Jake still had things to hide even after he became a son of the Omatikaya. Trusting him now feels like a mistake. Neytiri might’ve moved past it but you can’t find it in yourself to open your heart to such pain once more. 

The woman you loved has turned into someone you can’t recognize. Relaxing so easily into the days of peace even in the shadow of all that you’ve both lost. While your heart turned cold hers seems to have blossomed, open with a soft sort of hope. The humans are gone, the People are safe. So why can’t you move on with everyone else?

Jake touches your arm again, fingers tracing from the shape of your wrist up to your shoulder. The touch feels foreign after avoiding him for so long. It isn’t the distressed grasping as he tries to soothe your tears. It’s softer, less confining. 

“Let me help, baby. How can I help?” 

“Leave me alone.” He’s already shaking his head before you finish the words. 

“No. Don’t push me away, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes, I just want my girl back.” Back? Had you ever truly been his? 

It had been a mistake to not close your heart to Neytiri when she was promised to Tsu’tey. Had you been strong enough then to smother the seed of childhood affection, to rob it of rain and sun until it withered and died, perhaps you wouldn’t be standing here with tears burning in your eyes. It would’ve taken less strength then to do what feels impossible now. A stone has turned to a mountain far beyond your strength to move. Jake seems to notice your hesitance, his eyes flitting over your face for any crack he might be able to use as a way past your protective shell. He seems to find it, reaching over your shoulder to brush his fingers over the length of your tswin. He draws it forward with careful reverence, pressing a kiss over the braided hair before looking at you once more. It’s doubtless that he’s thinking of that night beneath the light of the Tree of Voices. 

A mistake if ever you’ve made one. 

Eclipse is close at hand when Neytiri broaches the thought of taking Jake to see the Utraya Mokri. 

“He is a son of the Omatikaya now,” she says gently, as if too much eagerness would startle you away from the idea. “Tonight would be the perfect night for his first commune with Eywa.” It is traditional for the first commune to happen soon after birth when memories are likely no more than colors and sounds and feelings. Jake is far past the age of first commune but as an outsider he hasn’t been allowed anywhere near such sacred places. When she sees your hesitation, Neytiri’s excitement softens. 

“Yawne, he is ready. He has learned and proven himself. Do you still doubt his heart?” You do, still so weary of humans. No matter how kind, the thought of ever fully trusting a human picks at the old wound left by Sylwanin’s death, but you hold your tongue against the words. Mentioning her sister would only spoil Neytiri’s mood. She’s happy. Truly and utterly, and it makes your heart hurt to see her so content when her heart is chanting another’s name. 

Jake. Jake. Jake. It’s all you’ve heard in recent times. No sunrise or sunset has gone without seeing the dreamwalker, hearing his name and seeing him walk beside the girl you once thought would be your mate. But she’s beautiful in her happiness. A shy smile playing on her lip as her tail curls playfully behind her. How could you ever disappoint her? And she is right. Jakesully has been accepted as a son of the Omatikaya. He is now no different in spirit than the boys you grew up with. You’ve watched him grow like a seedling sprouting into a tree, learning and changing as his human heart began to take the shape of something different. Yet you cannot completely forget his origins. 

“There will be a celebration at nightfall,” Neytiri’s ears droop in defeat, “if we can leave without notice, then we can go to the Tree of Voices.” Upset is immediately replaced with elation as Neytiri beams. 

“Will you help me prepare for tonight?” She asks coyly. The rest of the afternoon is spent in close proximity, skin against skin as you go about enjoying the simple intimacy of grooming Neytiri. She hums happily as you undo her braids. Washing and combing until her hair hangs down her back like a black river, tied back with a few sprigs of yellow leaves. She preens you in turn, caring for your hair with a practiced gentility before allowing you to leave to change into something more appropriate for the occasion. The most recent of your crafting was made with tonight in mind. Strings of tiny orange and yellow beads hanging over your chest in an undulating pattern, like sunlight sparkling off water. Your tewng is a bright shade of orange to match the band around your arm, hung in a cascade of feathers the colors of firelight. When night falls, music begins to drift up from the communal heart of Hometree. Drums thundering and voices singing as the celebration begins. Neytiri is easy to find beside her parents as they share words of congratulation for the newest members of the clan, and the sight of her snatches the breath from your lungs. 

She’s dressed more beautifully than you’ve ever seen her. A collection of deep purple beads trail like tree roots over her chest with matching bands swaying about her arms, and a violet-dyed loincloth slung around her hips. It dampens your mood to see Tsu’tey close beside her, jealousy burning in your chest. He has forgone more elaborate adornments for the occasion yet he looks no less out of place. His presence commands respect. He will be a wonderful olo’eyktan to Neytiri’s tsahìk. A beautiful couple waiting to be bonded. Your mood is only worsened as her eyes linger some distance away. On the group of newly made adults. On Jake. 

It tears at your heart like the twisting of a blade. Already you’ve had to accept a life without her truly by your side with Tsu’tey, though the union would be without true affection, but now she’s given her heart away to someone new. So strange how what once was alien looks nearly indistinguishable from the true Na’vi also being honored by tonight’s festivities. Some younger, some older, all joining the clan in adulthood. When the music begins in earnest, lines form to dance. Weaving between each other as bodies move to the beat of the drums. Jake has been staunch in his refusal to dance thus far, though his dreamwalker friend Norm seems open to learning. He’s a bit clumsy like a child learning to use his limbs as he follows along with the people trying to teach him, Na’vi words flowing with nervous formality from his lips despite the relaxed air of celebration. He waves as you walk past, somehow recognizing your face as a friendly one in the sea of people. Perhaps he’s seen Grace’s photographs from when you attended school and knows the shape of your pil to match your younger face. With some confusion, you wave back, cracking a small smile as he stumbles over his gangly feet again. 

With fermented drinks flowing freely, the wariness has been tempered enough for the clan to act freely even in the presence of guests. Grace is known within the village, a trusted teacher and ally despite what happened at the school. She wasn’t at fault, though you surely blamed her for a time after it happened. Because there was no one else to blame but the humans. The girl you had grown up with, your childhood friends, all slaughtered in the blink of an eye simply for protecting their home. Had you known of their plan it might’ve been your body that was torn apart by bullets. The thought sends shivers skittering down your spine, the dark shadow returning after the joyous occasion chased it away. 

In quieter moments you still mourn your losses caused by the Sky People. But Grace was also wounded, in body and spirit. You remember the blood dripping from the wound in her shoulder as she desperately pulled you away from Sylwanin, urging you outside as the soldiers closed in on the school. The last you’d seen of your teacher, she’d been putting herself between the soldiers and her students. She seems far more relaxed now as she laughs at something a man said to her, taking sparing sips of her drink as she watches the crowd. Ever the scientist wanting to study even under the most eased circumstances. The familiarity of it all soothes the hurt brought on by the memories.

Jake is occupied with Tsu’tey, the two of them sharing a drink. The group around them is chanting Jake’s name as he hisses around a mouthful of fermented juice. It seems so strange to see the two of them settled beside each other without any real reason. There’s no teaching, no exchanging of insults. They seem to almost be enjoying each other’s company. Tsu’tey had been keen on seeking the outsider’s death upon first meeting, as the whole of the clan’s warriors had been, but he seems not to have grown out of the animosity little by little. If anything, his distaste must’ve grown stronger in the convening months as Jake grew closer to the woman that was meant to be his. But the celebration seems to be reason enough to set aside conflicting feelings as Tsu’tey passes Jake another cup, urging him to take another drink. You think to join them but are stopped by the brush of something against your tail. 

Hands find your waist, slim fingers tracing over the shape of stripes streaked there. Neytiri’s scent is easily recognized. Something sweet and smoldering as she pulls you close. There are more couples around you, all dancing just as intimately. Twirling and bouncing, hardly parting as the music guides your steps. She’s so beautiful in the firelight. Bright eyes and long lashes that flutter towards the ground as a bashful smile finds her lips. Her tail brushes your leg, curling over the shape of your thigh in a flirtatious display that you reward with a playful hiss. Neytiri giggles at the feigned aggression, pulling you closer by your hips until you’re no longer dancing, only swaying to the music as your bodies press so close they’re nearly one. You want to kiss her, going as far as to lift her chin and press your forehead against hers before remembering that this moment is only fleeting.

She isn’t yours. Not anymore. So instead you revel in the feeling of her bated breaths puffing over your lips before stepping away from the temptation. The short distance of separation has her smile waning but someone stumbles into you before you can find the words of an explanation, arm hooked over yours as the new partner urges you to join her. So you let her, leaving Neytiri to work through the confusion as a frown weighs on her lips. She lingers where you’d been for only a moment before stalking off to join Tsu’tey and Jake’s group, kneeling beside them to urge Jake to dance once more. 

This time he sets his cup aside, laughing as he stands to join her. You try to put them from your mind, to focus on the people around you. A few you recognize as Tsu’tey’s students that are also being honored by tonight’s festivities. It is easy to lose yourself in the familiarity of the dance. Far less intimate than the one you shared with Neytiri as all of you move in a circle, feet stomping and hands clapping as the music swells. With the shift of a new melody, though the song is far from over, the steps change and you drift away from the group to join Tsu’tey where he now sits alone. 

Despite the festivities, he no longer seems to be in the mood for merriment as a scowl mars his face, mouth drawn low as he watches Neytiri teach Jake to dance. Once again, it is not Tsu’tey with which your upset lies as the both of you sit scorned by the tsakarem dancing with the uniltìrantokx. 

“I thought this rift had been mended.” Tsu’tey says after a few moments of discontented silence shared between you. At least the two of you knew where you stood with Neytiri. Tsu’tey was a friend, an ally, a man she would honor as her mate, where you were her true love that she had to give up to fulfill the expectations of her parents. It is tradition for the tsahìk to be mated to the olo’eyktan though there are some clans where it is not always so. But the Omatikaya have always been more spiritual, traditional in the ways that have been practiced since the time of the First Songs. To make exceptions for Neytiri’s feelings would be to go against tradition and it was decided that mating her to Tsu’tey would be best. Now here the two of you are, scorned and alone together. 

“I know I am not the one in her heart,” he speaks gruffly, “but now it seems she has no taste for you either. Only this skxawng.” His words sting but there is truth to them. Even after spending an afternoon basking in her presence as you had before his arrival, Jake has come to steal her away from you once more. Simply by being. It isn’t fair to the years you’ve spent loving her, and her loving you, but you don’t say it out loud. The words are far too petulant and like grinding dirt into the wound Tsu’tey must tend to for the rest of his days knowing his mate does not love him wholly and truly. 

“His eyes are small.” Tsu’tey says after a beat of silence. It’s enough to make you laugh at the annoyance in his tone. His drinking must’ve loosened his tongue or else you’d never hear him say such things as if he were sulking rather than angry. 

“This isn’t funny. He will want to choose a mate sooner or later and what will we do when he chooses her when she is not free to be with him?” That quiets your giggling. Not once had you thought of what might happen if Jake wanted to pursue their budding relationship further. Already the separation between friend and lover has begun to blur like looking through a cloud of smoke. It is not in your heart to doubt Neytiri but people have been known to act out of character in the pursuit of love. What can be done if she is willing to betray her promise to Tsu’tey to be with Jake? And why hadn’t she been willing to do such things for you? It’s a selfish thought, especially with Tsu’tey close beside you. You banish it before your heart can be darkened any further by it. 

“I will talk to her.” She wanted to be away from the clan with just the three of you tonight. No better time would come for you to raise such concerns with the way they’re looking at each other. It’s the same way you look at her, without the lingering regret of knowing you will never truly have her. Jake must know she isn’t his to keep yet he wants her even still. People continue to move around them while they stay still as stone, staring into each other’s eyes. It turns your stomach as if you’ve eaten something rotten. 

“For the sake of the future.” Tsu’tey agrees. She will one day be tsahìk after her mother, that much is decided simply by birth. With Sylwanin gone the honor has fallen to her. An olo’eyktan is chosen, not born. If Jake can prove his worth as a warrior there might be no reason to object to his mating with Neytiri. Tsu’tey will simply be passed over as the future clan leader in favor of naming Jake as the next olo’eyktan. The thought seems inconceivable. Tsu’tey is the strongest the clan has to offer. Jake has only just been made one of the People, what can he offer that Tsu’tey does not already have in abundance? 

The night is deep and the crowds thinned as people begin to trail off to sleep or to enjoy the night somewhere more secluded. The only music left is the din of voices murmuring over the crackling of the fire pits as Neytiri comes to coax you from your seat. Tsu’tey already left, too upset to be faced with the sight of his promised mate dancing so closely to another. With you, there was a tenuous agreement, an acknowledgment of your role as a placeholder. Jake has no such allegiances. You’re not sure why you stayed, punishing yourself with the sight of them together. 

“Come, it is time!” Neytiri is smiling as if nothing is wrong. Jake seems not to know where she’s leading the two of you but he follows her tail as if it’s dipped in nectar. He smiles and you wish you didn’t see how Neytiri could fall for him. He’s handsome in a strange sort of way, so alike and yet so different to the faces you see everyday. Aside from his eyebrows, his eyes are small like Tsu’tey said, more human. And the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, is decidedly human as well. He’s as playful as a child despite his age and it serves as both an endearing and infuriating trait. And it was only made worse when he was still learning. Truly like a baby stumbling through the forest, curious about everything around him. 

He still seems intrigued as you walk beside a river glowing like a sinuous blue thread into the distance ahead. You’ve waded your way past the banks into the warm rush of water. The current is slow, knocking lightly at your knees with hardly enough strength to lead even the fish upstream. Your eyes are low, focused on the finned animals swimming past your ankles. So focused that you don’t notice Jake drawing closer until his hands are on your shoulder with a sudden wave of strength. You lose your footing, toppling into the water and surfacing with a disgruntled hiss, ears drawn back as you bare your teeth in annoyance. The night air is warm, a balmy breeze brushing over your damp skin as water drips from your soaked form. Jake only laughs at your sour face before coming into the water after you. 

Instinctually, your arms shoot out in front of you to keep him at bay but he just uses the opportunity to wrap his hands around yours, pulling you in close until you’re chest to chest. Your brows raise at the sudden closeness. In the time since your first meeting you’ve come to consider Jake a friend, perhaps closer even than the friends you’ve made in childhood. He’s been with you every day for so long that you almost can’t imagine a day passing without seeing him, but this is something beyond what you expected of your relationship. Of course, he’d act this way with Neytiri as she curls her tail at him, sharing coquettish smiles and lingering glances, but you’ve never shared in such flirtations. But it is plain to see how you react when it is Neytiri clinging close to you. And with every day spent so closely together, just the three of you, it isn’t hard to imagine how such boundaries might be lost with time. 

Still, it’s dizzying how at ease he seems pulling you closer to him. Your eyes search for Neytiri with a frantic sort of helplessness only to find she’s smiling sweetly at the two of you, seemingly happy with how close you are.

“You didn’t offer me a dance tonight, ma’am.” He says, using the human word of respect for a woman. He said it was a remnant of his training when he was a warrior on his home planet. A Marine. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Something he says now to tease women when they take a tone of authority with him. Childish as he always is. You’ve heard him say it to Grace a few times and it’s always accompanied with a subtle roll of his eyes. Tonight, he seems less flippant about the word. More teasing than sarcastic as he raises your joined hands over your head, twirling you in a splashing circle. 

“She doesn’t like sharing such dances with others. She will only dance so closely with me.” Neytiri is rather forthright about how close the two of you are. It isn’t something you’ve kept particularly hidden, yet it still seems strange that she’d say such things out loud after so long spent burying your heart in the hopes that her match to Tsu’tey will go smoothly. 

“She’ll dance with me.” Jake laughs, “Won’t you?” One of his hands falls to your hip while the other keeps yours in his grasp, held up and away from your bodies like he’s guiding you to shoot an arrow. He hums an unfamiliar tune as he leads you in clumsy circles through the water. It’s clear he’s never been much of a dancer and he’s probably missing steps to the human dance but you let him bob and sway you because asking to be let go would likely spoil the mood, and you want both of them in high spirits if you’re going to broach the topic of a bit of distance between the three of you. It’s only fair that you try to estrange yourself if you’re going to ask that Neytiri and Jake be a bit more conscious of their time together. To tell Jake to take a step back while still clinging close to Neytiri would be too cruel. Especially when you are in no place to be with her either. Even if it breaks your heart anew to truly let her go. 

Neytiri laughs as Jake folds you backwards, balancing your weight on the hand he’s placed against your back. You hiss and cling to him, worried that this is another one of his games and you’ll be dropped back into the water. Instead he pulls you back towards his chest, both of them laughing at the scorned look you can feel pinching your face. 

“You’re not funny, tawtute.” You scowl. 

“I think I am.” He smiles wide, fangs flashing in the blue light. It’s all too familiar, too close. Neytiri joins the two of you in the water, hand brushing against your arm as she suggests a swim. 

It’s easy to agree because it sets a bit of distance between the three of you. The sounds of the forest, the chittering and buzzing, quiets beneath the water enough for you to think. Jake must know how you feel about Neytiri. It would only take a glance to see how your heart yearns for her. So why had he touched you the way he had? Held you like you were the most delicate thing his hands have ever touched? It feels like you’ve tangled yourself into a knot. Too many threads have converged around you and it isn’t worth the effort to meticulously unwind them. Instead you want to sever each one in turn before they tighten beyond the point of escape. Neytiri is one thread and Jake another, then a dozen more all tied up tight. 

The urge to turn away from it all becomes strong as you emerge from the river and Jake’s hand finds yours once more. It seems almost instinctual. He’s swinging your joined hands and laughing when Neytiri giggles at him for grabbing at her tail. He’s always been playful but you can’t help but wonder if the ceremony confirming him as a member of the clan has lowered some barrier he’d previously set between the three of you. He’s far more open with his touching tonight, more affectionate than you’ve ever seen him as the green syuratan is swallowed by the pale purple glow of the Tree of Voices. 

A swarm of kenten bursts to life as you pass and Jake stops to watch them twirl away, still so enamored with life on Pandora. Neytiri stares for a moment, a fond look glowing on her face before she reaches to take his free hand. 

The long branches of the trees sway in the warm breeze, light burning brighter at the gentlest touch. Jake releases your hand to brush his arms through the hanging fronds. Without his hand in yours, you’re free to walk further ahead. It had been Neytiri’s plan to bring him here and you aren’t sure you want to bear witness to whatever it is she’s planning. Though you did promise Tsu’tey to at least try to dissuade them from doing something they might regret. Your feet only carry you a few steps away before your resolve strengthens once more. Instead of walking away with your tail between your legs, you turn to face the issue at hand. 

Neytiri is explaining the significance of the trees. A place for prayers to be heard, a place to convene with those that have come before you. It is what you need in this time of confusion and you gather a few branches to connect your tswin. In an instant your mind is filled with a cacophony of voices. Singing and shouting, laughing and shrieking with happiness. Every life that led to yours is held within these trees and their voices offer a comfort like no other. The weight on your soul is lightened as you listen to the happiness babbling through tsaheylu. Old and young, man and woman. Your ancestors sing to you, laugh with you. Their lives are enduring within Eywa. Like salve over a burn, you feel your unsteady heart soothing. The anguish of knowing tonight will change the rest of your life is quieted. When you pull your tswin away from the tree, Neytiri is reaffirming Jake’s place within the clan.  

“You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree,” she turns away as if she is nervous to continue, “and you may choose a woman. We have many fine women.” Her eyes cut towards yours before focusing on the atokirina’ crossing her path. The gentle spirit lands in the palm of her hand. Her ears bend and twist, nervously shifting as she seems to choose her next words with great care.

“Ninat is the best singer.” Jake immediately voices his disinterest and a quiet smile lifts Neytiri’s cheeks. She turns towards you and softly blows the woodsprite in your direction. The little seed twirls through the air, brushing against your cheek like a kiss before drifting away on the breeze. 

“Peyral is a good hunter.” Jake seems to realize what Neytiri is doing, offering her advice on the unmated women of the clan. Pretending to put forth a possible match while still hoping he will decline every option he is given. So instead of denying interest, Jake nods. 

“Yeah, she is a good hunter.” His tone is hollow, but Neytiri turns swiftly, disappointment clear on her face. The small smile she’s been hiding falls to a look of sadness. Seeing her crestfallen face feels as though you’ve stepped into an open flame. It eats away at you. Searing and burning as you watch the woman you love bare her heart to someone else. If Neytiri is upset, you’re livid. Angry and jealous and bitter because Jake has her eyes on him in such a special place, on such a special night. Yet a small, conflicted part of you is glad for the rejection because that is the reason you accompanied them to such a place to begin with. 

This grove of trees is known to be a place of comfort. Many a mating bond has been solidified here, for generations. And you’ve been dragged along to bear witness to the making of another, though it is your hope to dissuade them from their desire to be connected in such a way.  A part of you wants to rage and shout, demanding that Neytiri be with no one if you cannot have her. But seeing the sadness that Jake’s rejection has stirred in her makes your heart cry. She deserves this bit of happiness even if it is not with you. Even if it is not with who she is meant to be with. Jake is quick to correct himself when he sees Neytiri’s suddenly sullen face. 

“I’ve already chosen,” he whispers. It feels like knives in your chest. Something acidic wells in your stomach as your tongue struggles to shape out the words to stop him as Jake’s eyes drift past Neytiri, towards you. 

“But these women must also choose me.” There’s a breathy laugh from Neytiri as she turns towards you, smiling so wide that her eyes are eclipsed. She takes your hands in hers to pull you in close to her side. You try to pull away but she only shifts her grip, keeping you close. 

“We already have.” Her words startle you. We? 

Perhaps she has accepted Jake into her heart as more than a friend but you’ve yet to reach such a point in your affections. And even if you had, it is something forbidden for the three of you to be joined as mates. Neytiri is not free to offer herself to any other. But she looks so happy that you don’t have a moment to speak before Jake is kissing her. Your voice is stuck somewhere in your throat, like you’ve swallowed a rock. It’s hard to make any sound other than short gasps of panic as Jake’s fingertips brush against your cheek, tracing over the pattern of your pil. Feigning at shyness you turn your head away before he can kiss you, too. His lips find your temple, quick breaths rushing over your hairline. 

Neytiri leads despite the nerves still clear on her face, guiding the three of you to kneel together as she takes hold of her kuru. It feels as though your eyes are going to leap out of your head with how wide they’ve gone. Everything is moving too quickly like a rushing river sweeping you up in its current. 

This is the exact opposite of how this night was supposed to end. You were meant to reaffirm some type of separation between the pair not become tangled up between them. You think of the clan. Of expectation and tradition, of responsibility. Neytiri knows of duty and honor. It is what you’ve been taught since birth. Jake may not understand how precious the mating arrangements of a tsahìk and olo’eyktan are. And if he does, it’s clear he does not care. We can’t, you want to say, this is wrong. But it’s hard to see what is so terrible about it when the love of your life is smiling so sweetly and offering to tie her soul to yours. 

Suddenly, Neytiri is in your lap again, forehead pressed to yours as she holds her tswin between your bodies, her other hand petting over where your braid hangs over your shoulder. She cannot force tsaheylu. You must offer your kuru to her with your own hand and it’s clear she is eager to be joined with such closeness. Her lips find yours. Soft, fluttering kisses that slowly sink into something more desperate. Her hands are on your body, tswin forgotten as she clings to you. There’s a shiver skittering down your back as her fingers raise goosebumps over your skin. 

Between her frantic kisses you find the courage to say, “We can’t.” Neytiri pauses. Her smile wanes for a moment, face flickering like a flame being snuffed. But then she’s flaring to life again, eyes bright with determination. 

“This is what I choose, Great Mother forgive me. Nothing else matters but us here and now.” Her hands hold your face like the most delicate piece of crystal. “It was always going to be you, yawntu. Always.” Those are precious words. Because in your heart, no matter what comes to pass, you know you will always love her. The flame you hold for her has never wavered and it must be just the same for her. Even if there is another sharing the space with you. It’s enough to disarm you, lowering your inhibitions as you pull her into another desperate kiss. There’s a renewed steadiness to your hand as you take hold of your tswin, offering it to Neytiri as you always wish you could’ve. Time was lost adhering to expectation but it’s yours to reclaim as the soft tendrils of your braids twine into one. It’s more blinding than the gentle comfort of the Tree of Voices. Something sharp and overwhelming, nearly beyond comprehension. 

It feels like Neytiri is touching you, holding you. Caressing every part of your skin at once. There’s still space between the two of you, a small distance between your chests and yet you feel her heartbeat as if it’s your own, feel each heaving breath as if it’s being drawn into your lungs. All that she is is suddenly inside you, like a pattern being woven into the very fabric of your soul. Another kiss is pressed against your parted lips. Wet and clumsy as she clings as close as your bodies will allow, until it feels like every piece of skin is brushing against yours. And then there’s a second pair of hands against your waist. Larger than Neytiri’s, different than anyone you’ve ever met. It takes a moment for the haze of euphoria to dissipate just long enough to remember Jake’s presence. He’s pressed in close against Neytiri’s back, chin resting on her shoulder as his arms reach to wrap around both of you. 

It seems like he isn’t sure what is happening, eyes lingering on the place your braids are joined in tsaheylu. When his gaze flickers back to yours there’s something beyond curiosity sparking there. A look you recognize as longing, determination. It’s something you’ve felt, something you’ve seen reflected in Neytiri’s face. So strange that something so familiar suddenly looks so foreign. Just a few hours ago Jake had been nothing more than a friend. He is still little more than that but you can’t find the words to say it–tongue tied with the feeling of your soul melting with Neytiri’s–before he is slipping his hand under Neytiri’s arm to add his own tswin to the knotting of your spirits. 

If the feeling had been sweet as ripe fruit before, it’s turned to something bitter and rotten as the unknown joins the blinding familiarity. If she notices, Neytiri doesn’t react to your sudden anguish. A beautiful moment and Jake has ruined it with his overeagerness. Human as he is, he does not understand what he’s done. You try to find the words, to make your tongue shape out the sounds to tell him that what he’s done cannot be undone, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a toneless gasp. Something choked and rasping. Perhaps you could’ve lived knowing Neytiri had shared this part of herself with the both of you, but there was never any desire in your heart to be with Jake in such an intimate way. And now it is too late to warn him of the consequences. Ruefully, you wonder if this is how tsaheylu feels between arranged mates. If this is what Neytiri and Tsu’tey would’ve suffered had the three of you not snuck away on this night. 

It’s a strange, empty sort of feeling. Like water tainted with sand. Cloudy and coarse. Something you would not wish on anyone. Least of all Neytiri. It feels like floating, but just barely. Hardly drifting on the unsteady waves even as Jake and Neytiri’s happiness bubbles through the bond with startling clarity. At least they are happy. 

It’s always been in your nature to stifle yourself in favor of others. To do as is expected rather than what you truly desire. Though this strange new bond that is slipping into place between the three of you was desperately desired. At least for Jake and Neytiri. It nearly hurts how hard Jake is holding onto you, fingers digging into the small of your back as he crowds the two of you in his arms. There isn’t anywhere you can go but here with the way the three of you are tied together. You’ll remain this way until morning, though you wish you wouldn’t as the euphoria begins to manifest in less innocent ways. Jake bites at Neytiri’s shoulder as she sits herself higher in your lap, hands rising from your waist to slip beneath the beading of your top. The strange clouded feeling lingers, but you find yourself falling back into the elation you felt moments ago, basking in the way your new mate is touching you. 

And perhaps being tied to Jake will not be so terrible. He has proven himself different from the others. A true Na’vi among pretenders. With time, you could learn to care for him in the way he seems to cherish you. The thought feels like taking on the burden of another. This is the life Neytiri was meant to lead. Mate with Tsu’tey and lead as tsahìk when the time came. In saving her from such a bleak future you have banished yourself to something just the same. But some things change with time. Perhaps there will be a day when there is unfettered love shared between the three of you. Because in this moment, a dark hidden corner of your soul lingers on the thought of how Jake has ruined what was meant to be something perfectly beautiful. 

Morning dawns in streaks of white light, chasing away the pale purple glow of the Trees of Voices. The slinking branches hang in swaying strands, stirring the sunlight and shadows in sinuous shapes. Everything is warm and soft. The feeling of limbs tangled over your own as ferns and blades of grass cushion your cheek, cutting into your vision as your eyes squint open in the bright light. With some struggle, you untwine yourself from Neytiri and Jake, slipping from the space between their bodies. Jake remains still, but Neytiri stirs to wakefulness with a flutter of her eyelids. Thick lashes fan shadows over her bright yellow eyes as she gathers her bearings. Slow at first as she smiles up at you, then with a sudden urgency as both of your eyes flicker towards a strange sound, ears bending and twitching as your mind tries to make sense of the disturbance. 

It’s loud and heavy, but lacks the heavy footfalls of a herd of angtsìk moving through the forest. There’s something distinctly destructive about the sound, like the crackling of hundreds of pyres burning at once. The sound of wood popping and snapping like it’s being torn off in bits and pieces. It grows closer until the trees begin to shudder and fall a few paces away. Then you hear it, the tinny whirr you’ve come to associate with calamity, something made by the Sky People. Flashes of sunlight glint off the edge of something big and metal rumbling just beyond the tree line. Another tree falls, filling the air with a cloud of dirt and pollen, and Neytiri rushes to rouse Jake. He still hasn’t moved despite the commotion, body sprawled across the ground as if there isn’t some metal creature chewing through the trees with its mouth full of blades. Neytiri is perched over his chest, shouting and shaking as the world comes down around you. Leaves fall like rain as the shadow of the whirring beast eclipses the sun, far too close for comfort. 

“Grab him!” You shout, already pulling at his arm. He’s heavy as stone as both of you struggle to pull him away from the collapsing trees. Another falls, larger than the rest, landing hard enough to send a buckling shudder through the ground. You fall for a moment, then again when a branch lands on your back. The splintered wood scratches across your skin like raking claws, likely drawing blood as you scamper forward on hands and feet to grab Jake once more. His stillness is like death as the two of you clamor to drag him away from the collapsing trees. But even between the two of you he is heavy, far too heavy to move with any haste. Neytiri gets his head over a fallen tree and you follow with his legs but it isn’t nearly quick enough. The machine is getting closer and Neytiri is growing desperate. Her voice shudders and cracks as she screams over Jake’s unflinching body, wailing for him to wake up. Back still burning from the fallen branch, you cover Neytiri’s body with your own as she shakes Jake’s shoulders. He comes to with an air of confusion, eyes expanding and contracting before he focuses enough to get to his feet. 

Of all the things you expect when he pushes the two of you behind him, talking–shouting–at the metal beast is the farthest from your mind. The yellow behemoth has no rider, no obvious reins controlling its movement. It only seems to know forward, but Jake’s yelling seems to slow it to a halt. Though the stillness only lasts a moment before it’s moving again, grinding forward as if it never stopped to begin with. 

“Go!” Jake shouts, shoving Neytiri forward. His hand lands against the scratches torn in your back, stinging as he pushes you after her. He doesn’t follow. Instead he runs towards the thing, yet you can’t bring yourself to look back as you run. There’s the sound of crunching metal then the firing of bullets. 

It’s your turn to fall still, stumbling to a halt as fear roots you to where you stand. Your hands feel warm. They feel wet. When you look down at your shaky palms they’re suddenly bright as if they’ve been steeped in warpaint. Bright red and acidic as the scent invades your nose. The forest seems different now. More shadows overhead and wood beneath your feet. The smell of blood grows heavier as your eyes focus past your hands to the body at your feet. 

Sylwanin is coughing, chest twitching and heaving as she tries to keep the breath in her torn lungs. Your cheek is wet, a spray of her blood speckled over your skin. She tried to say your name before she fell. Hands reaching towards yours, smearing blood over your fingers. Her eyes are dotted with spots of red, and there’s blood leaking from between her lips. She’s trying to talk, trying to say something between the stuttering heaves, but someone is pulling you away from her. 

It takes a few stumbling steps before you realize you’re not in the schoolhouse, not watching your friend die. Instead you’re watching the Trees of Voices be decimated by the rumbling metal beasts still tearing through the carnage they’ve cleared behind them. The trees are gone, leaving only splinters and churned dirt behind as the machines beep and whirr their way through whatever lies before them. 

Distantly, you hear Neytiri crying, though you feel numb even as you see smoke beginning to billow up from the fires the human warriors have set. Trees that have stood for a small eternity, gone in a moment. It doesn’t sadden you so much as it makes you angry. A seething type of anger that carves you out inside, leaves you hollow and numb. There should be tears. You should be in anguish. Yet it feels as though your heart hasn’t quite caught up to what your eyes have witnessed. It’s the same sort of angry nothingness you felt as Sylwanin laid dying at your feet. 

The sound of bullets brought you back to that moment. No longer are you a woman grown, but a child with no knowledge of what to do with the destruction set before you. And now there are no ancestors to ask now, no voices to share your thoughts with. The Trees of Voices are gone. Silently, you stand and begin walking home. There’s nothing left for you here. You shouldn’t have come in the first place. One mistake strung after another in a necklace laced too tightly around your throat. It’s hard to breathe, hard to see as the tears well up at last, but you keep walking. 

Hometree is filled with a cacophony of voices, but you ignore them all. You’re tired despite the sun having just risen. Curious hands brush against you as you float past, numb to the soles of your feet as touches graze the scratches on your back. It’s all dull pressure. No pain. No real feeling. Even the shrieking war cries sound distant as you trail between the warriors with their weapons raised and fangs bared. Despite your best efforts, you’re swept up into the maelstrom, jostled and pushed until you’re stumbling blindly to the front of the crowd. 

Tsu’tey stands at the heart of the press of people, bow raised above his head. His eyes find yours, recognition sparking as he takes in your discheviled state. He says something, extends a hand, but you hardly realize he’s speaking to you until he’s pulling you out of the throng of incited Na’vi. At last, words begin to make sense again as he whispers privately, “Are you alright?” Vaguely, you gesture towards your back and he passes you over to Mo’at. The tsahìk’s face is lined with tension as she brushes the mess of leaves and splinters from your hair and turns you around to look over the wounds on your back. It faces you towards the crowd as Jake and Neytiri emerge. When had they fallen so far behind you?

With heavy strides, Tsu’tey brushes past you, handing you his bow. A clear sign that you’re meant to stay out of whatever he’s about to do. You hide your face in the adornments of his weapon, ears flattened in shame. He is treating you with kindness you do not deserve. You’ve betrayed him. His trust, his friendship. For your own selfish desires. Perhaps this is what is owed for thinking yourself higher than tradition. For going against the word of your tsahìk, of the Great Mother herself who chose Neytiri’s family as her voice among the People. Mo’at’s matronly hands dab against the burning lines cut through your skin with something cold and soothing. It’s more care than you deserve. 

Neytiri is shouting, doing little to quell any notion that your plan to squash this issue has failed. If anything, the problem has only worsened since your promise to urge the two to part. Tsu’tey seems to glean it all from only a moment of looking between Jake and his promised mate, held back by Neytiri pressing against his chest. 

“You mated with this woman?” Tsu’tey’s tone is accusatory, hardly a question at all. Against your back, Mo’at’s hand’s still. She soothes a hand over your hunched shoulder as she steps around you to approach her daughter. Each step she takes is slow, menacing as a hunting nantang. When the tsahìk speaks, her voice is filled with thunder. 

“Is this true?” Between the words there’s a baring of teeth that makes Neytiri wither before her mother. She glances at you before gathering the courage to square her shoulders and declare herself mated before Eywa. It is like a spark bursting over dried leaves. A fight flaring in the blink of an eye. It’s expected. Months of simmering animosity finally bubbles over as Tsu’tey draws his blade at Jake. In the end he’s bested with a swiftness, blood leaking from his nose as Jake reminds him that he is Omatikaya now. It grants him the right to speak even if Tsu’tey will not hear him. 

“These words are like stones in my heart,” he says, and you wish your ears would close to the world once more as Tsu’tey saunters in beside you. There’s a heat radiating from him, like his very soul is burning with his rage. So much he’s lost in a single morning. His mate, his ancestors. Hesitantly, you reach to touch his wrist, as if to hold him at bay. He stiffens under your hand but does not move as Jake stumbles through what he is trying to say.

Then Grace falls. Her body goes still, eyes rolling back as all of her muscles seem to come loose. Jake startles as he tries to rush to make his point. 

“I was sent here to–” He collapses. That death-like stillness from this morning taking over once more. Your grip on Tsu’tey’s arm is broken as he rushes forward to put his blade to Jake’s throat. It should worry you, should enrage you. Because that is how mates are meant to act when one is put in danger. Defend, protect. You remain still. In your stead, Neytiri rushes forward to toss Tsu’tey away. She draws her knife in turn, hissing over Jake as if daring Tsu’tey to come any closer. Her lithe body is poised with menacing intent, ears drawn back and fangs on full display. It’s enough to send Tsu’tey away and you follow after him. 

“You were meant to fix this.” He hisses, snatching his bow away from you. 

“I did what I could but the stone was already cast. A dead tree will no longer bear fruit.” Which is to say a stubborn heart will never be swayed from its desire. It’s doubtless that Jake knew of Neytiri’s arrangement with Tsu’tey. There were days spent training when it was only the two of you. Neytiri and Tsu’tey sequestered away with Eytukan and Mo’at to learn the ways of leading the clan. It’s been mentioned in passing as Jake learned to speak your language, learning what the words tsahìk and tsakarem truly mean. He knew and yet he did not care. Nor did Neytiri. The Na’vi-born woman whose future is ruled by tradition. And perhaps even you did not care enough. Your protests had been meager, not even enough to sway your own mind. Still, you love Neytiri and that is the truth of it. To betray her love would be to betray yourself. Even if it’s what was expected of you. And if Tsu’tey suspects your involvement in this newly made bond, neither of you mention it. 

A sound rustles in the trees behind you, a soft brushing of leaves that could be nothing more than a breeze through the underbrush, but your bow is drawn towards the sound in an instant. The tension balled like a fist around your heart eases as a familiar face emerges through the foliage, but doesn’t abate completely as Jake steps into the light. His steps are slow and deliberate as if he were approaching a wounded animal but you hiss at her even still, embarrassed that you’d been so distracted in your thoughts that you lost track of your surroundings. Had you been paying attention you would’ve caught his scent before he made a sound. The same scent that’s always clung to Neytiri’s skin because she favors cooking with firewood that is more fragrant than most, making her food a hint sweeter when she eats it. It’s a smell that used to offer comfort but now it’s only the wisp of another memory that was burned to ash the moment Jake arrived to the clan.

What would’ve changed if it hadn’t been you and Neytiri tasked with teaching him? Perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself tangled in a mating bond shared between three people. A crowd compared to the traditional two.

“What do you want?” You ask, lowering your bow even as your voice still bristles with hostility.

Jake stalls in his approach. “What did I do, baby? What’s wrong?” In the time since he took up the mantle as olo’eyktan, Jake has begun to fully immerse himself in the ways of the People with more vigor than he had even before the fall of Hometree. He speaks in Na’vi when he can manage it but slips back into English when his tongue trips over an unknown word. But one word he’s never let go of is “baby.” A human term of endearment–not just a word for a newborn child–he’d explained once. Like yawne or paskalin it’s meant to show affection between mates. And despite that being what you are to each other you feel unsettled by the innocent word.

He takes a step closer that you reward with your own backwards retreat. His brows pinch, ears drooping as his hands reach out as if he can bridge the gap between you with a simple touch. You’re worlds away from each other even as he stands so close.

An uniltìrantokx, an alien. A human wearing the false face of one of the People. Yet he is also Na’vi, a son of the Omatikaya. He bears the title of olo’eyktan and Toruk Makto. He’s so close and yet so far. Once you would’ve met him in the middle, your hand reaching toward him. But now, knowing what he’s done…. Forgiveness is the farthest thing from your mind. Whatever friendship, whatever affection you’d once had for him has burned away to an aching emptiness. And even before it had begun to slowly unravel, thread by thread, breaking apart until you were left with a tenuous bond at best. Before Jake, before Sylwanin’s death, Neytiri had been yours. You understood her duty to the clan following her sister’s death. It was not her desire to become tsakarem, no nobility in the decision being made for her at the hands of the sawtute. Killing and taking with no remorse. She was betrothed to Tsu’tey and you accepted it as the way of things.

Jake’s introduction to the clan had been tumultuous at best, but as Neytiri’s closest companion you found yourself joining in on their lessons. And watching her fall in love with someone that wasn’t you. At least, with Tsu’tey there had only been friendship. A mutual agreement to not disappoint the clan’s expectations despite their hearts belonging to another. With Jake, she had no such reservations. Neytiri loved him. Loves him. Yet she can’t let you go. Neither of them can. So now it is your time to do as duty suggests, even if your heart aches with the effort to pretend to accept Jake into your heart for all he is, for all he’s done. Banishing the humans from Pandora after so many years of suffering might’ve been enough for others, but when you look at him you see flames.

“Everything you touch is destroyed.” The words slip out unbidden, before you can stop the bitterness from leaking off your lips and Jake stills as if you’ve struck him. The shock only lasts for a moment before he’s rushing towards you, arm winding around your waist as his four-fingered hand cups your cheek. The tears are unexpected as he wipes the wetness from your eyes. When did you start to cry? So long ago, truly. It seems the tears never stop, only taking brief moments of reprieve before stinging at your eyes once more. It feels like you’re being shattered, a river crystal smashed against a rock as glittering shards fly in every direction. Impossible to collect and rebuild. But Jake tries, so desperate does he seem to want to hold you together in his arms even as you come apart at the seams. You fight against him. Hissing and clawing like a hunted animal trying to preserve its life. Some innate piece of your mind knowing that a man like him is dangerous.

Sawtute. Uniltìrantokx. The words are synonymous with death and the unknown. And Jake has proved that no matter how close you become, friends can turn to enemies in the blink of an eye. Lovers can turn to strangers. Happiness can wither into a type of sadness that never dissipates. Still, Jake tries to keep you together in his arms. Whispering and pleading, trying to soothe your sobbing. So long have you spent simply walking forward, one step at a time with only brief moments to think about how far you’ve come. But with those few words you’ve turned back to see all that was left behind and it’s tearing away at you.

The ground is cold beneath your knees, the chill shivering through you as you fall. Jake hasn’t let you go, still keeping his arms around you as if you’ll turn to ash if he looks away for even a moment. Perhaps you will and wouldn’t it be better if you did? What is left for you now after so much has been taken? Everything has been stripped away. Friends, family. The few things that you thought would always be yours. Gone in an instant.

You try to speak through the thickness in your throat, voice rough as stone when the words finally come out. “Get away.” Jake doesn’t seem to hear you but you say it again and again as you struggle to your feet. “Get away! Get away from me!”

All you want is for things to be as they were. But you’re longing for a life you’ve never gotten to live. The humans were here long before you were. You’ve never known a life where they weren’t lingering just out of sight, corrupting your home to fit their alien desires. It burns in your chest, this desire to return to some semblance of normalcy and the knowing that everything in your life has always been precarious, balanced on the edge of a cliff. It seems that now you’ve finally fallen and there’s no knowing what will meet you at the bottom. Jake wants to catch you. You can see the desperation in his eyes as he tries to hold you, hear it in his voice as he begs you to stay with him.

You’re here in mind and body, but your soul feels like it’s been gone for so long. Left behind in the smoldering remains of Hometree, left behind on the battlefield. Now you’ve only been living because you hadn’t truly died. And everyone has been pretending you’re still the same as you were. Jake is pretending you’re still the same woman he met all those months ago. Had it truly been a year since an ignorant dreamwalker had come stumbling into Hometree? He’d been nothing then. A new kind of uniltìrantokx that needed to be studied. A warrior in a new, untrained body. A chore for Neytiri as Mo’at dictated that it would be her that had to teach him the ways of the clan. Of course, she had made it your responsibility to assist her in the endeavor, ever grateful for every moment spent together even if it involved teaching a man the things a child would know.

Truly, you’ve all changed since that moment. Jake has learned. Body and mind, he’s learned to walk as a true Na’vi does. It is clear that in his heart he is one of the People yet there’s still doubt in your mind. How, if he was so committed to the clan, had he let those monsters burn down your home with barely a word of warning? Yes, he led the battle to seek revenge and cull the plague of humans from Pandora, but if he had such determination why had he not done it sooner? Humans are secretive, duplicitous. Things that Na’vi had no concept of before their arrival. Your hearts are true and open. Yet Jake still had things to hide even after he became a son of the Omatikaya. Trusting him now feels like a mistake. Neytiri might’ve moved past it but you can’t find it in yourself to open your heart to such pain once more.

The woman you loved has turned into someone you can’t recognize. Relaxing so easily into the days of peace even in the shadow of all that you’ve both lost. While your heart turned cold hers seems to have blossomed, open with a soft sort of hope. The humans are gone, the People are safe. So why can’t you move on with everyone else?

Jake touches your arm again, fingers tracing from the shape of your wrist up to your shoulder. The touch feels foreign after avoiding him for so long. It isn’t the distressed grasping as he tries to soothe your tears. It’s softer, less confining.

“Let me help, baby. How can I help?”

“Leave me alone.” He’s already shaking his head before you finish the words.

“No. Don’t push me away, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes, I just want my girl back.” Back? Had you ever truly been his?

It had been a mistake to not close your heart to Neytiri when she was promised to Tsu’tey. Had you been strong enough then to smother the seed of childhood affection, to rob it of rain and sun until it withered and died, perhaps you wouldn’t be standing here with tears burning in your eyes. It would’ve taken less strength then to do what feels impossible now. A stone has turned to a mountain far beyond your strength to move. Jake seems to notice your hesitance, his eyes flitting over your face for any crack he might be able to use as a way past your protective shell. He seems to find it, reaching over your shoulder to brush his fingers over the length of your tswin. He draws it forward with careful reverence, pressing a kiss over the braided hair before looking at you once more. It’s doubtless that he’s thinking of that night beneath the light of the Tree of Voices.

A lorpaytsyal with its rows of shimmering fins swims past, stirring a cloud of syuratan that glitters like a burst of blue stars over the sun speckled sand. The shape of the white light bends to the pattern of the rippling waves, tracing out swirling shapes that break only in the shadows beneath the rows of coral. The polyps bloom in shades of purple, spindly limbs weaving together to form a canopy of darkness. Some pieces are broken, the cracked knobs revealing inner layers where something tore away the unwanted sprigs. The stony flesh of the coral has been cracked and shaped into a small alcove, just big enough to host a nest. A bed of stray lengths of seaweed and dead fragments of coral sit in the space hollowed out in the shadiest part of the sea floor. It’s lit with only the faintest glow of blue algae. Nestled in the shallow burrow are eggs, enough that a few going missing wouldn’t be enough to noticeably deplete the clutch.  

Light warms the hidden recess as you swim closer, the txampaysye clinging to your back filling the dusky hollow with the light of a soft sunrise. The pale green shells take on hues of gentle yellow and warm pink as you pick over the mound of eggs. They’re small, no larger than your palm, and each is only the weight of a small stone. You’re careful as you sift through them. The shells are soft and pliable, the texture like skin as you press lightly against each one. Curious fingers trace over the weighted areas of the wrinkled shells, feeling the slightest silhouette of the sea snake growing within. The light of the gill mantle is just enough to pierce through the thin membrane to the veins lacing through the shell. Each occupied egg is set gently aside but every few are empty, unviable. The shells harden when there is no life to support inside it. Though there’s no way for the mother to know that so you’re quick about your work, checking and replacing the eggs before an angry snake comes threading through the net of coral branches. By the time you’ve picked over the entire nest you’re left with a bounty of six eggs that you tuck gratefully into the satchel slung across your chest. 

It’s already heavy with other trinkets found during your exploration. Pearls in shades of blue and pink, shards of crystal smoothed over by the tide, and shells formed into delicate designs. The fabric of your pouch is nearly over encumbered as you tuck the last egg inside, leather ties straining as you tighten it closed. Sunlight traces across your skin as you swim away from the resettled nest, spears of light beginning to poke through the farther you get from the center of the coral hoard. The light of your tanhì flickers out as you emerge, sunlight swallowing the flecks of bioluminescence as it dances over your skin. Its warmth is lost in the coolness of the water as you swim, calling for your tsurak with a few throaty clicks. It takes time and a few more calls before the skimwing returns in its own time, darting through the forest of sea plants and schools of meandering fish to find you, though it doesn’t stop to allow you to mount as it rushes past. There’s a practiced ease to catching the handle of its saddle and tucking yourself against its back. Tsurak are known to be temperamental creatures, stubborn and selective with who they allow to bond with them. 

It is only your own temperament that keeps your fieresome companion returning after hunting in the open ocean. Some mounts have been known to leave the village and never return, leaving their rider to find another mount to bond with. It’s a vague fear whenever you go beyond the bounds of the village. You are not a hunter despite your childhood training. There is no reason for you to be beyond the seawall if not for your own pleasure and your tsurak knows this, can feel it each time tsaheylu is made. Your curiosity and excitement sings through the bond. It should’ve been tampered years ago and likely left you without a willing mount but you’ve yet to allow expectations to dampen your indulgences. There is balance in your excursions. For every treasure you find there is something of utility. Bones to be made into needles and knives, healing plants that only grow in the deeper waters, fish that seem to favor areas beyond the village. You leave no room for reproach and so you’ve been allowed to continue to spend your days however you’d like, coming and going as you please unless something in the village demands your attention. Still you return while the sun is still high in the sky. 

The terraces are crowded with people fishing as your tsurak leaps over the wall, beating its wings with a loud screech that draws eyes to your arrival. There’s no slowing even as the shore draws closer. Instead you simply loosen your grip and pull your tswin free of the bond, sinking into the water as your tsurak turns tail towards the open water once more. It leaves you in a cloud of frothy bubbles stirred by the rapid swing of its tail fins, unbothered by your distance from land. This is the way of things between you. Your chosen mount is bolder than most, hardly tampered by your own personality echoed through tsaheylu. It is a privilege to ride such creatures and it never lets you forget even after so many years of bonding. 

Warmth kisses your cheeks as you surface for a breath before diving back into the water. The morning had been tiring, your palms and feet scuffed and sore from climbing along the jagged edges of the island cliffs. The shore isn’t so far off that you’ll tire before you can reach it yet you still roll to your back and allow your body to float on the gentle waves. A deep orange glow plays behind your eyelids as you close them against the bright light beaming overhead, the heat of it drying the drops of water from your exposed skin. Beneath the water, the lazy paddling of your tail is interrupted by a quick tug that shocks your eyes open, stinging your gaze with the white heat of the sun. It’s hardly frightening as you recognize the distinct feeling of fingers wrapped around your appendage, though it isn’t exactly a pleasant sort of shock. The white clouds seared into your eyes disappear as your secondary lids slide closed as you look beneath the water to see the one bold enough to snatch at your tail. 

A sharp swing of your hips yanks you free of Tayku’s grip and he lets go willingly, raising his hands in a show of peace even as a roguish smile plays at his scarred lips. The boy is young–young enough to be your son–and yet he chases your tail as if it’s dipped in nectar. There’s an air of flirtation about him as he swims circles around you, the smug smile never leaving his face. His intentions are clear, as clear as your own answer has been. A terse rejection is what he and all your other suitors have received since this new season of courting began. It’s why you find yourself beyond the bounds of Awa’atlu more often than not in recent days. To avoid interactions such as these where the newly made men of the clan come nipping at your ankles, yapping about giving you strong sons. 

It wouldn’t be so terrible if they were closer to your own age, if you hadn’t watched them grow up alongside your firstborn. Each of his life achievements you’d been there to see and now he’s pulling his tswin over his shoulder in a bold display of his intentions. It would almost be endearing if he was younger and didn’t yet know the weight of his words and what he is asking for. But he’s a man now, one of the People, and knows exactly what he’s asking for as he tilts his head and flashes his fangs. You watch him posture and boast in the water for a few moments longer before rolling your eyes hard enough to open your secondary lids and turn to swim towards the shore. 

A brief surface for air gives Tayku a chance to swim beneath you and you nearly knock into him when you dive under again. He’s close, not so close that you can scold his overly familiar behavior, but just near enough that you can’t forget his presence. He clings close like a fish to the underside of a nalutsa, swimming with his face towards the surface and eyes on you. His distance is well-placed, just far enough to keep out of range of your annoyance. For all their simpering advances the young men don’t allow their infatuation to cloud their knowledge of your brash personality. This is the closest Tayku has gotten in all his advances and he still knows to keep out of your reach after inciting your temper with his childish grabbing. You’ve never been known to be particularly docile. If you were a fruit your skin would have thorns and your meat would be sour before it turned sweet, a delicacy only few people could enjoy despite the outwardly attractive look. 

«I was looking for you earlier.» Tayku signs, perfectly timing his words to your sparing glances towards him. It isn’t interest that draws your eyes to him. You’re more curious to see if he’ll leave you be if he’s ignored, though it seems Tayku has taken your brief glances to mean more than they are. He must have because he doesn’t abandon the conversation even as you arrive at the village, pulling yourself on to one of the many overhanging paths without so much as a parting glance. He stutters for a moment as you whip your loose hair over your shoulder, pelting his face with stray drops of water. 

“Where did you go today?” He asks after pushing his own damp hair away from his face, arm flexing purposefully. He’s harder to ignore outside of the water being the size that he is. Tall and wide, crowding your vision as he trots along beside you, uncaring of where you may be leading him. It hardly matters. The village is a place of finite spaces and he’s well aware of where your marui is. All of your suitors are if the gifts left outside your pod are any indication. Newly tanned fish leather, a carved box full of delicate beads, a freshly caught fish wrapped in thick leaves. There has been no shortage of anything in your home since the village welcomed its newest adults into the ranks. 

It feels so strange to be spoiled in this way again after so many years. Your time for courting had come and gone with no mate to show for it. Your son was made from a humble request for a fertility match. A quiet meeting with the village elders and tsahìk praying that Eywa grant you the child you’d so desperately wanted despite your lack of a mate. It had taken some time but they found an auspicious match and you fell pregnant quickly after, still unmated but filled with new life. It’s just as well that the two of you forwent the forging of tsaheylu seeing as your child’s father went on to be named olo’eyktan soon after you fell pregnant. He was mated off to the chosen tsahìk as is tradition and you certainly didn’t have the knowledge to assume such an esteemed position. 

The three of you became a true family, raising your children together as proper siblings despite their mixed parentage. And seeing Ronal pregnant again after so many years has raised the desire to be a mother within you once more. It was your mistake in making your intentions known to others because now you have men like Tayku trailing after you in the hopes that they’ll be the father of your next child. Never mind that they’re all nearly the same age as your first, some younger in fact. Far too young to be sniffing after you like a hunting nantang. You say as much but Tayku simply laughs, tossing his head back as if you’ve just told the funniest joke. He’s hardly being subtle in his advances. It’s nearly desperate how badly he wants to please you and yet he won’t indulge your greatest desire of being left alone to find a willing man on your accord. You’d been there for the first matchmaking and now know what to look for. An unestablished man is not something you are interested in at your age. If you are to share a parultsyìp with someone you’d rather they know their place among the clan.

Tonowari was beyond your expectations. The day the elders had collected you, and led you to a marui seldom used and sequestered within a particularly thick thatch of mangrove roots, you hadn’t known what to expect. Least of your wildest imaginings had been the clan’s finest warrior and chosen successor to the olo’eyktan. Everything that Tayku is even now in his youth is a single spark next to the open flame that Tonowari was when he was the same age. He’d been a few years your elder when you formally met, already covered in a multitude of scars and tattoos. Testamates to his prowess. It was your honor to give him his first child. 

His arrangement with Ronal was to the benefit of the clan and you’d never begrudge them that. If not for the elders’ decision you would’ve been settled with less than the best the clan had to offer you. It hardly mattered that he was mated so soon after. And now, nothing would make you lower yourself to allow the first man that asks to father your next child. If you were to have another baby it would be with a man who had earned his place within the clan, not these boys that had only just come into their own. 

“Did you find anything interesting today?” Despite your lack of answers Tayku keeps up a steady stream of chatter that sounds like bugs buzzing in your ear. He’s sweet and eager to please, and handsome despite the thick scar running through his lips. He will make a woman very happy someday. But not you. And you aren’t selfish enough to rein him in until you’re satisfied that he’s proven himself. That could take months or years and by that time he’d expect to mate fully for all the trouble you’d put him through. It wasn’t something you wanted. 

Being tied so closely to someone has always held a bit of terror to someone like you, utterly uninterested in staying tied down. When you were younger you dreamed of exploring the ocean, of visiting with neighboring sea clans and learning their traditions. But now you have your son, you have your family. Even without a mate you’ve managed to halt any plans of leaving Awa’atlu for too long. Still your childish fear of being mated persists. It may be rare but mating bonds can go sour and without death to break it you’re left tied to someone your soul no longer desires. It makes you wonder if Tayku even realizes what he’s asking of you. He has heard that you want another child, yes, but he courts you as if he expects tsaheylu to be made. You’re little more than a stranger to him, the mother of his childhood friend. To be tied to you could be his nightmare but he can’t see past the opportunity to lay with a previously untouchable woman. The thought is dizzying. 

“Don’t you have chores to attend to?” You ask at last, tiring of him shadowing your every move through the village. He raises his chin, grinning down at you, most likely elated that you’ve finally deigned to speak to him after his flaccid attempts at starting a conversation. 

“I’m already finished. I went hunting early this morning and my catch was enough for the day.” He goes on about the two large fish he caught along with his regular bounty, enough to measure the haul of any other hunter still out fishing beyond the reef, caught within the first few hours of the day. “I wanted to bring you one but I couldn’t find you.” Just as well because you wouldn’t have accepted his gift. A fish as large as he says is far too sumptuous to hoard to yourself with only you and your family. It’s a lavish courting gift, one that anyone would be elated to receive, but it would be passed out of your hands just as quickly as it came, sent off to feed the village as it should. 

“Do not feed me before the village. Your duties come before your indulgences.” It’s what you were always told when you were caught sneaking off somewhere but he blinks as if he’s never been scolded in the same way, his smile slipping for a moment. Your words are no harsher than they’d usually be but it seems they’ve finally started to break through the shell of adoration he’s formed around himself. Of all your aspiring mates he is one that has lasted the longest, clinging to even the thinnest thread of hope that you might one day share in his laughter or return a flirting remark. Instead you’ve remained steadfast in your rejection. In the days to come you can only hope he will fall away and shun you like the others, scorned and embarrassed by their own insistence that they’d be the exception. His mood only worsens, smile falling completely, when your son’s voice carries down the path towards the two of you.   

Ketsräno stands with his brother at his side, both their faces drawn tight in a show of hostility. Ao’nung has his spear in hand, ears drawn back as he glowers at the man beside you. Tayku is closer to his age, an old playmate and friend that slowly fell away as his responsibilities expanded. It is easy to see why neither of your sons would be happy to find an old acquaintance lingering close to their mother. 

“Sempul is asking for you.” Ketsräno says, eyes not leaving Tayku’s face. A heaving sigh empties your lungs. Returning to the village has been one inconvenience strung after another like beads choked around your throat. It had been your hope to return home and go over all of the morning’s findings, but the wind has seen fit to blow you from one discomfort to the next. Tonowari is one of the people you’d least like to see today aside from these men flocking to you like hì’ikran over a dead fish. His sentiment towards you seems to have soured lately and you aren’t keen on subjecting yourself to his sullen mood. But the summons seem to keep Tayku at bay, at the very least. Any man with love for his life would be too afraid to follow you into the akula’s den Tonowari’s home has become in regards to you. Or perhaps he simply isn’t keen on testing your sons as they part to allow you past before meeting shoulder to shoulder once more, a clear sign for their old friend to keep his distance. 

They’re fiercely protective of both you and Ronal. It’s your hope that you’ll find the tsahìk at home beside her husband but there is no such grace upon your arrival. The marui is deserted save for the olo’eyktan sitting just inside the entrance whittling away at a piece of gnarled driftwood. 

A glance at the sun still sitting at its peak in the sky tells you none of your children will be joining their father for many hours to come. Tsireya will be teaching the village children, and Ao’nung and Ketsräno will likely have returned to their own chores. If Eywa is kind Ronal might return to relieve some of the tension already beginning to fill the home. Emotional discord incites her temper. As tsahìk she empathizes in a way that runs far deeper than anyone else and the labor on her soul is nearly exhausting at times. Her tolerance for such things in her own home has dwindled to nothingness with her pregnancy. If your silent prayers are heard Ronal will return shortly and send you away before Tonowari can finish saying his piece. Because he seems to be in no rush to speak to you despite asking for you as wood shavings gather at his feet. It must be his expectation that you’ll speak first, a trap for him to find something to pick at you for. You tighten your satchel over your chest and hope he won’t ask about its contents as you go about making a purposeful formal greeting. 

“Oel ngati kameie, olo’eyktan.” You bow far lower than necessary and watch Tonowari’s lip twitch with displeasure. “Your son said that you were looking for me. How may I be of service, nawmtu?” It’s a thinly veiled dig and he knows it. There’s no reason for such formalities between the two of you. You may not be his mate but he is still the father of your child and that affords you some privileges when it comes to speaking with him. Purposefully invoking formal speech is a slight against him, as if he is a stranger to you, a clan leader and nothing more. At last he sets aside the wood he’s carved into a lethal point and sheathes his knife, standing to his full height. His jaw is set, muscles flicking beneath the ink of his tattoos. 

“‘Nawmtu?’” His tone is curt, brows knit tight as he stares down at you. 

“Have I said something wrong?” He nods with soured understanding at your coy question, clearly not pleased with your sudden lack of sense. He stands aside and nods for you to enter. You nod in thanks despite having entered his home many times with no permission needed. This is the place your son was raised, of course you have long since been given leave to come and go as you please. And yet you stand just inside the entrance, feet not moving a step further until Tonowari pulls the covering shut to be sure your meeting won’t be disturbed. Any hope of Ronal coming to dissuade her mate’s brewing anger is dissipated with the closing of the curtain.

Without the uncovered entrance the marui has gone somewhat dark, only the faintest light filtering through the blue membrane woven into the curved wall. It’s not so dark that you can’t see but just dim enough that Tonowari’s tanhì have come to life. Anxiety curls in your stomach like stinging tendrils. What had you done to make him so upset with you that he wants no one to stumble upon this conversation? Many nights have been wasted worrying over what could’ve made him turn so cold towards you in recent times, and many more days were lost returning the bitter feelings he has given you. The love you thought you had for each other has withered on the vine, leaving only this angry awkwardness in its wake. At least Ronal is still kind, still loving, albeit more distant than before. 

If he will not speak on it, you will not ask. So the two of you stand in the dusky room, eyeing each other with no words to say. He has called you here. If he wants to speak you’ll hear him, but it won’t be your voice that sparks the embers simmering between you. 

“Sit.” He says at last. His voice is stripped of any emotion. There’s only the blunt command of a man above your rank. Your knees find the woven floor and your teeth nip at your lip, biting near to bursting to keep your less than polite remarks at bay. It’s clear his patience with your attitude has thinned beyond salvaging. It feels as if you’re a child at your parent’s feet, waiting to be scolded for unruly behavior despite your age. You’ve matured far beyond juvenile reproach, but no matter your relations Tonowari is still olo’eyktan. 

“There are no eyes but mine to see you now, so let this song and dance be finished.” He expects that your attitude will dissipate because he asked it of you? After weeks of animosity he wants to call off your ire with only a few words. Not even an apology for forcing you to anger. It’s almost insulting how sure he seems of your complacency. He walks to sit behind you and you flinch at the feeling of his hand brushing behind your ear. First one then the other as he removes the dried fish fins you weave into your hair. The style is reminiscent of how forest Na’vi adorn their hair with feathers, though it’s a rarer style to find in Awa’atlu. Still, in recent times you’ve noticed younger women beginning to favor your hair ornaments and clothing. Likely in the hopes of catching one of the men trying their hardest to court you. The thought of Tayku and the rest willfully ignoring girls that would happily be courted only further sours your mood and distracts you enough that Tonowari’s hand brushing against the nape of your neck startles you. 

“What is on your mind that you’re so distant from me?” His voice rolls like thunder through the dark pod as he begins to comb through your hair, carefully unwinding any tangles he finds. So it’s you that wedged this distance between you? It also must have been you that started this battle of poorly concealed anger. How can you be faulted for your distance when it was he who first sent you away with his sudden lack of kindness?

“Where is Ronal?” It is not what you mean to say but it’s the only thought plaguing your mind aside from the resentment festering in your heart. 

“Ronal?” He seems taken aback. “I’ve called you here and you are thinking of her? How far your heart has gone from me.” 

“It isn’t me who put this distance between us.” You say bitterly. It is not your place to be faulted for his own lack of accountability. 

“No?” He doesn’t sound convinced. If anything he sounds more incensed than he had been before. “I’ve been hearing things recently, talk among the People.”

“There is always talk in the village.” It’s how days are passed. Idle chatting about small squabbles and other petty drama between people. Family rivalries persist through generations, childhood rifts persist through the years, age old stories are told to warn younglings against the mistakes of the past. Talk never ceases, it rolls in and out like the tide, constantly renewing with more things to whisper and laugh over while cooking or fishing. The elders of the village are far more attuned to the business of everyone else, but it isn’t so surprising that things have gotten back to Tonowari. It is his job to keep the clan in harmony and he can’t do that if he allows conflicts to fester without at least a small acknowledgement. 

“Yes, there is always talk, but very seldom does it involve your name.”

“But it isn’t surprising if it does.” Whatever gossip has spread with your name linked to it can hardly be of consequence. “Is someone questioning my abilities as a tattooist? I’ve heard Wepxtil has gotten better at his craft as of late. If he wants to spread word that his abilities have eclipsed mine I don’t care enough to stop him.” You’re one of the most renowned tattooists in the clan and many people carry your marks on their skin. The elders have said that hands like yours are only born once every few generations. If someone wants to question your abilities they’ll simply have to ask Eywa why she has blessed you so graciously. 

“It isn’t about your tattoos. No one would believe that someone that just passed his rites could rival your abilities. It is about other names that have been spoken in the same breath as yours. Rumors of your future.” 

“Speak clearly then.” You’re growing tired of his words swimming in circles. 

“There is talk of you wanting another child.” He says it as if he’s swallowed poison, like the words sting his tongue as he speaks. 

“Is that all? It is the truth. I want another child. Ketsräno is a man now. He doesn’t need his mothers to dote on him as Ronal and I used to. My nest will be empty once he finds a mate. I want a new baby to love. Seeing Ronal pregnant again has made me miss motherhood. She looks so happy. I’m jealous.” The last part is said in jest as an attempt to lighten the heaviness in the air. You could never be jealous of Ronal. She is strong and beautiful, yes, but she is your equal in family matters. Your hearts share a bond that is deeper than simple friendship. Her children are yours in all but blood. You’ve raised them as your own just as she has raised your son. There is only love between you. Or there had been before this sudden rift. Tonowari doesn’t seem to hear the joke in your voice. His hands fall still in your hair. 

“Jealous?” 

“Not truly.” You rush, trying to keep the exasperation from your voice. “I only meant that seeing her pregnant again has brought back cherished memories. I’m not too old to have another. I would like to have at least one more.” 

“So it’s true. You want another child.”

“Why are you treating this as if it is a problem? I expected that you’d be happy for me.”

“Happy?” His anger bubbles over at last. His hands fall away from their idle combing and he stands to pace, tail strained tight with tension. “How can I find happiness when you try to keep this from me? I didn’t hear these words from your own mouth, I had to hear them from others.” 

“I hadn’t thought it mattered to tell you. I was going to see about any unmated men of the clan that showed interest before asking for another match from the elders. Though I suppose I should’ve gone to the elders as I had before, or at least asked Ronal of her opinion. Trying to find a match myself has been like catching fish in a torn net.” Which is to say it has been a failure, time and time again. The men your age had overlooked you once before or you turned away their offers of courtship for one reason or another. In the years since Ketsräno’s birth your options have only continued to dwindle. Now it feels as if you’re trying to reap crops from infertile land. 

“You still have not mentioned speaking to me about this.”

“What need would I have of your advice? I respect your word, of course, but fertility matches are matters for tsahìk and the elders. Olo’eyktan was not needed for my last match.” His insistence surprises you. Tonowari has been a strong and magnanimous leader since he was named olo’eyktan but he has always known his place, deferring to Ronal and consulting with village elders on things that were beyond his years of wisdom. Never have you known him to dip his hand into things that were of no concern to his position. He shifts to kneel before you, body moving with the tight precision of a bow being drawn. Tension has gathered on his shoulders beneath his mantle of akula teeth. 

“What need?” He tilts his head in a way you recognize, ears quirking upwards in interest as he assumes the tone he’d always use when the children asked him a simple question. It was slow and understanding of their lack of knowledge. For him to turn it on you as if you know nothing of what you speak about is patronizing. At last your distaste can’t be quelled and your lips pull back to show the points of your teeth. Instead of heeding the obvious show of hostility Tonowari laughs. It’s short and humorless but a chuckle nonetheless. 

Heat flashes across your cheeks, down your neck, and up your ears as they pull tight against your head. The loud hiss that accompanies the burst of hot embarrassment is perhaps the first you’ve ever directed at Tonowari. There’s never been a need to snap at him aside from a few dissatisfied scoffs when his words are just a touch too cruel when the children have misbehaved, though you’re admittedly the least strict of the three of you. Still it’s well deserved now as he treats you as if you’re a child for not confiding in him something that was none of his concern. Perhaps you might’ve told him when you found a match as you would’ve everyone else close to you, but now, before decisions have been made? He has no part in it.

You draw in a deep breath through your nose before pushing it out of your chest. “Apologize. Now.”

“You want an apology?” His tone isn’t as cruel now. Instead he sounds disbelieving as if demanding anything of him is beyond what he expected of your audacity. 

“Yes, I want an apology. You’ve been speaking to me with such disdain as if I’ve done something wrong for making a change in my life! It hasn’t even come to pass and here you are shaming me for going about it in a way that doesn’t suit your tastes. Apologize and tell me plainly what you want to say. I can’t know your mind if you do not share it with me.” The two of you are not mates, you do not share the deep emotional bond that forms when tsaheylu is made. Perhaps Ronal as tsahìk and his mate could parse what has been eating at his spirit but you aren’t so enlightened to his deepest thoughts. If he has something weighing on his mind the only way to share it is through words. Not this callous critiquing and avoiding he’s taken to. 

Tonowari sits back on his heels, no longer leaning towards you as he seems to mull over your words. His eyes linger on your face as if he’s trying to trace the shape of your pil with his gaze. It would almost be disheartening, his silence, if you didn’t know him to be a man of carefully considered words. In all things he is calm and collected. Striking only when a target is within reach and speaking only when he’s sure of his words. 

“I’m disappointed.” He says at last. 

“Disappointed?” Your voice is pitched with disbelief. “Because I want an apology after the way you’ve been treating me?” 

“Because you can’t seem to imagine why I would want to be told about this.” He still doesn’t sound angry. He rarely is. But he truly does sound incredulous as his lips pinch together to stave off the smile curling at the corners of his mouth. If he’d been truly upset before, the feeling has passed like a storm. Now he seems amused as he watches you work through your thoughts. He’s speaking in riddles, words tied into knots for you to try to unravel. 

“Is this because of Ketsräno?” At last a gentler expression finds the olo’eyktan’s face. 

“In part, yes, this is because of our son.” The way he says it is more possessive than you’ve ever known him to be. Our son. A reminder that the two of you will always be intrinsically linked no matter the paths you choose to walk. Still, you can’t fully understand his meaning. 

“What about our son? I have no interest in any of his old friends that have been fawning over me if that is your worry.” 

He frowns. “They should not be trying to court you.” 

“I’ve made my disinterest known but they’re rather persistent. It’s almost insulting that they think I would entertain their advances even for a moment.” 

“I agree, they’re reaching far beyond their place. But it would stop if you made your choice. I can be of assistance if you would only let me.” 

“Then who would you suggest?” He seems taken about by your requests for a name as if he hadn’t just offered his insight in the matter. When you say nothing more he nods slowly as if he’s made a decision he doesn’t wish to share.

“If you don’t know then I don’t wish to speak of it any longer. Clearly our hearts aren’t as closely aligned as I once thought we were.” He decides. 

“If you don’t wish to speak then I’ll leave. No sense in us sitting here exchanging barbs. You won’t tell me what you truly want to say and I’m not going to force it from you. It’s clear neither of us are in a place to speak kindly with one another.” He stands as you do, and for a moment you expect him to stand in your way. He doesn’t but seems to think better of it as his hand catches your shoulder before you can push the covering aside. With the petulance of a child you wrench your shoulder free of his hand only to tear your satchel as the overencumbered fabric finally gives way under the harsh movement. Crystals, shells, pearls, and eggs spill over the floor, leaving a glittering heap at your feet. For a moment you simply stand there, not even looking down to acknowledge the mess that’s been made of your collection. When at last you look down Tonowari is already there collecting what he can into his hands, pausing when he picks up one of the eggs. He stands, staring at the small egg in his palm.

“How many times have I asked you to stay out of their nests?” He asks slowly, fist curling around the hardened shell. It won’t burst as a fertile egg would but there’s a fear that his hold will be enough to shatter it as his knuckles begin to pale with the tightness of his grip. You ignore him and gather what you can in your hands, fully intending to leave without another word. He doesn’t allow you. Instead he lifts your chin with a gentle hand, blue eyes burning into yours. 

“You never listen.” He says softly. “What if you’d been hurt?”

“I wasn’t. I am not a child. I can take care of myself.” You say hotly despite the common knowledge that the ocean holds beauty and danger in equal parts. On another day you might’ve heeded his words as a gentle reminder to take care of yourself and not sprint into danger, but today you only hear incessant insults. 

“You’re acting like a child.” He snaps, anger finally rushing forward. You scoff, stepping back away from his touch. With your salvaged treasures held tight to your chest you turn to leave. He calls after you, drawing eyes to watch you stride purposefully away from him. Here is more kindle for their fire. How the rumors will grow with whispers of strife between you and Tonowari. No one but your family has seen the growing tensions between the two of you and now it’s laid bare for all to see. The prying eyes allow you the courtesy of pretending not to see either of you as he storms back inside, not bothering to follow you. His stubbornness is a blessing as you retreat home with all the dignity of a finless fish. 

What has changed? What has gone so wrong that Tonowari seems perturbed by your every decision. The first instances of his more callous attitude trace back to when you’d idly mentioned having another child while fishing in the terraces. The seawall has always been a breeding pool for village gossip and it doesn’t surprise you that rumors have sprung up like flowers in the wake of your thoughtless banter. He must’ve hoarded the knowledge to himself, let it poison his every thought of you until it all came rushing forward at once. 

There’s a braided band of flowers waiting just outside the marui when you return home and you nudge it inside with your foot, quickly drawing your own coverings to properly wallow in your thoughts by your lonesome. The treasures you salvaged from the floor are dumped unceremoniously into a basket. Some had gotten left behind but you don’t even want to look at what you’d managed to save. Instead you focus on cooking. Lighting a fire and gathering ingredients to keep your mind from wandering. 

Ketsräno doesn’t come home even when the evening deepens to night. It isn’t anything out of the ordinary, him not joining you to eat. Most meals are taken in communal eating areas or with the entire family. It is you that hasn’t been where you’re expected to be of late, the shared hostility driving you away from the simple comforts of a family meal. Instead you eat in silence, watching the dying embers of the cookfire. The night isn’t quite deep enough to sleep but you’re exhausted both physically and mentally. 

Tomorrow will be spent close to home, perhaps sequestered away just as you are now, with chores that keep you away from anyone else. Leaving home would mean facing your foolhardy suitors and disgruntled olo’eyktan. Neither sound appealing as you go about straightening the marui in the fading firelight before unfurling your bedroll, keen to be done with the day. You’ve only just laid down when someone enters the pod. Expecting that it’s your son returning from his meal, you simply roll away from the light coming through the parted covering, intent on falling asleep as quickly as possible. The blue light of Naranawm disappears just as quickly as it appears in the corner of your eye as the curtain is drawn once more. When no word of a greeting comes you know it isn’t your son. After a moment the marui swells with flickering light despite your groaning protests. 

“I am sleeping.” You complain, pulling the dark curls of your hair across your eyes in a vain attempt to shun the low light now filling your home. 

“Not deeply enough to stop you from speaking.” Ronal tuts. “I come to comfort you and you can’t spare me a single look?” Of course it’s her that has come for an unannounced visit. Where was she when you needed her earlier to help mitigate her mate’s bitter attitude? 

“What do you want, Ronal?” You sigh, finally sitting up to look at her. You needed her with you before, now you shun her presence as she stands beside the shell torch she’s lit with the forgotten wreath of flowers in her hand. It sets her hair alight with a wash of amber light that plays across the thick waves, green eyes paling in the orange light as she scowls at the gift. Distasteful fingers pluck at the flowers before she tosses it down. More petals fall when it lands but she hardly seems interested in the mess she’s made of one of your courting gifts. Truthfully, don’t want that gift or any of the others but there was still work that went into crafting it for you. Maybe you’d kicked it earlier but it deserves better treatment than being torn at by Ronal’s judging fingers. The gift and the boy that left it for you deserve better than your scorn. 

“I want you to be rid of your anger, firstly.” She frowns. “I’ve only just arrived. You have no reason to be upset with me. If you’re upset you’d better dispel it before you decide to turn that venomous tongue against me.” 

In most things you and the tsahìk are perfectly matched. That includes a shared propensity for sharp retorts, though Ronal seems to keep her brashness reserved for you in specific. Perhaps because you’re the only one that won’t startle at her blunt responses. Her tongue is sharp as an arrowhead when she means it to be and she won’t spare you from a verbal sparring match if you provoke her. She’s likely to trade jabs with you long into the night if you think to turn your dour mood against her. Though she’s stirred your irritation simply by coming to disturb your peace when it was clear from the shut covering that you want to be left alone for the night. 

You stifle another sigh, letting the anger rush away from you in a deep exhale. “I’m sorry. Did you want something?” 

“I want nothing, it’s you that wants something. Another child, I’ve heard.” It isn’t a question. She means to tell you she already knows what it is that’s upset you and that she’s here to rectify the situation. She and Tonowari must’ve had time to themselves before the children returned home for the night. Ronal wouldn’t dare to raise such a topic of conversation where their ears could hear of their parents’ quarreling, though this goes far beyond the typical spats shared throughout the years. This will set a rift between the three of you that might never be bridged or mended. 

“I do,” your tone is careful, “though it seems my desire has disappointed everyone.” Ronal turns towards you with a swiftness, long skirt twirling around her legs as she snaps at you. 

“Skxawng. Sometimes I think you are willfully wrong.” The heel of her hand thumps your temple when you stand, as if she’s expecting something to rattle loose inside your head. All it earns her is a warning oìsss as you smack her hand away, temper flaring once more.

“Is it my lack of sense or everyone’s lack of explanation?” I snap. “Everyone seems upset but no one will tell me why. May the Great Mother guide me because I do not know what to do anymore.” 

“Ask.” She says it as if you’ve yet to think of such a solution. 

“Ask? That is all?” She stares patiently, emptily. Enough to draw a scowl to your lips. “Alright, Ronal, what do you suggest I do?” Her ear twitches at your sardonic tone but she seems to accept your words as a genuine plea for help. And it is, because you’re desperate to return your life to some semblance of peace. To do away with the pesky suitors and despondent looks from those around you. 

“You are asking for a fertility match?” This is hardly the formal environment in which you first kneeled before the previous tsahìk and passed on elders all those years ago, but Ronal is still tsahìk and she can make a ruling on the matter despite the lax environment. When you confirm your wish she hums. 

“I have already chosen someone suitable for you, if you’ll have him.”

You’re hardly convinced. “Who?”

“Tonowari.” She says easily. Your heart turns to stone in your chest, the weight of it dropping to your stomach. A flash of something cold prickles across your skin like an ocean spray as humiliation warms your cheeks. 

“Don’t mock me!” For a moment you truly thought that she had come to offer her guidance as tsahìk but even now she is clearly teasing, trying to further incite your ire. What had you done that both of the people you hold dearest seek to toy with you in this way. A prickling heat rises behind your eyes as tears begin to blur the edges of your vision. All these years of love and compassion and they’re tossing it aside to tease you for daring to want something more in this life. Ketsräno is all you have that is truly yours and even he is shared with his father. Soon he’ll slip between your fingers, passed from one hand to another as he makes his own path and finds his rightful place among the clan. Is it such an awful thing that you want to go through the journey again? Raising your son has been your greatest honor, more than any glory you’ve received within the clan. You were meant to be a mother and they’re mocking you for it. 

“Get out.” Ronal seems surprised, ears flicking upward as her brows rise in disbelief. “Get out!” 

“No.” She sounds astonished that you’d ask her to leave. 

“Leave! Get out and leave me be!” You aren’t shouting, not yet, mindful that the woven walls aren’t thick enough to trap your voice inside if you speak too loud. 

“Mawey, paskalin.” The term of endearment is hardly mollifying but you gather yourself even so. Anger has turned to sadness and all you want is to be left alone. By Ronal, by Tayku. Everyone. The chaffed heels of your hands are rough against your cheeks as you dry your tears. Ronal pulls your hands away from your face to lead you to your bedroll, pulling you down to sit in front her. Slowly she releases your hands in favor of holding your face. Her thumbs are soft as they brush away the stray tears still beading in your eyes. 

“Ease your storm.” Her voice is low as a roll of thunder though you can’t decide if the rain is coming or going. Going it would seem, as she holds your face like a precious stone between her hands. 

“I would never do anything to hurt you. Why have you lost faith in us?” Us. As if Tonowari didn’t look to be cursing your name the last you saw him. You left him. Walked away without a second glance as if he meant nothing. A bridge has two sides and both of you have burned them in turn. 

“You have been hurting me at every turn in recent days. Where were you earlier? Surely you knew Tonowari was going to express his anger eventually and you left me with him to drown. At least if you had come to send me away I wouldn’t be so upset now.”

“So it is my fault that Tonowari wished to tell you his feelings? He is a grown man–your olo’eyktan and father of your son–if he wants to air his grievances with you, that is no business of mine. Do not put the blame on me for his actions.” 

“The same way you aren’t blaming me? Because it certainly feels like there is no one else in the world you’d rather snap at than me. What bond can we have if it frays so easily? Son or not, there is no us. Both of you have made that plain to see. There is me and then there’s you and Tonowari. I regret that I spent so long thinking otherwise.”

Ronal tilts her head impatiently. “You don’t believe that.”

“No? Why shouldn’t I when all either of you has done for the past weeks is belittle and mock me for something you would never begrudge another woman? Tonowari acts as though I am stupid for not knowing what he won’t say and doing as I please. And now you’re here to tell me I’m wrong, too. I don’t want to hear it anymore, so, please, leave. Leave so we can move on from this. You are still tsahìk. I will always respect you as such but right now I’m not certain my heart can take being so close to you.” 

Ronal looks as though you’ve struck her across the face, green eyes growing wider with each passing word. For a moment you expect her to stand and storm out, to go back to her home and her family and be done with you as you’ve requested. Instead she sits in silence. Her face is guarded as you try to read her thoughts through the subtle shifting of her muscles. The firelight doesn’t help as it throws flickering shadows over the shape of her face, hollowing her cheeks one moment and darkening her eyes the next. When at last she speaks her voice is doleful,

“We’ve hurt you. It was never our intention and it pains my heart to know your hurt was done by my own hand.” She won’t cry, she’s too resolute for that, but the upset is evident in her voice. “But, you’ve hurt us, too.” Perhaps you have caused them grief lashing out the way you have but it doesn’t absolve them of anything. Biting the hand that stabbed you doesn’t heal your own wounds. 

“We’ve become clouded so let me say this and clear the air; Tonowari and I have given our souls to each other as mates. Before Eywa, tsaheylu was made. This is known.” You nod, unsure of what she’s trying to say. 

“A mating bond is made by choice. A choice you have decided to never make. We know this. But it is not the only way to be bound to someone. There are vows and oaths, bonds made through words and actions. And you made that bond when you didn’t estrange Tonowari from his son, when you allowed me to raise Ketsräno with you. A fertility match is usually forgotten when one partner finds a mate, but you felt no such need to shun us or hide yourself away. You stayed by our side from the moment you were matched.” Her hand brushes the edge of your shoulder as she reaches behind you to draw your tswin forward. Her fingers are gentle as they trace the weave of your hair wrapped tight around the sensitive nerves within. 

“Your first tsaheylu is with your mother.” She’s suddenly quieter, eyes distant as she winds your thick braid between careful fingers. “I remember when Ketsräno was born. You were tired but you smiled brighter than I’d ever seen as you held your son and made the first bond, and you didn’t rest until you’d seen Tonowari and I bond with him, as well. I thought from that moment on we all acknowledged our place in each others’ hearts.” 

The day is one you will remember for the rest of your life. Ketsräno had come early in the day, just as the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. Most of the night had been spent warring against the pain in the shallows, squeezing tight to Tonowari’s hands as he held you and Ronal tended to what he couldn’t. It had been only the three of you and your spirit sister until you were far enough to call the clan to witness the birth of a new life. Your cheeks were sticky with tears by the time Ketsräno came at last into the pink light of dawn, legs kicking to the surface as he made easy work of his First Breath. There was the usual whooping and cheering but you didn’t truly hear any of it, far too enamored with your little son. 

It was a moment meant to be shared with the clan but all that mattered to you was the family gathered around you. There was exhaustion and blinding happiness filling your head and then the gentle thrum of Ketsräno’s vitra as you made the first tsaheylu. There hadn’t been a thought in your mind in regards to what allowing Tonowari and Ronal to bond with Ketsräno would mean, and now you are dealing with the consequences of your addled decisions so many years later. In that moment you had treated the olo’eyktan and tsahìk as your mates and continued every moment after. You don’t regret it, not for a moment, but you loathe your own ignorance. Tears begin to burn anew in your eyes as you recognize your mistake. 

“I’m sorry.” Over one misunderstanding you had nearly burned your world to the ground. “I’m sorry, Ronal.”

“Hear me now, paskalin. Listen well because I don’t want to have to repeat this ever again.” Her tone is strict but not without her own stern sort of affection. “Oel ngati kameie. Nga yawne lu oer. I will say this once and you will carry it in your heart for the rest of your life; we are yours, and you are ours.” You know it. A hidden piece of your heart has always known that even if you never found a mate you would be content with your life with Ronal and Tonowari. But they’re mated with each other. Of course you never considered you could fit in a place where two halves already made a whole. 

“Tonowari has been in love with you from the moment he was set to be your fertility match. His love for you was easy. I didn’t earn his affections so quickly, you remember.” You do. Being olo’eyktan or tsahìk is a heavy burden to bear and while Ronal always did so with grace it was plain to your eyes as someone close to both of them that their love took some time to blossom. They were awkward with each other, stepping lightly to avoid any upset before finding their standing as a mated couple. Ao’nung and the rest followed soon after. So strange that two arrangements had such different results. Or perhaps not seeing as the three of you managed to tie your hearts together in the end. Though you never considered your place in their lives to be valued in the same way they regarded each other. Clearly you’d been wrong all these years. 

She leans in close to rest her forehead against yours and heat builds in the space between your lips as you breathe against each other. It’s a familiar sort of closeness that you’ve neglected to think could ever mean more than a close bond of friendship and parenthood. The tip of her nose draws across your flushed skin, brushing through your drying tears as she nuzzles against you. Her breath is warm against your cheeks as she takes in the scent of your skin, kissing the ripples of your pil until her lips find yours. They’re soft and warm and she tastes of sweet juice. The kiss is fleeting and precious. 

“Oel ngati kameie.” The words are whispered against her lips as she kisses you again. How long have you spent saying such words when you hadn’t truly seen what was right before your eyes. So many years wasted considering yourself an accessory to their bond when, in their minds, you had always been included. How much you have missed trying to live freely and save your heart the ache of abandonment when everything you could ever want was already within reach. Your fingers trace over the tattoo etched around the shape of her and curling high on her cheekbone. She hums quietly, eyes falling shut as she pulls you as close as her stomach will allow. The torch she lit is still burning but it gives you light to see her by as she falls asleep beneath your gentle touches. You resolve to speak with Tonowari when you wake, to try to mend the hole you’ve torn in your lives. 

It’s easier said than done, though, because when the sun rises and Ronal with it you find yourself hesitant to approach Tonowari. Dawn turns to day and you find your hands busy in places the olo’eyktan would have no reason to be. By the time the sun has reached its peak in the sky you’re busying yourself in Tsireya’s shadow, assisting her in teaching the children. She seems grateful for the added guidance you can offer, never asking what possessed you to suddenly want to stay so close to the village when midday usually finds you far beyond the terraces, hunting or frolicking on some lesser traveled islands. Weaving is easier work than hunting, not as strenuous of a task, as you teach the younglings the different types of braids and knots that make their homes and clothing. When the sun begins to set the children scatter home and you realize the day has been wasted without you speaking a single word to Tonowari. Tsireya keeps up a pleasant conversation as the two of you straighten up the marui used for teaching, collecting dropped beads and setting aside the childrens’ weavings. 

“Txa’ro shows a lot of promise, I think.” She hums happily. “She learned the arrowhead pattern quite quickly.” You nod, though your mind is far off. If any student showed any outstanding capability today you hardly noticed it. The whole day has passed in a haze like fog has settled before your eyes. Last night was like a dream, a short breath before the waves crashed over you once more. If your daughter is bothered by your uncharacteristic silence she doesn’t mention it, simply carrying the conversation herself as you follow her absently through the village only to stop once a familiar marui comes into view. It feels as though your feet are caught in mud, sucking you into the bouncing path as Tsireya continues on, happily chatting until she realizes you’re no longer beside her. 

“Ma Sa’nok?” She reaches towards you, expecting that you’ll move to take her hand, and her face falls when you don’t. Both of you stand watching each other until finally Tsireya nods and says good night, finishing the trek home by herself. It pains you to see your daughter upset and distant but you can’t bring yourself to face her father. Not yet. Instead you go in the opposite direction with no destination in mind. You walk until you run out of woven paths and the air no longer carries the scent of dinners being made, until you reach the fringes of the village where the beach is deserted. 

This isn’t how the day was meant to end but it ends all the same as you sit and watch Naranawm’s shadow swallow the sun. Soon the eclipse will break into deep night and you’ll return home without having shared a single word with Tonowari. So strange that is. There were once days when the two of you could be parted for only a few hours, for as long as chores demanded it and not a moment more. But that was when the children were young and needy for their parents’ attention. Now they’re old enough to deal with things on their own without your guidance. The sand is soft as you lay back to stare at the sky until it goes dark as your eyes drift shut. They don’t open again until you feel the sand shift beside you. It’s different than a rising tide swelling around you and you turn your head towards the disturbance. 

Tonowari sits beside you, lit in deep shades of blue beneath the night sky. He isn’t looking at you yet. Instead his eyes are fixed in the far distance, on the dark silhouette of the seawall where the terrace pools are lit with rippling syuratan. When he finally looks at you his eyes are filled with a foreign sort of longing. It’s a strange expression to see on his face. Tonowari has never been known to put his desires before anything else, if anything his wants and needs can be forgotten and buried if it means peace and prosperity for the clan. His role as olo’eyktan is put before everything in his life. Every clan needs a leader and Tonowari and Ronal both uphold their roles with the utmost care, never straying from the path Eywa has set for them. Seeing him look so lost within himself would be mystifying if you didn’t know the cause of his clouded mind. It’s in the reflection of his blue eyes, the pattern of your glowing freckles appearing like aysnatanhì in his forlorn gaze. You’re the reason for this and it feels like a knife to your heart and you desperately want to heal the wounds you’ve caused. 

“I’m sorry.” It isn’t enough but you say it anyway. Sorry is for stepping on someone’s tail or being too rough during training. It’s for small disagreements. Not something like this. Still you want to cling to the idea that what’s broken can be fixed with enough patience and attention. Tonowari seems to share the sentiment as he brushes the sand from your hair as you sit up, fingers tracing down your arm until he can bring your hand to his lips. It isn’t a kiss. Not truly. He presses his lips against your knuckles like he’s trying to see if you’re truly here before him. He seems soothed when you don’t turn to smoke before his eyes. 

“Don’t.” He says before you can further embarrass yourself with meager words of atonement. “Don’t apologize.” Your heart sinks like a stone in your chest. Apologies are all you have to give. If he won’t accept them then perhaps this distance can never be bridged again. 

“May I speak plainly?” You’ve never asked his permission to speak as bluntly as you do, but Tonowari is always considerate, even when it is undeserving. He takes a while to speak after you nod your acquiescence as if he’s weighing his words to see which will sit heaviest on your heart. Even in his anger he can find a moment to be kind. 

“You’re the most difficult woman I’ve ever met.” He says at last. It doesn’t sting as much as you’d expect it to. It’s a sentiment you’ve heard your entire life. Too brash, too harsh, too willful. Of course people will find you difficult, but it’s the first time Tonowari has said it so plainly. 

“Ronal may not mind having to fight with you and wrangle you like an untamed beast, but I do. I only want to love you but you make it so hard for me. If I get too close you pull away. It feels like I am fighting to keep you by my side. And then you say–” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You say you want another child and you don’t come to me for this. You flaunt yourself around the village as if I cannot give you what you’ve asked for. I can. I will. You just have to let me. That is all I want.” 

“I didn’t know.” It’s hardly an excuse but it is the truth. Tonowari stiffens beside you, lips pressing into a firm line.

“Didn’t know?” He glowers, ears pulling back before he calms himself. “Then let me tell you so that you know. From today onward, paskalin, let there be no more confusion. I love you. As a husband loves his wife. I know you do not wish to be mated. I understand your heart. But you are my mate even still. You belong to me and I belong to you. Just as I belong to Ronal. Just as you belong to her. And if you want children I will give them to you. No one else.” He bares his teeth though there’s no one but you to see his show of possessive aggression. 

It’s so strange to hear him want something so desperately. Tonowari has always done what is expected of him. For the good of the People he has always thought of the clan before himself. To hear him almost begging for this allowance to be selfish, it lights a fire inside you. 

“I don’t care about them. Tayku and the rest,” Tonowari scowls at the sound of the boy’s name, “I never wanted them.”

“Then what do you want?” You’re reminded that beyond his duties as a leader, Tonowari is a warrior. He pulls you into his lap with great strength, one hand keeping your eyes on his as the other holds your waist. 

“I want this.” You whisper. “I want you.” 

His lips burn as they meet yours in a deep kiss, searing the promise you’ve made into your memory. The night air is warm but you shiver as Tonowari’s hands trace across your skin. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close with him and it overwhelms you as he pulls you tight against him and whispers sweet promises over your parted lips. You whine as his fangs nip over your neck, tongue tracing the shape of your tattoos until he finally settles against your chest. He noses at the delicate shells of your draping top, breath puffing against your heated skin. His blunt nails drag down your exposed back to your hips, pulling you harder against him. His intentions are clear and you’re more than happy to comply as he toys with the knots keeping you covered. You’re far enough from the village that no one will stumble upon the two of you as he lays you bare beneath the stars.

The hardest part passes with the rising of the sun but there is still work to be done before things can truly be as they should between the three of you. Hunting is strenuous but there is always more to do after the beast is slain and prayers are said in its honor. There is cleaning, skinning, cutting, cooking, and preserving even after that. The hunt is not over until even the bones of the animal are put to some use. The renewed and deepened intimacy with the olo’eyktan and tsahìk is hardly enough to heal the pain amassed over many years. A wound needs to be tended not ignored lest it bleed you dry. It was nearing that point, would’ve surely reached it had you gone through with letting another man father your newest child. The strained bond would’ve been shattered to splinters beyond salvaging, but, as it stands, you can manage to slowly place the pieces back together. 

It is a slow walk to where you want to be, but each step brings all of you closer. At first it’s only small things; Ronal stealing kisses in secluded places and Tonowari lingering near you far more than necessary. They’re more protective now as if they’re worried someone will come along to trample on your budding affections. It’s all new to you, this deeper sort of courtship as you’ve never allowed anyone to go beyond the point of flattery and gifts. The fierce loyalty is to be expected. In truth you’ve never been as loyal with your affection to anyone besides them. Even before your confessions and admissions of love you never bothered to be closer than friends with anyone. To be doted on so openly soothes the bruised piece of your heart still agonizing over being left behind if they grow tired of you. In so many years their feelings have remained unflinching for each other, and for you. It’s a nagging feeling you wish to starve out of your mind. Eywa has graced you with two people you adore and who love you with equal fervor in return. Tsaheylu or not, the three of you have been mated since you laid with Tonowari beneath the night sky. 

Things have finally fallen back into place. Ronal still bites back at every curt remark you make and Tonowari still worries anytime you’re too far from home. But there is no more edge of awkwardness as you hesitate to kiss Tonowari or lean against Ronal. Bashfulness is unneeded when they revel in your tentative touches. Their affections manifest differently, Ronal being more subtle as Tonowari is more boastful, but you learn to balance yourself between the two of them. Ronal won’t ask for a kiss. She will simply stare at your lips until you offer one. Tonowari acts instinctually, wrapping you in his arms the moment the desire rises. It swirls new rumors of the clan leaders’ mate though many simply laugh over how long it’s taken you to accept the title they all called you in secret. It dizzies your head to know that it had been only you standing in the way of your happiness, clawing and hissing when no one meant to harm you. How foolish you’d been to run from your feelings when they were so plainly reciprocated. All that pain suffered and inflicted with no reason for it. The thought weighs heavy on your heart, ears lowering as you mull over your work. 

“Enough.” Ronal says just as quickly as the regret begins to creep in. The energy of the air has surely shifted as your soul sinks into a dark place and your tsahìk is quick to catch it. She’s irritable in the last months of her own pregnancy, more easily disturbed by small things. 

“Come here.” She makes room on the hammock she’s sitting in expecting that you’ll join her without protest. Of course you do, dropping what you’d been doing to sit beside her. The squid can wait. You’ve harvested enough of their ink for the moment though the one in your hand clings defiantly, little tentacles winding around your fingers as you try to drop it into the bowl with the others. Ronal makes a face as she watches you gently peel the creature from your hand. Despite their necessity for the tradition of tattooing, she’s always found squids to be unpleasant. Something about their wriggling legs unsettling her. It’s an amusing distaste she has considering how many times you’ve reminded her their legs look similar to the sinuous nerves of a kuru, but she won’t have it. You press a kiss to her temple as you sit to offer penance for bringing the creatures near her. 

She hums and goes back to her sewing, stitching delicate beads into the intricate weaving of a new top. Idly you flex your leg, gently rocking the hammock as you bury your foot in the sand. The day has gone by with a harmonious sort of stillness as the clan spent time on menial tasks. Despite the more secluded area you find yourself in you can still hear the soft din of voices; work songs and gossip and children shrieking happily as they splash in the waves. You rest a hand on your stomach. Enough time has passed for you to be showing. Tonowari has been pleased since Ronal first confirmed the news, hands constantly brushing over your stomach even when you looked no larger than you had before. Now he’s weak with anticipation for their first stirring. You can already hear the words on his tongue as the olo’eyktan appears down the beach, smiling happily at the sight of his mates cocooned together. 

“Oh.” Before he can ask there’s a sudden fluttering in your stomach, light and quick like the feeling of a fish swimming past you. 

“Oh?” Ronal asks, setting aside her sewing. Your hand presses lightly against the place you felt the burst of movement. 

“Are they moving?” Tonowari asks excitedly, already kneeling before you. His hand trails up your calf to settle on your knee, blue eyes imploring as you stare blankly in wait for another flutter. It comes again and you laugh at the strangely ticklish feelings, pulling his hand from your knee to press against your stomach. 

“Did you feel it?” You ask when the baby moves again. Your child is strong, moving with great vigor. It isn’t always a pleasant feeling as you remember the bouts of sickness Ketsräno raised while he twisted and kicked inside you, but this is the first of the new baby’s movements and they’re hardly enough to disturb you. Tonowari nods though his eyes stay trained on your belly. Ronal’s hand pushes in beside her husband’s, fingers overlapping with your own as you guide Tonowari’s hand to where the kicks are strongest. She’s shared in your toiling of carrying a child, knows that it won’t always be this easy, but for the moment neither of you mention it. Instead she presses a kiss to your cheek, your nose, landing one on your lips when you turn towards her amorous mouth. Tonowari catches your lips soon after, hand still pressed against your stomach. He doesn’t go far as he pulls away. 

Instead he wraps his hands around your waist, lifting you from your seat to twirl you in a circle. There are no words for what he’s feeling because all that falls from his lips are sounds of pure elation. Laughter, as deep and rolling as the ocean fills the alcove as he dances with you. Ronal watches the two of you for a moment before smiling herself and standing to join. Your heart swells near to bursting as you realize this is what you would’ve missed had the storm of distance and anger never torn through your life. You’ve made something better of what remained when the rain gave way to sunlight. This is what you tried to deprive yourself of with your rash overthinking. You’ll never be so presumptuous again. Not when Tonowari and Ronal renew their vows to you with each passing breath. Paskalin, tìyawn, muntxate. They don’t let you forget their love for even a moment and you’ll dedicate your life to returning it a thousand times over. 

ɴᴀ’ᴠɪ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

Lorpaytsyal – chandelier fish

Syuratan – bioluminescence

Txampaysye – gill mantle

Tanhì – bioluminescent freckles, star

Parultsyìp – little miracle, term of endearment for a child

Sempul – father

Hì’ikran – dorado verde, small ikran (speculative)

Nawmtu – great person (honorific)

Pil – facial stripes, skin stripes

Naranawm – Polyphemus, the planet Pandora orbits

Skxawng – moron

Oìsss – angry snarl, watch it!

Paskalin – sweet berry (term of endearment)

Tswin, Kuru – neural braid

First Breath – Metkayina birth ritual

Vitra – soul

Nga yawne lu oer – I love you

Aysnatanhì – constellations

Tìyawn – love (term of endearment)

Wounds will heal with time. Scabs turned to scars. And these demons have gouged deep gashes across Pandora, ravaging everything they touch with no regard for anything outside of themselves. They are the aliens setting foot in a world that is not their own and yet they treat Pandora as if she is theirs to tame. To torture and abuse. Like a diseased plant poisoning all that it’s roots tough, they take and take, never returning that which they’ve stolen. They reap without sowing and destroy everything that wanders into their path. The Great Mother has surely weeped for many years at the atrocities these sawtute have committed against her. And even those years of peace were stolen away in a heartbeat. A scar long since healed torn open to bleed once more. Pandora had prevailed once before and yet these humans have learned nothing. Ignorant as children, repeating the same mistake and hoping that this time it will be different. 

The oceans have been stained in blood by their hands. The blood of tulkun. The blood of Na’vi. But the favor has been returned and it’s now their blood that mingles with the waves. This battle may have been small, only a shadow of the might they brought down upon the forest, but they lost. What was left of their people retreated like wounded animals, chased out of the ocean back to whatever stolen piece of the forest they’ve made their home. But how long until they’ve regained their strength? How long until they return once more in search of revenge. These humans are like weeds. Cut away only to grow back once more. It will be a small miracle if they’re gone long enough for the People to heal, to grieve. Because both sides have suffered losses, though some feel greater than others. 

“Tsireya!” It’s the first word you’ve spoken in what feels like days and it sears through your throat as if you’ve swallowed fire. The clouds of smoke had not been kind to your body, feeling your lungs and making each breath feel like you’ve swallowed thorns. 

“Sa’tsmuke!” Sunlight spills over her in a wash of amber light, tears sparkling in her eyes as she finds you in the distance. Payakan had kept all of you in the cradle of his fins through the eclipse. It allowed for a fitful sort of rest in the soft rocking of the waves. It felt like the comfort of your mother’s arms gently bouncing you as your mind slowly began to stitch itself back together after coming undone by the thought of your son being one of the casualties lost to the hands of the sky demons. Even now you can hardly think further than what is in front of your eyes. Your children, your mate. Your family. You cling to the idea of them, terrified of what will happen if you allow the pain to consume you once more. To return to that great gaping maw that swallowed you whole, covered your eyes and quieted your mind to anything but seeking to make others suffer with you. It was deserved but the demons are gone. To lash out now would be to hurt those that you love. The only people that remain already share in your pain. 

A deep breath steadies your resolve. 

Tsireya stands shakily to her feet, swaying as she wraps her arms around herself, quiet sobs shaking her shoulders. She reaches for you as soon as you climb ashore the tiny stone island. 

“Tsmuke’ite,” you cup her face until her gaze steadies on your face, “where’s your brother? Where are Ao’nung and Rotxo?” She shakes her head as falls into your arms, burying her face in your chest. Her heartbeat drums against the palm of your hand settles on her back. You curl yourself around her as if there’s anything left to protect her from. The damage has been done. All you can do is pick up the pieces left behind. Her tears wet your skin as your nose presses against the shell crowning her head. She smells like home. Like comfort and safety and happiness beyond this small piece of land wet with water and blood. Her hair carries the familiar scent of dried flowers and that sour fruit so few people seem to like. Your heart pinches at the thought as your arms tighten around her. Ronal and Tsireya were always the ones to share the sour fruit with you until the Sullys arrived. Neteyam seemed to love the almost bitter taste. It pains you to think you’ll never bask in the simple joy of eating with your son again. 

The points of your fangs dig into your lower lip as you brace yourself to look over at where you know he’s lying. Tuk is at his side, holding his hand in her own. Her tears fall over his fingers and drip down his arm and still he doesn’t move. And his stillness can’t be mistaken for anything other than death. His eyes are closed but it hardly looks like he’s resting. The hole torn through his chest stands out against his deep blue skin, like a red flower blooming in his chest. The sight of it snatched the air from your lungs and the strength from your body. Lo’ak rushes to your side as Tsireya struggles to keep you standing. The ground meets your knees, stone chafing your skin, but you hardly notice. Tsireya says something. Perhaps to you, or maybe to Lo’ak. It sounds as if she’s shouting from across the horizon even as she kneels beside you. A hand touches your shoulder, just for a moment before falling away as you rise just far enough to move. Your hands keep your movements steady as you half crawl towards Neteyam’s prone body. 

There’s a deceptive sort of warmth to his skin as you reach out to touch him, fingertips brushing over his cheek. The sun casts fleeting heat across his cold body as you pull him into your lap. He’s been here for hours, cold and alone save for Tsireya and the stone beneath him is wet with a facing wash of his blood. It stains your legs as you hug him close, Tuk nuzzling against you as you wrap your arms around the both of them. Her cries are quiet as she hides her face in your side, hands clinging to the beaded strings of your chest covering. The pads of your fingers find the shape of his pil, tracing the striped pattern so different from the ripples dappling your own face. Tears cloud your vision as you brush over the softness of his lashes, desperately hoping against hope that his eyes will suddenly flutter open. 

The shape of the wound in his chest seems almost delicate. Small and insignificant if it were in another place. The ocean holds many wonders, but also great dangers. Warriors have come to you to heal far more grievous wounds. Your fingers find the shape of the wound you’d stitched only weeks ago. It has healed well, only a slightly raised scar, a pale slash across his arm. He bled then too. It had seemed like such a simple thing to heal. A needle and thread to soothe the hurt, but some things are beyond your abilities as tsakarem. Even a tsahìk would be powerless to this injury. 

The thought weighs heavy in your heart. Already so much has been taken and still there is more to lose. But these things have a reason. There is balance in all that Eywa does. The Great Mother protects the balance of life no matter the cost. All things have a reason even when you cannot See it. This pain has blinded you, closed your heart. Your chest feels cold and empty as if the flame of your soul has burned out. Perhaps it has. The only thing left burning inside are the tears in your eyes, clouding your vision even as you try to focus on Neteyam’s face. To carve him into your memory before he is washed and committed to the ocean, returned to Eywa. Soon a search party will be sent to find those stranded and your family will be among them. Neteyam will be taken home. His adornments will be removed and his body washed in preparation for his burial, but you want to stay here for a while longer. To count the pale freckles dotted across his cheeks, to remember the pattern of stripes crowning his forehead. 

Someone says your name. Gentle as a warm breeze as you hug Neteyam close, cheek pressed against his braided hair. A shadow falls over your back, blocking out the warmth of the sun and reminding you just how cold Neteyam feels in your arms. 

“Come here, yuey.” Jake whispers. It’s his hands that move you more than any will of your own, gently unwinding your arms until Neteyam is laying on the ground once more with Tuk still at his side. It seems wrong to leave him there. Stone isn’t as gentle as sand. Surely his tswin is being pinched under the weight of his head. You reach to push a stray braid away from his face but Jake catches your fingers with his own. His grip is insistent as he pulls you away. Kiri takes your place at Neteyam’s side, taking his hand in hers just as Tuk had. You watch over them as Jake pulls you aside and wraps you in his embrace, arms tighten until the air is crushed from your lungs but you hardly protest. His grip is grounding though you can’t help but wonder how long this strength will last. Already you can see the splinters forming in the crease between his brows, in the hard line of his lips and the pain swirling like a storm in his eyes. 

“Monkey boy.” Kiri’s voice is quiet, only the faintest hint of relief ringing in her otherwise doleful tone. Her eyes are staring past you and you turn to find the same human god threatened on the demon ship. He looks different now that your mind isn’t fogged with mournful violence. When he was under your knife you hadn’t cared much for the finer details of his appearance, but now you stare at him with a renewed sense of curiosity. He boasts the trappings of a Na’vi and yet he still seems so strange and out of place. 

“Are you alright?” Jake asks, fingertips brushing over the scratch you’d left on his chest. It’s shallow as you’d expected and the bleeding has long since stopped. He nods but he eyes you warily before stepping away from the two of you. He joins the children around Neteyam’s body, speaking your language with assured fluidity. On the ship he had spoken in the human language but now he seems comfortable as he speaks to Kiri and Lo’ak, gently touching Neteyam’s arm. You stiffen, tail swaying tensely behind you. 

“Shh,” Jake whispers, nuzzling his nose against your temple as he feels your muscles tighten in his arms. “He’s okay. He’s safe.” You aren’t sure if he means the boy or Neteyam who can no longer be hurt by the hands of a tawtute. You watch him as he interacts with your family. Tsireya eyes him warily, sharing a fleeting glance with you even as Lo’ak speaks to him with a familiarity akin to that he shares with his siblings. All of the Sully children seem at ease in his presence but you find yourself still wondering about his ties to humanity. The man that held your daughters captive, that nearly killed your mate, hesitated at the thought of this human boy dying by your hand. He hadn’t seemed so worried over his band of uniltìrantokx warriors and it makes you nervous to think of what importance he holds to the demons terrorizing your home. He must feel the weight of your gaze as you scrutinize him, picking out the finer details of his appearance, because his shoulders begin to curl as if he can become any smaller. 

His hair is loc’d like Jake’s and adorned with beads, and you notice the end of a braid hanging down his back. Likely his equivalent of a tswin. A scowl finds its way onto your face, lip curling with distaste. Seeing something so sacred being mimicked by a human feels almost insulting. Your shoulders rise as your body seizes with disgust only to be soothes by Jake’s soft petting as he traces the shape of the stripes swirling across your shoulder beneath his fingers. You feel all five of them gliding across your skin. Five fingers. The same amount that Lo’ak has. That Kiri has. That this boy before you has. If he is so repugnant then what is keeping you from feeling repulsed by your mate and the family he’s given you. Your eyes move away from the braid, tracing over the rest of him. His armbands are handsomely made, the pattern indicative of the Omatikaya’s intricate weaving style. His tewng is comparatively plain but there is a songcord hanging from it. 

“Sa’nok,” Kiri says warily, watching you watch the boy. She had always spoken so fondly of her human friend and now she seems almost resigned to your displeasure. Hearing about him is different from seeing him before you, and suddenly you can’t reconcile the thought of this seemingly peaceful boy with the demons that attacked your family only a few hours ago. Not when he meant something to one of them. Norm and Max had been abandoned by their people, left here to live out their lives in a place that they loved. They made sacrifices to be here. What has this boy done but aided the demons that attacked your home. Speaking the tongue of your people only to demand to know where Jake had hidden himself away in a desperate attempt to live in peace. 

“Sa’nok, please.” Kiri tries again. You do your best to smooth out your expression and ease your body until a tenuous sort of neutrality returns to your face. Tsireya seems to calm with you, shoulders relaxing under Lo’ak’s arm. The boy–Spider–looks between all of you, as if he’s trying to piece together the threads that bind you to them. But he speaks Na’vi. He must know what sa’nok means. His eyes are brown and full of hesitancy as he stands to face you. So strange that you can See into him the same way you can with your People. 

“Spider,” Jake says finally, introducing you by name. “This is my mate.” 

“She is the sister of tsahìk of the Metkayina. A tsakarem.” Kiri adds. Spider nods but it hardly relieves the tension between the two of you. Part of you wonders if this is how Ronal felt when the Sullys first arrived. These strange new people, coming to join your clan despite their obvious differences. But if her animosity had been misplaced then, so too is yours now. This boy is loved by those that you hold in your heart. Even still he doesn’t seem any more at ease than he’d been a moment ago. 

There’s a dip between his brows where the fear on his face has gathered. He’s frightened again. Though not nearly as terrified as he’d been with your blade against his skin. He looks afraid, but not of you. In his eyes the fear seems to run deeper than your appearance. This Spider does not fear Na’vi. And yet he is still afraid. He shrinks back when you take a step towards him, curiously staring into his brown eyes as if the dark depths will become clearer with closeness. Surely you aren’t easing his nerves with your continued silence, but you’re listening for something. A shift in the wind, a rogue screech of a hì’ikran. Anything that might tell you what Eywa wills you should do with this boy. When nothing comes you wonder if she’s already given you your answer. This boy is no threat to you or your family. He is precious to your children. That should be enough. Especially now when so much has already been lost. To turn him away would be to further fracture your family. Still you’re curious.

“Oel ngati kameie.” He bows, hand extending towards you in a customary greeting. You hum in acknowledgment but don’t share the sentiment. Just like his tswin you can’t help but wonder if he fully realizes the weight of his words or if he’s simply mimicking those around him. His body is adorned with fading war paint, stripes streaking across his skin in uneven lines. There’s no pattern to the blue markings as there would be on a Na’vi. It seems strange that someone like him hasn’t decided on a more traditional design for his paint. It’s almost childish how desperate the thick lines are, how obviously they’re meant to mimic the sharper stripes of a forest Na’vi. 

“Where is your family?” You ask at last. Spider seizes as if you’ve struck him but you spoke softly, keenly aware that all your screaming had whittled your voice down to a rasped drawl that might make him hear anger where none was meant to be found. 

“My mother is dead. And my father… he’s dead, too.” He looks away as he says this but you don’t need to see his eyes to know that isn’t the truth. A lie. A word Jake had to teach you. Something different from the truth. You don’t ask again. If he wants to lie to you then you will let him live in his delusion. No one corrects him and you wonder if they know he isn’t speaking truthfully. 

“This is my family.” He says after a beat of silence. His voice breaks as he looks down at Neteyam. You hum and turn your back to him, eyes facing towards the horizon where riders will soon come to take you home. They arrive as you listen to the faint voices of the children reuniting with their friend. The soft screeching of skimwings echo over the open water followed by the long bellow of a horn. A scattering of voices whoop and yip in return as those left behind make their presence known. Your own voice joins the calls, the sharp sound burning your throat. Riderless tsuraks and ilus swim through the water and you mount the first one you find. The ilu tosses its long neck as you make tsaheylu, clicking as the storm in your mind mingles with their own. Tuk rides with you, her little arms clinging tight to your waist as you ride back to the village. 

A net of silence has been cast over the island. The shallows are empty and the beach deserted, chores abandoned in favor of mending what’s been broken by the humans. Battle is not unknown to Na’vi. Clans fight amongst themselves when peace cannot be made with words. The humans had ravaged Pandora before. But never here. Never in the far reaches of the ocean reefs. Even the tulkun that had been killed were murdered far to the south. Now the shadow these demons cast has finally fallen over Awa’atlu. Kiri takes Tuk as all of you arrive home, leading her to the marui. All of the children trail behind Jake as he carries Neteyam’s body. He looks so small in his father’s arms. It’s your instinct to follow, to comfort. Instead you find yourself hand in hand with Tsireya as you make your way to your sister’s home. 

Tonowari is the first to notice your arrival, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent of you and his daughter on the breeze. He meets you on the path overhanging the water, arms winding painfully around the both of you before he kneels before Tsireya. A gracious sigh comes from inside the marui as Ronal emerges with Ao’nung at her side. She goes to her daughter first, hands moving over her body in search of any wound that needs tending. Ao’nung strays toward you, head knocking against your shoulder. He doesn’t speak but his actions are enough. You rest a hand on his head. Not quite a hug but enough to offer comfort. He hesitates before grabbing your arm and leaning into the weight of your hand resting on his braided hair. 

“Tsmuke.” Ronal moves in beside her son, eyes tracing over you. “You’re hurt. Come.” There’s no leniency in her words as she pulls you inside and sits you next to the cookfire. The needle stings as she threads the torn skin of your arm back together with meticulous hands, rubbing a soothing balm over the wound when she’s finished. The pain had already calmed to a manageable throb after being ignored for so long and now it feels all but numbed. 

“What happened?” She asks after returning her healing items to their rightful place. “I felt your tirea so vividly but I could not find you. We searched but the demons were retreating. We had to look after the clan. We–I thought–” she gathers herself with a long breath, “I’m glad to see you safe.” 

Ronal has never been a coddling person that speaks gently and soothes worries with softened words. She is plain in her speech, pointed and assured even with her own children. It has always been this way growing up in her shadow. You were kept under her impartial guidance in all things and even now she isn’t inclined to soften her strong voice, but she can do nothing to mask the worry she felt even if she hasn’t said it in so many words. The fear she must’ve felt turning for home without her daughter and sister at her side must’ve stabbed through her like an arrow but Ronal is tsahìk before she is anything else. The clan looks to her and Tonowari for guidance and they cannot waver no matter the circumstances. Though your olo’eyktan is more open with his fears. 

“You are a fearsome warrior, but I feared for your death when we could not find you. I stayed until the last of our mounted warriors had retreated, praying that the Great Mother would spare our tsakarem.” 

“Eywa has heard you.” You hum with little enthusiasm. “I was on the demon ship. They took Kiri. They had Tuk and Tsireya. I couldn’t leave them.” Tsireya looks towards the floor, ears pulled back tight as she leans heavily against her father. He holds her close, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her arm. A parent reunited with their child. You understood the need to keep her close. You’d felt it when you saw her stranded and alone on that little island, felt it when you saw Kiri and Tuk bound on the demon ship. A part of your family has been reunited but there is still a fragment missing. A piece that will never be replaced. Your hand finds the length of your songcord, thumb drawing over each piece in turn. Your first breath, your selection as tsakarem, your iknimaya. The whole of your life is strung here. And it will continue. Already there is a need for new additions. But so many cords were cut short in the battle. The threads slip through your fingers as your hands begin to shake. The bitter taste returns to your mouth as you try to find the words through the rising tears. 

“I found Kiri and Tuk after Tsireya escaped, but–” your voice cracks as tears rise in your eyes once more, “I couldn’t protect them all. I–we lost Neteyam.” 

“Neteyam? He–?” Ronal’s eyes find yours in an instant. Her eyes are wide with panic as her hands find yours now tightened to fists to keep the tremors at bay. You can imagine what she is thinking. How could Neteyam, the promising warrior, son of Toruk Makto, be lost in battle? Tonowari looks just as disbelieving. He has seen Neteyam’s prowess, trained him alongside Ao’nung and the others. His death must seem impossible and yet he is gone just the same. 

“He is with Eywa now.” Is all you can muster. Your sister bows her head, eyes unblinking as she hears your words. When she meets your gaze again her eyes are resigned. It’s the same dark cast her green eyes had taken when Jake insisted on sending away the tulkun. Disbelief and rejection linger in her voice when she finally speaks. 

“Go to them.” A basket is hastily filled with food before she leads you outside. “Your family needs you now.” The path from your sister to your mate is a familiar one and you arrive to find the children gathered outside the marui. The covering meant to keep out wind and rain is drawn closed and Jake is nowhere to be seen. Still, you tend to your children first. Tuk is hugged against Lo’ak’s side and Kiri and Spider are sitting in the canoe just beyond their hanging feet. There are no words exchanged as you offer each of them food, hesitating for a moment before offering some to Spider. He doesn’t protest when Kiri snatched the leaf wrapped meat from him, carefully picking through it before rewrapping it. They haven’t eaten in hours and you watch them carefully as they take their first bites, keeping a close eye on Spider. 

He takes a deep breath before his mask hissed as he pulls it away just long enough to fit a gluttonous bite into his mouth. It must be easier to take larger bites than prolong his time without proper air. You find yourself waiting for something terrible to happen. It isn’t uncommon for children to explore the world with their mouth, eating anything that looks enticing. But some things are poisonous, meant to be consumed by animals that have developed immunities to them. But when Spider doesn’t begin to choke or itch you deem it safe to leave them to eat. You’re still weary of him but far too exhausted by loss to let another child slip between your fingers today. Human or otherwise. 

Inside you find Jake kneeling beside Neteyam’s body, the faint blue light of the sun peeking through the marui membrane, the only thing lighting the somber home. His ears twitch at the sound of your approach but he makes no move to look at you. He takes in a deep breath through his nose, scenting the air instead of turning to see who you are. Only when you’re within arm’s reach does he move, his hand finding yours in a nearly painful grip as he pulls you down beside him. He curls himself around you until you’re nearly in his lap. 

“I’m sorry.” He says it over and over, nearly choking on the words as the air refuses to stay in his lungs. Each inhale is shallow and rushed, too quick as each exhale rushes across your neck. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, clinging impossibly closer. His tail finds its way around you, the tuft of hair tickling your skin though you hardly feel like laughing as you watch your mate fall apart in your arms with no way to hold him together. He had been strong for all of you but at last the tide has turned. 

“She killed him. I killed him. All of it was for nothing. I’m supposed to protect the People and I can’t even protect my own son.” 

Your skin is wet with tears where he’s hidden his face. Even if you wanted to, you can’t pull away from him. He’s holding you tight, blunt nails biting into your skin as if even the slightest bit of slack in his embrace will leave space for something to take you away. He’s shattering like splintered wood and it’s all you can do to gather the pieces back together. He lets you. His cries grow quiet and his breaths slow as you try your best to soothe him. It’s only a temporary consolation. This type of pain isn’t one that can be healed with salves or prayers. Even tsahìk cannot heal this wound. Grief is something that only passes with time. And even if you like a thousand years it’s almost certain a part of you will die still mourning your son. 

“I failed him.” Jake mumbles. His voice sounds utterly defeated. “A father protects. That was my job. Above anything else I’m supposed to protect my family. I couldn’t even do that. My son–” his words break off into a choked sob as he shakes his head. “My boy.” He touches Neteyam at last, his hand settling against his son’s cheek while the other keeps you close. “Neteyam.” Tears fall onto Neteyam’s cheeks as Jake bows over him. His eyes flit across his face, looking at every detail before he finally sits back. 

“I wish we had more time.” Jake whispers. It breaks your heart, or what’s left of it, shredding the few fragile pieces that remain. No father wants to bury their child. Neteyam was meant to grow up, grow old. Be laid to rest long after Jake was gone. Now here you sit. Returning such a young soul to the Great Mother. 

“I wish you had more time with him. He loved you, you know. I know he might not have said it much, but he did.” Jake’s hands hesitate as he takes Neteyam’s songcord from its place hanging on his loincloth. Some beads you know from when he would hum the melody of his life during quieter moments. His iknimaya, the shell marking his arrival in Awa’atlu. But there’s another close after. One you’d assumed was a chorus bead, a placeholder between events. Events that would never come. There’d be no bead for his Metkayina iknimaya. No bead for his mate. No bead for his first child or a triumph in battle. Every cord must have a last bead and it seems the one Jake is rolling between his fingers will be it. It’s a pearl, pale blue and lustrous in the muted light. 

“This one’s for you.” Jake says, gently placing the waytelem in your hands. “It matches his mother’s.” There’s another bead, farther back in his life story. A light blue bead of stone laced with black veins. “This was the bead for her death. He wanted yours to match hers as a show of his love and respect for both of you.” It’s not until Jake thumbs away the moisture gathering on your cheeks that you realize you’re crying. Of course you knew Neteyam loved you. A tsakarem is taught to See all, to feel the ties that bond each being to Eywa and each other. When you quiet your mind and steady your soul, pushing aside any thoughts and worries you can almost feel the people around you. Their triumphs and tribulations. Their happiness and sorrows. Just as clearly as you can see it in their eyes, their tirea can be felt like the warmth of a flame wafting off their skin. 

Neteyam always radiated calm and contentment when he was at your side. You often found him accompanying you in your chores the same as Kiri. The eldest of your children preferring the more subdued space of your marui to the mischief Lo’ak and Tuk seemed to stir the moment you take your eyes off them. Now there is nothing surrounding him, no air of comfort as you stare at his serene face. Nothing. This is only a body, waiting to be returned to the earth. Neteyam has been gone for hours, his vitra already passed into the hands of Eywa. 

“We have to clean him.” You say finally, rising to gather some water. The freshwater spring isn’t far from the Sully marui and you find others there. Bowed heads and solemn faces as they gather their fill of water. Death is not uncommon. Life must always be returned in the end. Energy is only borrowed and one day you have to give it back. This is the way. And it is good. Eywa holds all those that have passed into her hands. No one is truly gone, and yet you will never see your son again. Not truly. The Ranteng Utralti will offer brief glimpses, small moments of comfort. But it won’t be lasting. No new memories will be made. No changes will be seen in his face. He will remain as he was while everything continues to change without him. Death has parted him and only death will reunite you in the Great Mother’s arms. Jake is still where you left him when you return, Lo’ak following close behind you.

“It is time.” You say gently. Jake nods. He’s slow in his work as he washes the blood from Neteyam’s skin. Taking off each of his adornments and setting them aside. His necklace, his armbands. They’ll be kept as memories, passed down to his siblings or their children as cherished items. Lo’ak puts them away with care. It’s plain on his face that he has many things he wishes to say but has resigned himself to the silence. You busy yourself with weaving, the familiarity of the task is strangely comforting even as you weave the bindings Neteyam will wear as he’s returned to Eywa. It takes hours, long enough for day to give way to evening as the sky begins to darken to dusk. Finally you set aside the last of your weaving to stand. It is time to allow everyone to say their final goodbyes. Jake has already had his time with Neteyam as he washed the blood and sweat from his body. Now he leaves you to say your parting words.

It’s so strange to touch him and know he will not move, to breathe in and find his scent stale in their air as if he hasn’t been here in many hours. And truly he hasn’t. The body before you is empty of life. Neteyam is gone. But there’s still a small comfort in sitting beside him one last time. 

“We didn’t have long together did we?” You ask quietly, a sad laugh leaving your lips. “Even if it was only for a moment it has been an honor being your mother. Did you know your sempul still hasn’t told me your mother’s name. I’ve been too afraid to ask. You’re likely with her now. I’d like to think she’ll be happy to see you but I’m sure it’s a bittersweet reunion. And I’m sorry I could not do more to protect you. Our Great Mother protects only the balance of life, but if she willed it I would trade my life for yours. But what’s past has passed, all I can say now is goodbye, maitan. Until we meet again.” His skin is cold beneath your lips as you press a parting kiss to his forehead. When you emerge Kiri stands with Spider in hand. They duck inside and you leave them to their privacy. 

Instead you find your way to your own marui. It stands as little more than a place to keep your things since finally being convinced to sleep with your mate in his own home without feeling as though you’re imposing. You’ve had your time with him. Now it is their turn to whisper their goodbyes. 

“Here you are.” Jake stands at the entrance of your home, back turned to the darkening sky. The freckles dotted across his skin are beginning to glow faintly. The pattern is interrupted by a slash across the bridge of his nose, dipping over his cheek. You hadn’t noticed it before but now it gives you purpose. Just as weaving had you find a distraction in healing. 

“You’re hurt. Come here.” You light the fire pit in the center of your pod, before finding a needle and thread. Jake’s eyes don’t leave your face as you stitch up his wound. When you’re done he doesn’t allow you to pull away. Instead his hands settle on your face, bringing your head close until your nose is pressed against his. One hand leaves your cheek to reach behind you, brushing over the curls of your hair before settling over the braid of your tswin. He draws it over your shoulder, bringing it to his lips. For a moment you expect him to ask for tsaheylu so that you might share this burden of pain, but it would only feel heavier as it weighs on both of you. Instead his lips brush against the braided hair for a moment longer before letting it fall between you. 

“Tsmuke.” You’re drawn apart by the sound of Ronal’s voice. She arrives with her arms full, footsteps slowing as she sees Jake by your side. Her eyes turn away but you catch the edge of regret in her eyes. It’s been there in fleeting bouts in the months since the Sullys have begun learning the ways of your clan. She’s slowly grown past her previous misgivings even as things have ended in this way. With the sawtute turning their eyes towards your peaceful home in search of the man seated beside you.

“Jakesully,” she say at last, inclining her head towards him, “may Eywa ease your spirit.” Jake returns her show of respect, touching his brow and extending his hand towards her. 

“Tsmuke,” she says evenly, “you are our tsakarem.” You aren’t the only one but you’re surely the eldest. The most experience and the most respected within the clan. Tsireya has inherited the honor as well with a few others but only one will be named tsahìk when Ronal passes down the mantle. “Will you lead with me tonight?” 

The clan hasn’t suffered a loss this great in many years. Usually only one, perhaps two people are committed to Eywa in such a ceremony but tonight there will be many lives returned to the Great Mother’s hands. Ronal extends her own hand, balancing the basket she’s holding on her hip. She pulls you to stand but Jake doesn’t allow her to take you farther than necessary. His tail coils around your ankle before you can take even a half step away from him. His eyes don’t meet yours when you look down at him and he says nothing as you accept your sister’s request to lead with her. It is your duty to your people no matter the occasion. Eywa has chosen you for this and you can’t turn her back on her when you so desperately need her guidance. 

The sky has turned a deep shade of blue like the darkest depths of the ocean, dotted with pearls of light as stars shine overhead. The village flickers in shades of orange and red, finally stirring after a day of lingering silence. A song lingers on the breeze, the familiar sound of chorus beads and the intimate words of each Na’vi’s life. Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe… You know these words by heart. They’re the words that you sing in your heart as you trace the beads of your own songcord. Your hand finds your hip where you keep the cord wound around your tewng. The beads and crystals, bones and coral that symbolize your life. Jake’s fingers draw over yours before slipping his hand into yours. 

The covering is drawn back by the time you return, Kiri’s voice carrying outside as she sings the beads of Neteyam’s songcord. Jake’s hand tightens in yours as he listens to your daughter sing. Her voice lulls over the last words before your home falls silent once more. All of the children have come to hear Neteyam’s waytelem. Tsireya and Ao’nung have come along with Rotxo as they kneel around Neteyam’s body to hear Kiri sing. Such an honor is only given to those closest to you and everyone here cared deeply for your son. There won’t be another chance to be beside him after this moment. Soon the ceremony will begin and Jake kneels beside him, carefully bundling Neteyam into the ties that you’ve woven. Tsireya offers you a jar of paint in customary white. It’s cold against your skin as Jake drags his fingers from your forehead to your chest. You return the favor, painting each of the children in turn. And when people finally begin to gather in the shallow waters you shrug on the woven shawl Ronal gave you as Kiri straightens the veil upon your head. 

Firelight drifts over the gentle waves as Ronal’s voice rings out across the shore. She calls to Eywa to open her arms to her children, to hold each of them in turn. Your brothers and sisters, each treasured members of the Metkayina are pulled out to sea in their sämunge surrounded by those that were closest. Mother, fathers, siblings, mates, children. Tonowari announces their names as they’re given over to the anemones lighting up the ocean with yellow syuratan. The grasping fronds glow brighter as each body is accepted into the watery earth. Returned to Eywa. 

“Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan.” Tonowari’s voice echoes into the night as you step away from Ronal’s side as she opens her arms to send Neteyam home, joining your family as Jake leads the ilu over the open water. Pale pink flowers trail behind as you carefully pull Neteyam from the woven carrier. His tanhì are still dark, no light glowing from within. There’s nothing left of your heart to break as each of you takes a final moment with him. Jake’s eyes find yours as you hold Neteyam above the water. He isn’t ready, but when will you ever be ready to part with your child? Lo’ak lingers beside you, his hand resting on Neteyam’s head until you and Jake pull him beneath the water. One swaying frond touches his skin, brightening until it’s nearly white. Another and another until they’re pulling him from your hands, wrapping Neteyam in their grasping arms and pulling him deep into their embrace. He disappears all too quickly. Blue skin lost in the sea of yellow. Part of you wants him back but that desperation won’t be quelled by holding his body. Neteyam is gone. Clinging to his body won’t bring back your son. Your tears mingle with the ocean as you linger longer than the others, knowing you’re meant to sing when you rise again. But it is your duty and you must do it. 

“Utralä Anawm ayrina’lu ayoeng.” We are all seeds of the Great Tree. Words you know by heart. Words you’ve sung many times. Words that sting your tongue as you sing them for Neteyam. For all that were lost to the hands of those demons. How had a day like any other darkened so deeply with a storm that seems as if it will never pass. The clouds crowd your mind and darken your heart. It’s cold, and desperately lonely even as you stand beside your sister with the clan at your back. This pain is yours and yours alone. Others have lost those they love but they haven’t lost Neteyam. They haven’t lost those small pieces of him that you would never get back. It feels selfish to feel so anguished, to be so utterly consumed by this darkness of grief. You only had him by your side for a short time, but even so you loved him. He was your son. You were his mother. And now he is gone. 

When the night draws to a close and the People retreat to their homes you find yourself wandering the shore. The ceremonial garbs have been abandoned somewhere behind you. Perhaps slipping carelessly into the sand or maybe you’d given them back to Ronal. You can’t quite remember but the air feels cool against your suddenly bared skin. Your hands run over your arms as you hug them around yourself, feeling the prickles flesh of your cold skin under your fingertips. Despite the slight chill of the night you find yourself wandering further than you have a need to, walking aimlessly until sand turns to dirt underfoot. Burst of blue and green light come to life with each step as the treeline swallows you. The forest holds a different type of silence. The sound of waves breaking over the shore is replaced with the buzzing and chirping of unseen insects and the sound of wind rustling through the leaves. 

Fatigue creeps over you like a tree taking root, threatening to bind you where you stand. Two days you have fighting. The demons and your own grief-stricken mind, and finally it is beginning to take its toll on your body. Each of your footsteps is slower than the last, your legs feeling heavier with every passing moment. The forest is still bright with syuratan that dapples your skin in shades of purple and green but darkness is starting to creep in around you, tears only working to further disrupt your vision. So soon after you’ve been blessed with everything you could ask for it was taken away. The sea gives and the sea takes, no matter when your blessings were received. All life must remain balanced and equal. It is your sole purpose as tsakarem to abide by Eywa’s will, to uphold the Great Mother’s balance. But the mantle feels too heavy to bear at this moment. 

Your feet slip, knees going weak, and fall to the ground. You’ve asked for so little in this life. Never wanting more than that which was given. Your heart never darkened against your sister when she was bestowed the honor of tsahìk. Never once did your happiness falter when those around you were mated and blessed with children. And when finally the tides turn in your favor a wave comes to wash it all away. Your arms tighten around yourself, nails biting into your skin as you curl in on yourself. Content to let this terrible moment pass in the cradle of the forest floor. Now you will allow yourself to grieve, allow the ugly, terrible feelings to overtake you. Your tears seep into the soil as your cheek rests in the dirt. Each breath is gasping and shallow as a weight like a thousand stones threatens to bury your prone body and return you to the earth as well. 

The silence is nearly deafening until it isn’t. The lull of the forest is broken by the sound of something tearing through the trees. Too heavy to be a benign animal, yet too loud to be a hunting predator. There’s a stiffness to your limbs as you try to sit up, rolling to your knees in time to see Lo’ak vaulting over a fallen tree. 

“Sa’nok!” He stumbles to a stop in front of you. 

“Lo’ak? Why are you here?” He should be asleep. 

“Why am I here?” He asks incredulously. “Why are you here? I’ve been looking all over the village for you!” Why are you here? You hadn’t meant to walk so far, to get so lost in your own head. Instead of answering you find your feet and begin walking the way he came. Despite his loud approach Lo’ak has left hardly any trace of his presence aside from the dimming light where his feet had been only moments ago. Veins of syuratan ripple like water through the ground, rising and fading as your son walks beside you. Grass turns to sand and the light of Naranawm washes over both of you. 

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak finally says, breaking the comfortable silence between you, “I’m sorry about Neteyam.” 

“It was not your fault, Lo’ak.”

“But it was!” He is suddenly in front of you, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I was the one that said we should get Spider. Neteyam saved us and now he is gone because of me.” You hear his words before you speak, turning each one over in your mind. Of course it was not Lo’ak that killed his brother. He loved Neteyam. You raise his head with a hand under his chin, nearly drowning in the amount of guilt shining in his yellow eyes. 

“It is no fault of yours, maitan. Many lives were lost. No one is to blame except the demons from the sky. They brought this storm upon us, not you.” He pulls away from you, pacing in the sand. It seems he won’t allow his guilt to dissipate so easily. You sigh and close your eyes, turning to the Great Mother for guidance. It’s a lesson you learned as tsakarem. Eywa speaks when thoughts are quiet and hearts are open. 

Somewhere in the wind there’s a whisper of her voice. It’s a simple breeze brushing through the mangroves but you hear more. Somewhere in the stillness of your focus you hear the sound of a tulkun singing, slow and mournful. The same song that filled the air as you and Ronal laid Roa to rest yet the voice in your head isn’t as deep, still light with youth. A young tulkun mourning its mother. And then more. Many more. Na’vi and tulkun, all dead in bloodstained water. One remains, a single voice. Payakan. Your eyes jump open as if you’ve been struck. Eywa’s meaning is clear as the stars overhead as you look at your son. Lo’ak is still pacing and muttering to himself. 

“But if I hadn’t asked… if I’d left Spider–”

“Neteyam might’ve died even still. Perhaps not on the demon ship but those ayvrrtep were everywhere in the water. What did you tell me when you bonded with Payakan?” His feet finally come to a stop as he thinks over it. 

“Those Na’vi died, but it wasn’t Payakan that killed them. He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.” 

“And neither were you. We are not tulkun. Their way is not our law. I know Neteyam’s death is heavy on your heart, but it is not your fault, maitan. Who is to say he would not have been struck by their metal arrows later. It is the sawtute that should carry this guilt.” He sniffles and nods, eyes still staring at the sand, then he lets out a watery laugh. 

“Bullets.” 

Your ear twitches, “What?”

“The metal arrows are called ‘bullets.’” You taste the foreign word on your tongue. It’s your deepest hope that you will never have to say the word again, but it’s a naive thought. War has come to Awa’atlu and it will not end until every hostile human on Pandora is dead. But these are worries for another day. War is a heavy burden and you are barely carrying the weight of your son’s death. You draw Lo’ak into your arms and press a kiss to the top of his head. He smells like the ocean and home. It makes your heart long for the comfort of your family, of your mate’s warmth and the sound of Tuk’s purring snores. You’re tired and you both should sleep but for a moment more you find yourself standing still as Lo’ak wets your skin with silent tears. 

The horizon is hidden behind the silhouette of the seawall. A small piece of protection around the village. But somewhere beyond, over the horizon yet far closer than they should be, the humans are lurking deep in the forest. Or perhaps they’re even closer, building a nest for themselves on some island just out of sight. The threat is great but you’re already so tired. Tired of the fighting and the death that it brings. It makes you wonder how tired Jake must be. 

He doesn’t look peaceful even as he sleeps. His face is pinched, brows drawn tight as you finally lay down beside him. Lo’ak finds his own bedroll, the place next to him occupied by Spider instead of Neteyam. When you lay down Jake stirs just long enough to wrap his arm around you before falling still once more, and you wake to the feeling of his tail slipping from its place curled over your thigh. 

The sky is already alight with light far past a blushing dawn. Voices and sounds float in from beyond the open marui as village life moves on. One day at a time. A first step and then a second until you’ll lose count and look back to see how far you’ve come. The pain will linger. A familiar smell or a comforting melody might bring echoes of pain to the surface like ripples across still water, but with time your heart will heal if you don’t allow the grief still clinging like a second skin to consume you. Just one step, one day. 

Kiri kneels next to the cookfire, turning over carved skewers of fish. Lo’ak is missing as is Tuk, but you can hear her voice somewhere nearby, giggling and splashing in the shallow waters. Spider lingers in the shadiest part of your home, knees curled up to his knees as he watches Kiri cook. He’s uncomfortable, you can tell just in his posture. Pulled up tight into himself as if he will disappear from view if he can make himself small enough. He seems almost ashamed of himself, of everything that he is. He seems so like your children and yet no amount of warpaint will hide his true nature. Still, you quell the animosity still festering deep inside you. There is no time to dwell on darkness. If you stay still and wallow in these feelings, you’ll be lost. 

“Good morning.” It’s a tentative extension of kindness, kinder than the few words you’d had for him yesterday. Spider raises his head, eyes darting between Kiri and Jake as if your eyes aren’t resting pointedly on his face. Kiri returns your greeting, murmuring about Lo’ak having already left to tend to his chores. It’s a distraction for him, you’re sure. It is easy to forget yourself in the needs of the many. You imagine it’s why Kiri is cooking. Busy hands, quiet minds. 

“Good morning.” Spider says at last. It is enough. One step. You rise with Jake as he stands to leave. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I have to speak with Tonowari.” His face is guarded, eyes clouded as he tries to hide his intentions from you. He’s pulling away and you reach for him. It’s instinctual. He is your mate, your love, and you want to stand beside him. 

“Ma Jake, what is wrong?” So much is wrong, so much hurts. You want to bear this burden with him. Let me, you want to say. Spiritual burdens are something you were taught to See. The bond between Jake and the Great Mother still holds strong, the rope has not frayed. Eywa has not abandoned him and he has not turned his back on her. So what is so wrong that he would hide his eyes from you? He doesn’t explain himself as you trail behind him, hand still in his. You pull hard, planting your feet against the path until he can go no further without letting you go. He hesitates before his hand falls away from your own. For a moment it feels as though the world has fallen away completely, that there’s nothing left to ground you now that he’s pulled away. Anxiety rushes through you like bitter poison, pricking over every inch of your skin as tears begin to burn in your eyes. His rejection stings more than any other you’ve felt in your life. Every terrible thought rushes to the surface all at once. 

“Jake?” Your voice wobbles as your arms hang limply at your sides. His shoulders rise and fall with a heaving sigh before he turns to face you. 

“Ma muntxate.” His hands find your face and you, thumbs brushing over the shape of your cheeks. There’s conflict in his eyes, uncertainty, as if he is standing at the edge of a cliff wondering which way he should step. Away from danger. Away from whatever is causing him so much strife. The look in his eye is different than the pain you saw yesterday. It isn’t the futile longing of a father. It’s something more resigned. Whatever he wants to tell Tonowari, it shadows any of his own feelings. 

“Don’t.” You say quietly. “Please, don’t. Whatever you are thinking, please, don’t do it.” He’s heard your words but doesn’t seem to take them into his heart. Instead he presses his forehead against yours. The world falls quiet for a brief moment. You feel grounded once more even as Jake pulls away with no intention to heed your words. 

“Nga yawne lu oer.” And he means it. There’s no glint of deception in his eyes. Jake loves you as you love him and yet something inside you feels as though you’re losing him. Each step he takes away is like a thread straining and if you don’t follow it will break. His pace is slow as if he dreads what he is about to do. All it would take is a moment’s hesitation. If he would just turn around it would quell the panic rising in your heart. 

Tonowari and Ronal rise as they see the two of you coming towards them. Jake trudging somberly with you quick at his heels. Ronal looks between the two of you, setting aside the spear arrow in her hand. 

“What is this?” She asks before Tonowari can speak. Jake swallows thickly before he answers.  

“My family and I, we’ll move on tomorrow. Far away from here.” Ronal takes a half step away from him as if moved off balance by his words. You feel the same. A weakness builds in your knees as you try to step towards him, to see his face, his eyes, and know what he is thinking. This is his home. Your home. He has built a life for his family–your family–here. You’d promised to follow him, but hearing the words makes you realize the path you’ve laid for yourself. A new life in a new place, far from anything you’ve ever known. Wherever you go it will be a place your previous life cannot follow. Ronal, Tonowari, the children, your spirit sister. They’d all be left behind. The thread begins to break. 

Tonowari nods but it is a gesture you’ve come to recognize as disapproval. He is acknowledging Jake’s words but he will not heed them. 

“Your son lies with our ancestors. You are mated with our tsakarem. This is your home.”

“Now you must stand with us. As our brother.” Ronal’s voice is steadfast though Jake still seems to hesitate even before the words of his tsahìk and olo’eyktan.

“I caused all of this. They were looking for me, for my family.” 

“And we are here.” Ronal’s voice echoes your own as the two of you speak in tandem. 

“You are Metkayina now.” Tonowari extends his hand expectantly. Jake looks at it, then at you. As if trying to decide if this is truly what he wanted. A moment passes before he clasps Tonowari’s forearm, committing himself to his place within the clan. With time, when Jake has fully committed his heart to the Metkayina, he might become eyktanay and stand beside Tonowari. The clan needs his guidance now more than ever. War is inevitable. All that’s left now is to prepare for the coming storm. He’s quiet as you walk away, aimless steps weaving through the village paths. 

“I’m sorry,” he says at last, “I don’t want to abandon you. I want you by my side. You are my mate; I love you. But I have to protect the People. I can’t let anyone get hurt because of me.”

“These things we cannot decide. It is up to the will of Eywa who lives and who dies. The Great Mother’s balance is out of our hands. All life must be returned to death sooner or later.” It hurts to say the words and know that your son was among those taken into the Great Mother’s arms. It was far before his time if you could’ve chosen it. He would’ve lived a long life, far beyond your own and died with the legacy of a great warrior. With a mate and children of his own and many beads to sing of his waytelem. But it was not meant to be. Neteyam is gone and you miss him more than anything but he would not want this. He would not want his father, the mighty Toruk Makto, to give up this fight. Jake was like the brightest star in Neteyam’s sky, a place so high he could only ever hope to reach. His greatest wish was to be a warrior resembling his Jake. You will not allow him to abandon his son’s dream even in his absence. 

“Eywa has not abandoned you, ma Jake, so you will not abandon us.” He nods but his eyes are shrouded with a fog of sadness. Grief does not pass easily and you don’t expect this wound to heal within a day, a year, or even a lifetime. You’ve lost people in your life. Great warriors and clan elders. Thinking of them is like pressing against a bruise. It pangs and throbs but soon you will forget until you touch it once more. Neteyam’s parting is still fresh in your mind, weighing heavy on your heart. 

“I miss him so much.” There are no words to placate the pain in his voice. “I just want to see him again. Just once.” 

The desperate wish leads the two of you to the Ranteng Utralti. It will not be a true reunion. Not in the way Jake wants, but it will be something. Neteyam still lives within Eywa. His vitra has not been lost even in death. 

The sun is still high overhead, poking beams of white light through the water as the two of you dive towards the Spirit Tree. The fronds seem to beckon your arrival as they sway in the tide, tossing patches of purple light across your skin. You’re still wearing your mourning garbs, your paint, your veil. It seems fitting as the two of you lock eyes. Jake’s hand reaches for yours, squeezing tight as you both make tsaheylu with the Spirit Tree. One moment you feel yourself floating, water all around you, but it fades in an instant, swallowed by a swirl of flashing light that fades first to green and then to more defined shapes. Leaves, a forest. It’s only vaguely recognizable, just different enough from the forest of your home to know you’re far from Awa’atlu, returned to the Pandora jungle once more. 

There are voices among the sounds of rustling leaves and chittering animals. The sun is warm against your skin as you trail towards the sound, wide tail brushing against the plants around you. A warmth unfolds in your heart as you peek around a tree and find Jake kneeling next to a stream, a young boy at his side. At once you know it’s your son. His smile is just the same as it was as he offers his little bow to Jake. It’s beautiful in a way only Eywa can provide. A peaceful piece of perfection, a sweet dream to tide over an ailing heart. You’re content to watch them but a sound draws your attention, an ear flicking towards the noise. It doesn’t seem to disturb Neteyam or Jake and you wonder if they even know you’re here just beyond sight. Perhaps you’re at the very fringe of Jake’s vision, peering in from the outside. You leave him to it, attention drawn towards the sound of a woman singing. The forest changes around you, wavering like air above a fire as you walk a seemingly long distance in only a few strides and stumble upon a marui. It’s large, much too big for its single occupant, and woven with the intricacy expected of an Omatikaya dwelling. 

“If you have time to stand and watch you should come help.” She interrupts her singing to finally look up at you and her face is striking. Round eyes, full lips, and her pil slant upward in a way that makes her features seem sharper. And there’s a sense of familiarity within her features, as if you’ve seen her somewhere before, like a memory faded with time. You stare at her even as she hands you a stone bowl, expecting that you’ll begin to grind cycad seeds. It usually isn’t your place to make such preparations but you are a guest in this woman’s home and she wouldn’t know if you are better suited preparing meat rather than flour. Still it is the same as preparing plants for medicines, an easy enough task, though you nearly drop the bowl when she asks who you are. But it’s hardly a question as your name rolls off her tongue. 

“That is your name, yes? Neteyam has spoken highly of you since he arrived.” There’s a bitter tinge to her tone. For a moment you think it’s directed at you as you finally recognize her face. It’s Neteyam’s face if only older, more feminine. This is his mother. Jake’s first mate. Your chin tucks towards your chest as you try to hide within the dark cloud of your curls, shrinking behind the curtain of your hair. Perhaps you had wrongly interpreted Eywa’s will. Perhaps you were not meant to mate with Jake. It had been a selfish thought just as you’d worried, inconsiderate to the woman waiting for him here. She curses under her breath and your fangs bite into your lip to keep from apologizing before she’s said her piece. 

“I give my life to protect my children and still it is not enough. Faysawtute.” Her chopping begins to gain vigor, scoring the wooden slab as she goes. “I kill him and he lives even still. When will it end?” Finally she looks up at you. 

“Are the children safe? Kiri, Tuk, Lo’ak? I have not seen them here. They have to be safe.” She is trying to hide her desperation, you can tell by the pinched doing of her voice, but her eyes cannot hide from you. She is terrified that more of her children will be delivered to her soon. 

“They are safe. They’re all safe.” The tension leaves her shoulders. 

“That is good. And Jake?”

“He is with Neteyam now. He might come to see you soon…” your voice trails off as you realize he never told you her name. In his quest to keep you from questioning his devotion he has hidden a piece of himself. She will always be a part of him and it is not your place to begrudge him that. It is because of her that you have the family he’s given you. She deserves your unyielding respect as the mother that came before you. 

“Neytiri,” she sounds almost amused by your ignorance. “Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite.” She sets aside her cooking and reaches for you, her hands finding yours once you set aside the bow of ground seeds. “I’ve heard of you and your sister Ronal. A skilled tsahìk and her tsahìknay.” 

Tsahìknay. No one had ever called you such a thing. It was always tsakarem; a tsahìk that never finished her training and earned the honored title of clan leader. That was your sister, that was Ronal. She was tsahìk and yet you’re still treated with such respect within the clan. Even Ronal defers to your guidance at times. Was it not you that told her to allow the Sullys to stay? Before the clan she reminded you of her authority, but she is your elder sister. It has always been her guiding you and giving orders. Of course she would bristle at her word being questioned before the clan, before outsiders. And yet she allowed it. Even Jake had acknowledged your place upon first meeting. He called you tsakarem just as the rest of the clan did. It’s a title for a child not yet completing their rites to become one with the People, but what else were they meant to call you. Rarely does a clan have more than one tsahìk. But just as Eywa has blessed Jake it seems she has chosen you for something as well. Why else would you be blessed to See things as you do? 

You See and yet you are blind. Ronal has told you this more than once in your life. It was meant as a reminder. To look clearly at things as they truly are. The shadows retreat and you see at last. You were never lacking, never less than. You are equal. Second to none. 

Neytiri smiles, “A clan with two tsahìks must be blessed. I am glad it is you that he has chosen. My children will grow up well.” Her hand presses to your chest, palm against the tattoo inked over your heart. It means loving, protective. These are words you live by. 

“Oel ngati kameie,” she says with gentle reverence. Your name sounds like a prayer on her tongue. “You have a strong heart. I trust it to take care of everyone that we love.” Even when you’ve failed to protect Neteyam she has given her blessing to look after her mate, her children. Your mate, your children. You move to bow but she meets you halfway, pressing her forehead against yours just as Jake would. You aren’t taking her place. Tsaheylu bonds your body and soul. She is a part of Jake just as much as you are, so she is now a part of you. 

When your eyes open the marui is suddenly full of white light. And though you’ve never seen a forest atokirina’ you recognize the delicate creatures at once. There’s something calming about the presence of the pure spirits. Their syuratan is different from the yellow glow of the tree spirits of your home but they still feel gentle as a kiss when they caress your skin. One lands and then another. Neytiri reaches out her hand as one dances over her palm. She holds the bouncing sprite in her hands, white light dancing in her eyes as they fill with a rueful sadness.  

“When I died, I was afraid. I knew I was dead the moment my eyes opened. My sister, my father, Tsu’tey. Everyone I had lost was here to greet me within Eywa. But I was afraid for my family.” She lifts her hands and gently blows on the atokirina’. It swirls through the air, threadlike tendrils swirling about before it finds the breeze and floats away with the others. They leave in a shimmering cloud just as quickly as they came. When you turn back to Neytiri she’s smiling. “I’m not afraid anymore.” 

For a moment you think you’re crying as her face begins to swirl into a wash of color like spilled paint, but when you blink it away the vision is gone and you’re staring at the Ranteng Utralti once more. Jake’s hand is still tight in yours as his eyes open as well. When you surface you find that you were crying, tears streaming down your cheeks along with the seawater as you mount your ilu. 

“What’s wrong, yuey?” 

“I saw her, Jake.” A smile finds its way to your face despite the tears. Your heart flutters in your chest, beating heavily where her hand had been. Your skin seems to sing as you touch your tattoo as if her hand would still be there. 

“Saw who?” 

“Neytiri.” His eyes go wide, ears standing on end. Behind him his tail perks up, curling anxiously as he sits on his own ilu. It has always been his greatest fear that you would seek out knowledge about his mate. He knows you, knows your heart. You would have compared yourself to her, belittle and bemoaned your every flaw until you felt like nothing by comparison. But that isn’t the truth of it. There is no comparison. He chose her. He chose you. Jake values both of you just the same in his heart. There is no superior. You see that now. See it more clearly than you ever have. 

“Why are you crying? What happened?” Sharing what you’ve seen while connected to the Spirit Tree is always an intimate experience. Tsaheylu is sacred, and what’s seen while communing with Eywa is always a look into someone’s soul. But you do it every time you meet someone’s eye. Jake’s vitra is plainly clear in his eyes. The bittersweet feeling of being able to catch even a glimpse of his son, to relive the memories that he cherishes and know that’s all that will be now. Just memories. 

“She called me tsahìknay, said I was blessed. We were touched by atokirina’.” The Great Mother’s has not been subtle with her intentions on this day. You are meant to be by Jake’s side, just as Neytiri was before you. And Jake is meant to be by your side. To part would be to spite the blessings Eywa has given you. There was a reason you were not mated before. He is the reason. This is the reason. You were not meant for Tonowari, not meant for any man in Awa’atlu. This is the path Eywa has drawn for your life. It has not been without its hardships and there will surely be more to come–more death, more destruction–but the only way is forward. The storm will come and you will weather it. One step at a time. For now, though, you return home, listening to Jake recount his time with Neteyam. Their fishing and climbing trees. He sounds younger, a quiet smile in his voice. His spirit is lifted if only for the moment. 

“She would’ve loved you.” He says at last. “I wish I’d told you that sooner.” There’s so much he hasn’t told you, so much you’ve yet to learn. A sharp pain pinches in your chest as you think of Neteyam and all the things that died with him, all the things you’ll never know about your son. Part of you wishes you had seen him with Eywa, had a chance to speak with him, but the Great Mother doesn’t always show you what you want to see but what needs to be seen. 

“She said she trusts me to take care of our family.” Jake smiles and for a moment he looks like himself again. His face isn’t drawn with sadness but bright with a satisfied grin. 

“I know she does, because I do. This family is our fortress and I trust you to protect it. No matter what happens.”

ɴᴀ’ᴠɪ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

Tawtute, Sawtute – sky person, sky people

Sa’tsmuke – aunt, mother’s sister (speculative)

Tsmuke’ite – niece (speculative)

Hì’ikran – dorado verde, small ikran (speculative)

Sämunge – transportation device

Eyktanay – a step below clan leader

Waytelem – songcord

Ranteng Utralti – Spirit Tree

Vitra, Tirea – soul, spirit

Vrrtep – demon

Tswin – neural braid

Muntxate – wife, female mate

Maitan – (my) son

Naranawm – Polyphemus, the planet Pandora orbits

Syuratan – bioluminescence

Uniltìrantokx – dreamwalker, avatar

Pil – facial stripes, skin stripes

Tsakarem – tsahìk-in-training

Tsahìknay – a step below tsahìk (speculative)

Wind blows through the great arches of the Cove, lifting misting clouds of warm water that sparkle in the pale light rising from beneath the waves. The breeze is filled with the comforting scents of home; of lush sea grass and the tang of the ocean as gusts of air whistle like flying arrows across the open water. The waves crashing against the shore below add to the melody like the beat of a drum as the wind whispers a soft song through the balmy air. The floating islands stand guard, shadows passing overhead like clouds to offer relief from the warmth of the afternoon sun. It’s peaceful here in the Cove of the Ancestors, tranquil as still water as you work. 

The climb had been arduous, your palms sore and legs burning from the climb. The ground feels like a salve as the cool dirt rushes like water over your hands as you carefully dig up plants. Collecting these greenish gray roots are the last of your chores for the day. They’re a necessity for some healing tonics and Ronal has nearly depleted her supply with the new wave of hunters looking to prove their worth so soon after their rites have been passed. It is expected. They are still young, still eager to prove their strength and worth as one of The People. But hunting is not all that is needed in the clan. Some will be better suited to other tasks. Weaving nets, repairing the marui, teaching the younglings the ways of the clan. Some will become healers and free divers. It is what you’re suited to even after so many years of training to hunt and fish. Now, you tuck the last of the knotted roots into the satchel on your hip and dust the dirt from your hands. The climb up the winding vines hanging from the spono alusìng may have been strenuous but getting down is always your favorite part. A few steps back, a deep breath, and then you’re sprinting to the edge of the island. 

Those few moments in the air feel infinite as the wind whips around you, running through your hair and across your skin like weightless touches as the water below draws closer. There’s a moment of darkness as you close your eyes against the impact and then a burst of light as the water slows your descent, the tide keeping you from sinking. Pale purple light plays across your skin, the fronds of the Ranteng Utralti tracing against you as you swim towards the surface. The light fades as you return to the village, purple fading to yellow as the afternoon deepens to evening. The terraces are emptying and hunters are beginning to return from beyond the reef as you pull yourself onto the path in front of your marui. Ronal’s voice greets you, a sharp, wordless yip you recognize as a call for your presence. 

She isn’t happy when you join her, the marui already crowded with guests as the children stand in the shadow of their tsahìk and olo’eyktan. There’s a grave energy filling the home, a disturbance that only grows as your eyes pass over Lo’ak and the rest. A chill trickles down your spine as you hand Ronal what you’ve collected. She sets it to the side with little regard, her green eyes filled with an anger that flows deeper than petty squabbles between children. Before you can speak she grabs your arm with enough strength to make your ears bow back in submission. 

“What have you been teaching your children?” She’s seething, words coming from between clenched teeth as she bares her fangs at you. Your lip twitches, prepared to draw back in your own show of displeasure. There is an accusation shining in her eyes, words harsher than she cares to share in the presence of others. Before she was tsahìk she was your elder sister and it’s clear in her fierce expression that she’d rather dispense with formalities and speak her anger freely. Instead she tosses your arm away with a hissing sigh, returning to her pacing before whirling to face the children once more. 

They’re standing with their heads bowed, ears pulled back and tails hanging limp between their legs as Ronal’s green gaze draws over each of them like a stinging nettle. Finally she settles on her daughter. Tsireya already looks close to tears, eyes clouded thick with regret and unshed tears. Her tanhì flicker with a faint anxious light, seemingly keeping time with what must be her thundering heartbeat. It’s an expression you’ve known in your younger years at the hands of Ronal. She expects so much of those she teaches, and even more when they are her family. Tsireya is in line to be tsakarem, she’s meant to reflect Eywa’s grace. And whatever she’s done has gone against the Great Mother’s teachings. 

“You allowed this! You allowed him to bond with the outcast!” Ronal snaps. 

“Payakan?” The word leaves your lips before you can stop it. Barely a whisper but your sister hears it. The flames of her anger are turned on you in an instant, catching quickly and burning away at your pride as she scolds you as if you’re a child. A hiss rolls off your tongue with little consideration, teeth bared at Ronal as your tail begins to sway in tense waves. Your sister isn’t perturbed by the display of aggression. Neither of you will go beyond these small shows of hostility. 

“Yes, Payakan!” Ronal snaps. “Your son has bonded with him. And they allowed it to happen!” She doesn’t name which of your children has made this misstep but a place in your heart knows it was Lo’ak even before Ronal’s eyes settle on him. He doesn’t look nearly as remorseful as you’d expect. There’s an air of annoyance and agitation in his idle movement, but there isn’t a sense of guilt in his lowered gaze and sagging shoulders. 

“Lo’ak, what have you done? You should’ve known better.” His head raises when you say his name, defiance bright as starlight in his yellow eyes. 

“You are the son of a great warrior and this is how you act? You have been taught better than this.” Tonowari says just as Jake makes his way to the marui. Jake’s eased expression immediately falls to shadows, his brows drawing low and his jaw tightening as he hears the olo’eyktan’s words. 

“Payakan saved my life, nawmtu. You don’t know him.” Lo’ak’s words only serve to sow further discord as he speaks against Tonowari. Tsireya murmurs his name, shaking her head to discourage his attitude. There is still more he wants to say, insolence still clear on his face as he lifts his chin but holds his tongue. Tonowari does the same, nodding at Lo’ak’s disrespect. 

“Sit.” He says evenly. Threads of anger slowly pulling at his tone. At last, Lo’ak bows his head as Tonowari stoops to his level but the olo’eyktan is not mollified. “Sit down!” He shouts until all the children are seated. Tsireya falls to her knees like a stone through water while the other boys remain tense. Tonowari’s voice is strong enough to buckle even your knees but Ronal catches you by the elbow before you can kneel at her mate’s side. She might have laid the fault for this at your feet–blaming your poor teaching–but she won’t let you bow to Tonowari’s anger in this way. She shakes her head when you look at her. Despite her initial anger, this isn’t your lesson to learn. 

Tonowari dissipates his anger with a harsh exhale before speaking again. 

“Hear my words, boy. These are lessons you’ve learned before when the tulkun returned, but it seems you do not remember. The tulkun forbid killing, yet Payakan has gone against this. He has returned to the ways of the days of the First Songs; taking lives. We follow the way of our brothers and sisters. Payakan is a killer, so he is outcast. To all.”

“No. I’m sorry, nawmtu, but you’re wrong.”

“Lo’ak!” You snap before he can say more. “You speak to olo’eyktan.” His eyes settle on you for a brief moment before his mouth opens again. 

“I know–”

“That’s enough!” Jake snaps. His silence lasts a few beats longer, long enough for Tsireya to try to dissuade him with another shake of her head. He seems to consider her before raising his head once more. 

“I know what I know.” He finishes. Ronal drops your arm, clicking her tongue at your son before turning away from all of you. This new bond has upset the great balance and it will be a burden to the tsahìk before anyone else. Though it weighs just as heavily on your shoulders, perhaps more. Lo’ak is your child. His teaching is your responsibility. And yet here is a clear mark of your failure to teach him your ways. 

“That’s enough.” Jake growls, looming over Lo’ak like a pouncing animal. At last, Lo’ak surrenders. “I’ll deal with him.” Tonowari nods, watching Jake pull Lo’ak away from the marui. The rest of the children scatter, glad to be free of their leaders’ anger. 

“Go,” Ronal dismisses you as well. “You’ve worked hard today.” Those are her words of consolation. Not an apology but a stone to step over this conflict. This storm will not pass as easily as fighting between the children, but what’s done is done. A bond with a spirit brother can only be undone by death. This decision; Lo’ak and Payakan will have to live with it for the rest of their lives. 

It’s in your nature to soothe and nurture, a childhood spent healing and convening with the Great Mother has instilled a caring nature within you. Even with anger sitting heavy as stones in your chest you want to go to Lo’ak, to ease his thoughts. Jake will surely have torn into him like an akula for his disrespect towards Tonowari, and while his words will be harsh they aren’t undeserved. Some things you simply cannot turn a blind eye to. He has gone against the way of the Metkayina in a way no one has in recent memory. It is expected that the tsahìk approves the bonding between spirit siblings. For Lo’ak to disregard tradition, to bond with an outcast no less, is a great show of disrespect. And yet you want to understand why he did it. You linger just beyond the path of the Sully marui where Jake’s voice has carried. His words are muffled but anger is evident in his tone. After a while, Lo’ak storms out. When Jake doesn’t follow to drag him back inside you decide it is your time to make a gentler attempt at reproach. 

Lo’ak knows you’re following him. Your shadow is lengthening in pinkish purple light of the coming eclipse and casting across his back as your feet find the prints he’s already left in the sand. Every Na’vi is taught to hunt from a young age and his ears twitch towards the soft pattering of your footfalls even as he refuses to stop. When he is finally tired of running he turns to look at you. His face is no longer set in stony defiance. Instead the harsh lines have fallen away to something soft and vulnerable. He looks nearly close to tears, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He isn’t sad, but there is a sort of frustration that can only be released through angry tears. Like a bowl spilling over, Lo’ak’s overabundance of clashing emotions has nowhere to pour but outwards. 

“They hate me.” His voice breaks over the words. “They hate me, Sa’nok.” Your heart squeezes. 

“Shameful. Outcast. That’s all I’ll ever be to anyone.” When his head falls you lift it with a gentle hand under his chin. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. Payakan is my friend, I swear. Please, Sa’nok, you have to believe me. You have to believe me.” He clings to your arm as if you’re the only thing keeping him from being washed out with the tide. It isn’t sadness tinging his voice but an unrestrained desperation. Ronal denied him. Tonowari denied him. Jake denied him. Even Tsireya told him to hold his tongue. None of them would hear him, none of them would See him. But you See. So much. 

“Lo’ak. Ma’itan. I believe you.” You take his hands in yours and draw him to sit in the sand. “Just tell me what happened. Everything.” And he does. He tells you of how Payakan saved him when Ao’nung abandoned him beyond the reef, of how he visited him nearly every day between his chores and lessons, of how he knew they were meant to be spirit brothers after seeing the bond between The People and the returning tulkun. 

“Those men died, but it wasn’t Payakan who killed them. He rallied the men to fight back against the demon ship after they attacked him and his family. He watched his mother die. He was upset and scared. It wasn’t his intention to get anyone killed.” A long breath leaves your lungs as if you’ve surfaced after a long dive, releasing the tension in your chest before you speak. 

“By the tulkun way he is a killer. We did not decide this, but it is the way of our brothers and sisters. Payakan must bear the weight of those lives lost. I will tell Tonowari the truth of it, but it will not change his mind. This path we follow isn’t for us to decide. Only a tulkun can remove the stain Payakan carries.” 

“But it isn’t fair. He knows what he did was wrong!” 

“I know, but it is the way.” You send him off with a promise to talk to his father. Jake is alone when you arrive, your skin still damp from wading in the ocean to wash away the sand. Tension is clear in the harsh lines of his muscles as he sharpens a spear, stone against stone tossing sparks of light between his hands. There are many things on his mind. Dark and heavy, looming just out of sight. This is just another weight upon his shoulders. 

“Ma Jake,” he doesn’t look up from his work at the sound of your voice. Instead he grows more tense, knuckles paling as his grip tightens on the stone in his fist. His ears pull back in a show of irritation but you won’t be ignored. “Jake, this is very hard for them. This is a new place with new traditions. They are learning. It will take time. Everything does not always come easily.” 

“I know.” His tone is thick with authority, dripping with the voice of an olo’eyktan. It’s final. He wants this to be done with. But if he was olo’eyktan you would be his tsahìk. It is what you trained for. It is what all your lessons have taught you to be. In this you are equals. His voice can’t intimidate you when you both stand on equal footing. Jake is no longer olo’eyktan. He’s left that life behind in the forest. And you will never be tsahìk. But you are mated, still. Equals. 

“Lo’ak tries to live up to your expectations. It is very hard for him.”

“I know.” His tone has shifted to something more pliable. He’s less assured. “You are very hard on him.” He stops sharpening the blade at last, eyes swirling with a mixture of denial and acceptance. He sets his work aside and reaches for you. Your hands meet. Hot and cold. His warmed with anger and yours cooled by the ocean. There is so much fire inside him. He’s left war behind but the war hasn’t left him. 

“I do everything I can to protect them,” Jake laments, “and Lo’ak still goes against my word at every turn. Fighting with Ao’nung, going beyond the reef. And now he’s gone and done this. The rest I expect. He’s never been good at following rules. But this–he’s brought shame to this family. Ronal was already hesitant about letting us stay. If you hadn’t spoken on our behalf we probably would’ve been turned away come morning. Now Lo’ak has disregarded a sacred tradition. One that Ronal presides over.”

“It isn’t just Lo’ak’s choice. He bonded with Payakan because he allowed tsaheylu to be made. A bond between a Na’vi and tulkun is as sacred as the one you share with your ikran. You must be chosen for a bond to be made and Payakan chose Lo’ak. He didn’t follow tradition but this is one of his rites passed. Ronal knows this just as well as I do. It isn’t perfect but I’m proud of him. He is becoming one with the clan. That is what you wanted isn’t it?” At last Jake sighs and the last of his fire burns out, body relaxing its rigid posture. His fingers have cooled or perhaps yours have gained some warmth as he toys with them between his own. Five fingers playing across your four. 

“I was worried.” He says after a moment. “I thought that if we couldn’t make it here–if we had to leave–I’d lose you. I’d lose this home. I’d lose everything all over again.” 

“Ma Jake.” Your hands pull away from his to hold his face in your palms. His brows are pulled tight and you kiss away the tension formed between them. “Where you go I follow. If you leave, so do I.” He’s already shaking his head before you can finish.

“I don’t want it to come to that. This is your home. The look on the kids’ faces when we had to leave the forest gutted me. I want this to be our home. But I don’t know how much longer this can last.” Neither of you mention that this small piece of happiness has already begun to slip through your fingers like sand. Lo’ak and Payakan are a welcomed distraction from the storm looming over the horizon, to the south where humans are beginning to attack villages. Tonowari has given the order to keep Jake hidden, but the peace his words have made is tenuous at best. How long until the sawtute bring their war to Awa’atlu if sister islands in the atolls are already being attacked? 

Still the days go on. Tonowari continues to bring hushed reports of what is happening just beyond the reaches of the village. It’s all you can do to share the burden of this knowledge with your sister, with your mate. The guilt tears at Jake’s heart each time he hears of more homes being burned and animals being needlessly killed, but just as you do he tucks it all away to keep the cloud of ignorance hanging over the childrens’ heads. But, sooner or later, gathering clouds bring rain. 

“These things happen.” Neteyam stiffens under your hands at the reassuring words, muscles tensing before he slowly eases himself. He’s embarrassed if the purple tinge of his cheeks and low draw of his ears are anything to go by. He’d come trailing into the marui holding his bleeding arm and promising that it couldn’t be as bad as it seemed given the blood dripping through the seams of his fingers. He keeps his gazes pointedly out of sight, lashes lowered to hide what you might find there, but his tanhì still keeps a stuttering glow beneath your fingers as you smooth a soothing balm over the newly made stitches of his arm. The jagged welt is short but cut deep, the mark of an irritated tsurak. These wounds are common in the clan, nearly everyone receives one during their training. It will heal and fade with time but perhaps quicker than Neteyam’s pride. 

“Skimwings are not easily mastered. It will take time before your chosen mount fully accepts you as its rider. These bonds aren’t as easily made as those with ikran and ilu. Ilu are docile and easily soothed. Tsurak are fierce creatures meant for hunting in open water, and they do not choose their riders as ikran do. It is good that they are vicious. With time their attitude will soften towards you. Until then, you must take care to stay away from their sharp bits.” It’s meant to be teasing but Neteyam shrugs from under your hands. You sigh. 

“Neteyam.” His head turns towards your voice but his eyes don’t rise to meet yours until you say his name again. He is embarrassed and disappointed. It is expected to fail before you succeed but it doesn’t seem like your son will allow himself such grace. As with everything else, he must uphold the highest standards lest it reflect badly on his family. So much of his life has been molded by the expectations of others. As the eldest son of Toruk Makto, and the older brother to a spitfire like Lo’ak who is so prone to making mistakes. It was clear from your first meeting that Neteyam tries his hardest to be like his father, and to make up for what others might say about his brother. But he is still young, still learning. 

“It’s alright. No one is expecting you to ride a tsurak with the ease of a hunter on your first attempt.”

“Sempul did.” You tuck a stray braid behind his drooping ear, stifling a laugh. 

“Your sempul has ridden greater things than a skimwing and even he took a few attempts before he could mount properly. I watched him. Even when I was training, I got scars of my own. It is the way of things. Mistakes mean you are learning.” 

“But I shouldn’t make mistakes.” He grumbles. “I should be better.”

“And you will be, ma’itan, with time. Now go. You’ll miss the rest of your lessons and be more upset with yourself come eclipse.” He still hasn’t fully shaken the weight of disappointment from his shoulders but Neteyam stands with a dull nod. His whole body sags beneath the weight of this failure to meet his own expectations. His tail is limp between his legs as he trails out of the marui. You’re only alone for a moment. Just long enough to turn the fish over the fire before Jake comes ducking in. 

“Neteyam was hurt?” He asks. 

“He is your son.” You sigh, setting aside the fish you’ve already wrapped in leaves. “He has learned to ride an ilu and now he is learning to mount a skimwing. He learns as quickly as the wind, but a storm can’t blow on forever.” 

“Did you talk to him?” He asks, finding his place beside you. You feel his hand find its way into your hair, twisting the dark waves over his fingers as he watches you cook. Neteyam isn’t usually so stubborn but he takes his responsibilities as the eldest son of a legendary warrior all too seriously. Never mind that Toruk Makto has only emerged five times since the times of the First Songs with Jake being the sixth. He needn’t be so insistent on being the strongest, the fastest, the absolute best. It is like the newly made warriors of the clan boasting their strength as if to prove their place among the People. Learning with a swiftness isn’t necessary especially when he is still adapting to life in a new place. 

“I told him these things take time, but he won’t hear my words. A tree does not grow overnight, but he seems to think he must make miracles happen to live up to you.” Jake’s ears fall back against his head, brows frowned as he mulls over your words. It is the truth. 

Jake is a miracle walking among the Na’vi. An uniltìrantokx that became one of the People. He came from a star. Lo’ak had shown it to you once. Pointing at a distant dot of light in the deep blue sky like a pearl at the bottom of the ocean. It seems so impossible to travel through the skies as if it were the ocean but you’ve seen what the sawtute can do. Their metal, their light. It is all so strange. Frightening. They take and take. More than what is needed. From the ground beneath their feet, they twist and distort until it is something unrecognizable as earth; as their home. There’s a sharp pang in your chest as you remember the feeling of Eywa crying out as the Omatikaya’s Kelutral fell to the humans’ greedy hands. Jake said that their mother was dead, that the Earth had nothing more to give, but they wanted more. They wanted to do that here. Perhaps Neteyam is right to want to be like his father. This war isn’t over. The attacks on neighboring islands have proven that. 

Another sigh leaves him and you can’t help but count the seconds it takes for the heaving breath to pass. 

“I wish he could’ve seen what I was like before. They wouldn’t believe the mistakes I made to become what I am today.” 

“I would.” You tease, letting the moment of tension pass. “I’d believe you fell out of every tree you tried to climb and missed every mark you tried to shoot. Like a baby.” 

“Kawngtu,” he says, mirthfully bearing his teeth, “I should show you all I have learned. You should know I am not a child.” Your ears grow hot at his words, cheeks warming as your freckles flicker to life as bumps like plucked flesh prickles down your arms. His tone is unmistakable. Low and warm with a teasing drawl but you won’t entertain his obvious advances. Even as his tail traces over the exposed skin of your back, drawing around your waist in a flirtatious display of affection, you ignore him in favor of continuing your cooking. Night is slowly approaching and the children will be hungry after their lessons and chores. Still acting childishly as always, Jake continues to pluck at your nerves like the string of a musical bow. You swipe at him when he gets in your way, whipping him with your tail when he won’t be moved quickly enough for your liking. His current disposition is favorable compared to how somber he’s been as of late. 

It’s regrettable that the two of you weren’t able to bask in the sweetness of a newly made bond. It is expected that the days following the first tsaheylu between mates is filled with only happiness. A break from responsibilities as a new spiritual thread is woven between two souls. But the Great Mother did not seem to think your bond needed moments of leisure to be made strong. Instead there have only been these few gentle moments stolen between the growing worries that seem to draw nearer with each passing day. Even this small moment is broken as a shadow passes through the soft light of the disappearing sun, tall and commanding as Tonowari arrives with a heavy look of resentment rising like a wave in his blue eyes. It’s a look you’ve come to recognize well in the weeks since the first sawtute found their way to Awa’atlu’s distant atolls. So far from the lush green corner of the Pandoran jungle where the humans first set their covetous sights, yet not free from their treacherous hands. 

“Tskano’a.” He says. Another village just like yours touched by those hands of destruction. “No one died. They were expecting an attack. Most of the marui survived their burning. But they are drawing nearer, Jakesully. I give you my word that no one will tell them where you are, but this is all I can do.” 

It’s what he always says. Tonowari is patient and kind. A worthy olo’eyktan. The protector of peace above all else. The safety of the clan means more to him than the destruction of these demons. To attack would mean to wage war and war would mean shattering the peaceful life he has built for his people. Yet it doesn’t seem as though the sawtute want to give him a choice. 

“The boy is still with them.” The human boy. Spider. That is what Jake called him. A friend of the children since childhood. He was brought up in the ways of the Omatikaya, as close as the clan would allow, and now he has betrayed his people by serving the sawtute. His life matters to your children and so you are glad to know he lives, but he is still human. A plague upon Pandora. 

“They’ll be here soon.” It is the truth you feel inside you, sounding as clear as your heartbeat as the Great Mother breathes the words into your spirit. Always listening. It is a tsahìk’s purpose. And these words you’ve heard countless times. Softly, like the whispers of the wind. But now they rush like blood in your ears.

It is the undeniable truth as plain as Naranawm’s blue eye in the sky. The humans are coming and they’ll be here soon. Even if they have to burn every village to the ground. The men look at you with fire in their eyes. A passion burns within them both; a need to protect. Now more than ever. Tonowari only nods at your grave words before departing. Jake ducks back inside but you remain just outside, feeling the warmth disappear from the air as the burning orange of the sun fades to the bluish darkness of night. The children will be returning soon but you can’t shake the cold hands of fear from your body. They linger over your heart and tie knots in your stomach, staving off any thoughts of joining your family for dinner. This family that you’ve only just become a part of. 

“We need to do something.” Jake ignores your words, crouching down to continue cutting fruit as you’d been before Tonowari’s visit. There’s an irritated strength in each slice of the knife, scoring the slab of wood as he goes. “Jake, they are looking for you. We need to trap them. Kill them. Before these demons destroy anything else.” The knife is set down with a troubled growl. 

“I know.” He seethes. “But we have to be smart. It isn’t just us that could get hurt if we attack.” You want to say more but Tuk comes skipping inside talking about a crab she saw today and the conversation is abandoned as the two of you try to rebuild the facade of safety around your children. But it begins to crumble each time your eyes meet. Bright yellow haunted with what’s to come clash with your gaze as a nauseating sort of anticipation fills you. Like waiting for a nightmare to begin. 

The feeling never seems to pass. 

Rain kisses against your skin in a warm spray. Not heavy enough to stir the waves, just enough to turn the sky to a dreary gray. Your feet sink into the damp sand as Jake leads you to where Ronal and Tonowari are waiting. A hunting party returned with news of an injured tulkun, but as soon as your eyes meet your sister’s, the air seems to shift. The wind feels sharper, the rain colder, and you shiver at the uncertainty in her eyes. Tonowari speaks but you can hardly hear him, his voice is like the crashing of waves after you’ve already dove beneath them, warbled and forgotten as you and Ronal share in your own silent conversation. She is your sister and that bond binds you close, but the lessons of your childhood have brought you even closer. The men speak with words as you open yourself to the Great Mother’s silent voice. She’s there in the wind, in the rain, in the sound of the waves. 

Panic settles over you as you feel loss echoing through the air. Ronal must feel it too as she cuts her husband short to usher your small party into the ocean. Your tsurak croaks as you make tsaheylu, the feeling of fear that has settled in your chest echoing through the bond. It only grows more unsettling when Tonowari finally lands, the rest of you drawing in close behind. The orange spread of the tsurak’s wings are the only color over the bleak waters, drawn to darkness by the storm. Except for another spot of orange, brighter and uninterrupted by any pattern. It is startlingly out of place. Like a fire burning on the waves. Sawtute. Just as their light is strange and wrong–too bright–this color is greatly misplaced in the gathered pod of tulkun. One is unmoving among them, only shifting with the crest and fall of the water. Not injured. Dead. 

Hì’ikran have already gathered, their small shadows swooping overhead and sharp cries cutting through the deep bellows of the mourning tulkun. The tiny banshees are already nipping at the tulkun as you move in closer. For a moment, you accept this as the way of things. There is balance in everything, even death. The hì’ikran must eat and here there is food. But your heart rejects the thought as soon as you are close enough to truly see the tulkun. Ronal makes a small, wounded noise just as your heart turns cold in your chest. The thumping beat of it stills to chilled silence as you lose yourself for a moment. Just long enough to fall from your skimwing. Your mount screeches as you plunge into the dark water, surfacing with a sputtering cry as you swim towards the tulkun. 

Ronal is already there, hands pressed desperately against the unmoving creature. A feeling of hopelessness crashes over you like a heavy wave, threatening to drag you beneath its unmovable weight as your eyes flit wildly across Roa’s body. Those bright orange wings keep her above the water, embedded in her thick skin. Blood seeps in tepid rivers from the places the metal stabbed through her body. The hooks don’t move as you pull at them until your palms burn where the metal begins to wear against your skin. You fall back into the water, thrown off of her by the force of your own strength. A wordless shriek tears from your throat as you swipe at one of the bloated bags with your knife. It tears open and Roa sags, one of her fins beginning to sink. Her son, still tucked beneath it, begins vanishing as well. 

He doesn’t look at you when you touch him, trying to pull him from under his mother’s unmoving body. He doesn’t offer those same shy clicks he’d given when you met him last. It rends a strangled sound from you. Wordless but understood as Ronal looks at you and the calf. She’s sitting on Roa’s forefin as she’s done so many times before. But the tulkun doesn’t greet her, doesn’t scold her son for his bashfulness. She simply floats, bloated eyes rolled towards the sky. Shot through with blood and unseeing as Ronal presses her forehead against her spirit sister. Despite the sudden cold of the rain and water there’s a warmth spreading through your body. A dangerous swirl of anger and grief, sadness and fear that is like a whirlpool in your chest, sucking away any clear thoughts. All you can see is Roa and her son. Dead. And your sister’s despair as she reaches for you through the water. Her hand shakes in yours but her grip is tight as if she will never let it go. Tears mingle with the rain as they drip down your cheeks. Everything feels too close and far away all at once. Like the ocean has disappeared and swallowed you whole. 

“Her name is Roa.” Tonowari says at last, head bowed towards Jake. His tone is clipped with suppressed emotion though you can see it in his eyes. The sorrow, the stifled rage. He sets his lip in a harsh line and looks towards the horizon. 

“She was my spirit sister.” Ronal’s voice is a watery croak. “She was the composer of songs. Much revered. We would sing together.” 

“She waited many breeding cycles to have this calf.” You sob. He was so small, so young. He had many years ahead of him, a spirit brother to bond with, calves of his own to have. And yet it’s all been washed away in a moment. “The clan was so happy for her.” 

“What is this, Tonowari?” Ronal turns to her mate, hand still tight around yours. “What is this?” She shrieks. The olo’eyktan bows his head in the face of his wife’s grief. Death is a heavy burden for anyone to bear but a tsahìk feels things with a strength beyond that of the People. A tsahìk feels all. And Roa was not simply a bonded member of the clan, but her spirit sister. This pain has bowed her over like a flower in the wind, petals fallen and stem broken. You feel it, as well, the deep, aching pain that refuses to pass. 

“What have they done?” You shout, turning to Jake. The anger swelling in your chest has turned the plea to an accusation. It is the wrong place to rest your anger but there is no one else in sight for you to blame. He flinches and lowers his gaze but doesn’t move to comfort you. It reminds you how different you truly are. The ocean is deep and full of dangers. Jake has to cling to his tsurak to keep afloat. You’ve taught him well but not well enough to survive in the open oceans without an animal to guide him. A dark, ugly feeling rises like poison in your chest; regret. For allowing him to stay and cast this dark shadow. 

The thought is there only for an instant before shock douses your wrath, snuffing it out before it can consume you in an inescapable blaze. It wasn’t Jake that killed Roa. It wasn’t your mate that brought you this pain. And even though you haven’t said anything out loud, for once you’re afraid that someone can see what is in your eyes because Jake urges his tsurak forward, out of your sight. It only causes your heart to sink lower in your chest. Ronal releases you with some hesitancy as you pull away from her hold to follow Jake. You watch his back as he bows under the shadow of Roa’s fin. He doesn’t go further than her side, eyes tracing over her body. He reaches for you as you swim to his side, pulling you into his arms. 

There’s a comforting strength in his arms. 

“My girl,” he says softly, the human words flowing off his tongue as he pulls you on to his mount. “I’m so sorry.” 

“The sea gives and the sea takes.” It’s all you can say, words pounding in your head like a drum. It blocks out all else. The sea gives and the sea takes. Water connects all things. Life to death, darkness to light. These words are your way of life. As familiar as your own name. There’s comfort in their truth. Water cannot flow on forever and it’s here that Roa’s river empties into the vastness of the ocean to join the memories of her ancestors. They will sing her songs, remember her voice. She will never be truly gone. And yet it feels as though every trace of her will slip between your fingers the moment you turn your back to her. Tears still cloud your vision as you look at her prone body. There are more orange bags beneath her fins and a strange light like a white flame flickering over her back. A huge barb stands out against her dark scales, the needle plunged deep into her back. 

“Ma Jake.” It is something alien. Something human. Bright red and flashing as it is. There’s a soft sound emanating from it like a bird’s chirp. 

“Shit.” Jake curses. Always in English. He carefully climbs onto Roa’s back and you watch as his fingers dance over the strange object until it falls dark and silent. He pulls it from the space between her scales. You shrink away when he brings it for you to see, wholly uninteresting in being so close to their strange tools. 

“It’s a tracker.” He says as Tonowari rounds Roa’s body. His eyes trail over her before settling on the metal thing in Jake’s hand. You leave them to talk over what the tracker could mean. They’ve moved on from this but you’ll stay if only for a few moments longer. This will be the last time you see Roa and you want to remember it for a little while longer. 

It’s quiet as you sink beneath the waves, skin coming to life with dots of pale light as you swim beneath Roa’s shadow. Your fingers trace against her skin, finding the shapes of her tattoos across her pale underbelly. They tell a story of her life. Each mark etched into her skin like the bead of a songcord. Ronal is there as well, staring at the tattoos. Her eyes hold steady on the twin flowers blooming from a single vine. The same ink that trails along Veyan’s side. Both tulkun had gotten the tattoos to commemorate their bond with you and Ronal. You wonder if Veyan felt Roa’s death as the two of you had. If she is somewhere mourning the loss of a sister. 

«We must lay her to rest.» Ronal nods, neither of you mentioning that she will hardly be given the traditional funeral rites. She’ll be sunk here in the open water. Far from the tulkun resting grounds. The water is deep and dark. No anemones bright as sunlight dance in the gentle current below. Still Ronal unsheathes her blade and nods for you to do the same. The orange wings fold in on themselves, spewing out air as Roa begins to sink. Her son falls beside her and the two of you follow them down as far as you dare, watching their silhouettes disappear into the deep. There’s a burst of light when they finally land, stirring up stray flashes of syuratan. The tulkun begin to sing their bellowing mourning song. It rings through your head, echoing through the journey back to shore. Heavy and sorrowful as they sing about their sister. The clan will mourn too. 

The rain falls heavier as Tonowari calls the village to order in the central marui. There’s a restless sort of energy flowing like lapping waves through the crowd as Ronal pulls you to stand beside her and Tonowari. 

“My spirit sister and her baby have been murdered by the sky people!” Hushed sounds of anguish rush through the air, mournful yipping and defensive hisses. 

“This war has come to us. We knew about the hunting of our tulkun people, but it was over the horizon. Far away. Now, it is here!” Tonowari’s voice booms through the marui, crashing like thunder over the People as he declares war on the sawtute. Others join in his show of aggression, teeth and tongues bared in fierce war faces. Upset turns to aggression as growls ripple through the crowd, spears thumping and eyes flashing with a need for retribution. Jake’s eyes pass over the crowd with a look of distress.

“The sky people don’t think like us. They don’t care about the great balance.” He tries to reason. 

“We do not answer to sky people!” A hunter shouts. Jake’s nose scrunches in distaste, a shadow casting over his eyes as his brows furrow. 

“They’re not going to stop. This is only the beginning. You have to tell your tulkun to leave. Tell them to go far away!” 

“Leave?” You hiss. How could he say such a thing? The tulkun are part of the clan. To tell them to leave would be to sever the bond that has held strong for so many generations. 

“You live among us and you learned nothing!” Ronal shouts. Others second her words, the shows of aggression only spreading further. Half of the crowd has shifted their weight into a lower stance, preparing for a fight that will soon be on the horizon. 

“No! Hear my words! If you fight they will destroy you. They will destroy everything that you love!” Jake points to Ronal, still heavy with child, but his eyes linger on you. There’s sincerity there. A hope that this battle will not come to pass. You hiss at him, baring your fangs. He may be your mate but you cannot stand beside him in this. Roa and her child must be avenged. No more villages will be burned. No more lives will be lost. Ronal’s hand covers her stomach, face falling from anger to disbelief. Her child has not even taken their first breath and Jake dares to threaten them with the violence of these demons. 

“Hear my words!” Jake shouts over the uproar but no one will heed his warnings. The time for peace has passed. An unbounded tulkun being lost could be ignored, but this was a bonded member of the Metkayina. The spirit sister of the tsahìk. Her death will not be forgotten and the clan will not be deterred. No matter who he turns to, no one will listen to Jake. He may have been olo’eyktan once but his voice holds no weight here. Not when it is so plainly clear that he does not understand your way of life. You thought that you had taught him well. That he was becoming one with the clan. But it’s clear that you had been wrong in your assumption. His eyes are pleading as he looks to you, begging your word to second his. When you don’t raise your voice to support him he hisses indignantly and snatches the strange tracker from Neteyam’s hand, cursing in English. A hush falls over the crowd as he raises it above his head, everyone falling still at the sight of the alien object. An arm pulls you away from Jake as he climbs up next to Tonowari, Ronal keeping you close at her side as her other hand holds her mate’s arm. 

“You tell the tulkun that if they’re hit by one of these they’re marked for death. Call for me I’ll silence it. Saving their lives, that’s all that matters. Right? Saving your family.” He says, eyes landing on you and your sister. His words seem to soothe the People. Everyone lingers in the silence, unsure if this moment of peace will last. Tonowari turns to the two of you but you look away from him. The anger you felt when you first saw Roa’s body is beginning to creep up again, embers turning to a blazing flame. You want to fight. It is what is right after losing a member of the clan in such a brutal way. But Jake knows things that the rest of you don’t. If he says that a war with the sky people will only bring death, you’re inclined to believe him. If Toruk Makto isn’t certain of victory, then perhaps the battle should not be fought at all. Ronal shifts next to you before an unspoken decision passes between her and Tonowari. 

“Tell the tulkun.” His word is final and yet no one moves. 

“Go.” Ronal says and the tension releases at last. “Go!” The People begin to disperse and Jake goes with them. 

“Jake.” He doesn’t turn even as you follow his retreating back. “Ma Jake.” He stops only when you run in front of him, blocking his path forward with your hands flat against his chest. He frowns at you, jaw clenched tight as his yellow eyes spear you in place. He’s angry. But so are you. 

“I will not stand and do nothing!” His hand grips your wrist and pulls you away from the marui still crowded with people. He doesn’t speak until the two of you are in the privacy of his home, the children still missing in all the chaos. 

“Jake!” His grip isn’t tight and is easily broken when you wrench your arm free of him. He doesn’t let you go further than a few steps before he’s clinging to you again, hands holding your shoulders to keep your eyes steady on him. 

“Ma muntxate,” he says slowly, “listen to me now.” His tone is that of a scolding parent and you feel your lip twitch, wanting to hiss at him once more. His lips press against yours before you can. It’s a grounding sort of intimacy. Soft and searching as each of you pour your feelings into each other. Your anger and grief mingles with his caution and fear. 

“Listen to me. Humans have been hunting tulkun for a long time. This is the first time they’ve ever been so blatant about it, leaving Roa the way they did. They’re not hunting tulkun. That was a show of power. They’re hunting me. And if we fight back it will lead them right to us. I can’t let that happen. Just trust me on this, okay?” He tucks a limp strand of hair behind your drooping ear, fingers caressing your cheeks still damp with rain and tears. 

“So we must sit and do nothing?” It’s unthinkable. Roa and her child have been lost and he is asking you to stay idle as their murderers kill more tulkun. How long until Veyan is lost? Until Tsireya’s spirit sister is attacked. The tulkun will be thinning like harvested roots until there are none left. Then what will happen to the Great Mother’s balance? It isn’t the way of things and you won’t stand by as Eywa mourns the untimely death of another of her children felled by the sky people. 

“Look, I’ve got nothing. But this will protect the People. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me. If we fight, Na’vi will die.”

“And if we don’t, tulkun will die. Needlessly. A life lost at war is a sacrifice for the People. One that every warrior is willing to make. One that I am willing to make.” Jake winces at your words. “I’m sorry, Jake, but it is the truth. I am Metkayina. We fight to protect our brothers and sisters. This is the way. I thought you had learned that by now. How can you say you will not fight? You’re Toruk Makto.” So few have emerged since the First Songs, and only in times of great sorrow. He is a warrior of legend and yet here he sits, refusing to fight as if the mantle can so easily be removed. His name will be woven into songs for generations to come. What will they say of this battle? That he stood aside and let the sawtute terrorize the atolls that gave his family solace in their time of need?

“I told Ronal and Tonowari; I’m done with war. I did not lie about that. I came here for a life of peace.” 

“And is that peace not worth fighting to protect when it is threatened? Ma Jake, the Great Mother chose you for something. She has protected and guided you. Do not let her efforts be in vain.” He moves to say something but his brow twitches as the small object in his ear buzzes to life. His hand reaches for yours as he listens to the low noises. 

“Lo’ak?” He asks, pressing his fingers against his neck where an unbeaded choker sits above the necklace you recently made for him. More quiet humming follows until he asks, “Who’s with you?” Another beat of silence, then, “You get to cover and you do not engage. All right? You hear me? Do not engage. We’re coming.”

“Ma Jake, what is wrong?” He’s already moving, pulling you out of the marui. 

“The kids are in danger. Ao’nung and Tsireya are with them.” You look around at the people passing, calling warriors to your side as you rush to Ronal and Tonowari. 

“Is Rotxo with them?” You ask, not seeing his cropped hair as you pass by his family’s marui. 

“He said it was all of them. Come on!” Ronal and Tonowari look relatively peaceful despite the day’s events. Your sister cutting fruit and Tonowari repairing a net as the group you’ve gathered comes running up the path to their home, whooping out war cries that gain their attention. Ronal is on her feet in an instant, knife still in hand.

“The kids are under attack. They’re defending a tulkun. It’s your kids too!” 

“The demon ship?” Tonowari asks. 

“Yes! Hurry up, we have to move!” Jake leaves you to your own, nearly abandoned marui, returning with weapons of his own. Your spear feels strange in your hands after years of disuse. Hunting has never been something you were suited to but this weapon had become an extension of your body as you blossomed into adulthood. Years of learning the clan’s traditions have given you the strength to wield it but it has never felt as heavy as it does now with anger running in your veins like burning rivers of fire. Whatever peace you’d quieted your mind to was shattered the moment your family was put in danger and the rage rolls through you like thunder. There’s a restlessness in your body like you’re filled with a roiling tide, hands shaking as you grip tight to your weapons until your knuckles pale and your body stills to the lethal stillness of a proper Metkayina warrior. Jake returns just as you duck back into the passing storm. The sky has begun to lighten as the reef fills with the clan and their mounts all screeching out deafening war cries, weapons poised to attack. 

“Come here,” Jake stops you before you can rush past him. His hand linger on your skin after he puts a matching choker around your neck, fingers pushing back your hair as he puts that strange ornament in your ear. 

“Press here when you want to talk.” He says, leading your fingers to the two pads of the necklace. “I’ll be able to hear you wherever you are. Lo’ak has one, too. If we’re apart, hold here and I’ll hear you.” He holds your gaze for a beat longer, speaking without words. He’s afraid. He’s angry. The man before you is no longer just Jakesully. He is truly Toruk Makto. 

“Come. We must hurry.” You push past him to call for your tsurak. These demons have trampled their way across Pandora and arrived so near to your home. And now they’ve threatened your childrens’ lives. The lives of your niece and nephew. After killing Ronal’s spirit sister. A need to avenge laces through your body like bolts of white lightning, sharp, bitter, and burning as you add your own shrieking cries to the din. You ride at the head of the party, beside your sister with Jake and Tonowari at your flanks. 

It isn’t long to Three Brothers Rocks, the towering stone fingers appear over the horizon with the demon ship beneath their shadow. It is larger than any human invention you’ve ever seen, like a metal island floating in the waves. It is too far to see every detail but your eyes catch the unfocused shapes of humans skittering across the ship like bugs, their faces covered in those familiar shells. It wouldn’t take much to break it, to fill their lungs with the air of your planet. So much of Pandora is hostile even to natives and yet they think they can tame her. Soon they will learn. Some lessons must be taught more than once. 

“They’ve got our kids.” Jake says. “Your daughter. Tuk. Lo’ak.” Tonowari growls, voice scorched with hostility. Ronal’s hiss is nearly a whimper, nearly identical to your own. 

“Jake,” a voice crackles to life in your ear, sounding far off and nothing like Lo’ak’s. You press the strange piece of metal closer to your ear as the voice continues. They’re speaking English and you haven’t learned nearly enough from Jake and the children to fully grasp what’s being said. Only a few stray words are recognized. 

“What is he saying?” You ask, eyes flitting desperately between Jake and the ship. Whoever it is means to harm your family. That much you know even without understanding every word. Everyone’s eyes fall to Jake. 

“Hold here.” He says at last. 

“They are killers of tulkun.” Tonowari stops him before he can go further. “They must die. Here. Today.” These murderers must restore the great balance with their own blood. A thousand of their lives are less valued here than one of a single tulkun. The killing of even one was a declaration of war. No more lives will fall to their greed. Not if you can kill them where they stand. 

“It’s me that they want. That’s what all this has been about. Let me do this.”

“You brought this upon us!” Ronal bites out. Her gaze flickers between you and your mate as if unsure of who her anger should scorch first. It was you that spoke for him when she wanted to deny his family sanctuary. This could have been avoided had you held your tongue. But whatever happens, this is the path you’ve chosen to walk. It seems Jake has accepted his fate as well. 

“It’s me that has to do this.” The voice returns but none of his words make sense. Jake’s voice echoes in your ear as he answers, English flowing easily from his tongue. He gives you a parting glance before leading his tsurak forward. 

“Jake!” Ronal stops you from following with her spear across your stomach. 

“You stay. He has brought this storm over our heads. Let him be the one to quell it.” Your sister says. Her eyes hold flecks of sympathy but it is overshadowed by her need to protect. She is tsahìk. Eywa has chosen her to keep peace and balance. Jake’s life may be enough to free your children and turn the sawtute away from the Metkayina atolls. It is a sacrifice she is willing to make for peace. 

“Ronal.” You can’t watch your mate give himself over to those demons just as much as you can’t watch your clan fall to their hands. It feels as though your soul is tearing in two. A tsakarem protects her people, protects the great balance. But a mate protects their muntxatu. You grip her spear, ready to push it aside and defy her once more just as something breaks through the waves up ahead. A tulkun rises from the water, crashing down over the demon ship with a ferocious bellow. Payakan. 

The bugs begin to scatter aboard their ship and a screeching war cry tears from your lips, calling the rest of the clan to join. It calls the humans’ attention and they turn their eyes to the clan closing in on them. Teeth bared and weapons raised. 

Their guns are loud. It sounds like a hail of heavy rainfall as they turn their guns on you but they’re nearly silent beneath the water as you urge your tsurak to dive. Their tiny metal arrows hiss through the water in cloudy streams, too slow to do harm even as so many fall around you. It’s as if they’re coming from all sides as the shadows of their smaller boats pass overhead, lit by the red bursts of light that follow each fire of their guns. They’re easy to see and hard to lose. Hunting animals is harder than spotting a human with a gun. You rise from the water as another ship draws in close. One of them shouts as you arc overhead, a pained yowl leaving their lips as your spear tears through their chest. If they were alive when you dove back into the water they’ll die soon enough as you kick their limp body off of your blade. One life has been avenged. Still more to reap. 

The sounds of death fill the air as the ocean is stained with more blood but it hardly brings relief. It is the same as the sound of a wounded animal. A death with a purpose. It is what you remind yourself as their empty eyes gaze up at you before their life is snuffed out. It is for a greater purpose. One they could never understand. The great balance is something these demons could never grasp. Some learn. They haven’t. This is the way. And it is good. 

A hunter strives for clean kills. Needless suffering is not needed to kill a prey. The humans make mercy simple as their soft bodies burst like dropped fruit under your blade, crystal spearhead cleaving through their bodies wherever you strike. They cry out in warbled shouts for only a moment before falling silent. “Please” is a word you recognize but pay no heed to. The tulkun that they murdered surely begged for their lives as well. Your tsurak lets out a shrieking cry as you breach over another boat, its teeth tearing into whatever comes between its jaws. 

Neteyam’s wound pales in comparison to the deep fissures your mount carves out of the human, their skin turning to ribbons in the animal’s sharp teeth. But he isn’t dead. You flinch back as he swings a knife at you, the blade small enough for a child. It feels strange to touch him as you catch his wrist when he swings again. You hadn’t touched Max, hadn’t touched any human. The feeling is strange and new. His body is oddly pliant, soft enough for you to feel his bones shift beneath your fingers as your grip on his wrist tightens until he drops his blade. His eyes are blank of any inner glow–his soul hidden or absent completely–but his face curls in terror as his weapon falls. 

“Txopu rä’ä si, vrrteptsyìp.” He begins to cry, tears shining in his eyes as you yip and plunge your tsurak back into the water. He isn’t dead but he is close enough as blood streaks your mount’s maw. Streams of red fill the water as the clan makes quick work of the humans in the smaller boats, yet they still move with no guide. A burst of heat singes across your skin as an empty boat crashes into a stone outcropping in a cloud of flaming smoke, the metal crumpling like a teylu shell as it folds itself around the black stone. Dark clouds rise from the water where other boats have caught fire, some still carrying screaming sawtute. You watch a hunter rise from the water to meet them as they crawl out of the flames, spear tearing through two at a time before the third is met with his knife. 

Their numbers are becoming fewer, but so are yours as riders are shot from their mounts under the endless downpours of their metal rain. A shout leaps from your lungs as one grazes your arm, hardly enough to truly harm you but it feels like a burning stone has passed over your skin. The ocean stings against the shallow wound as you dive out of danger. The pain is hardly more than a dull prickling but others aren’t as lucky as bodies float around you. Brave warriors lost so that this battle can be won. Each of them will be mourned in turn but not now. You blink away the heat of the tears threatening to rise behind your eyelids and focus on the war still raging just over your head. 

The thin shafts of your spear arrows bend under your tight grip as your eyes find another boat floating overhead. The metal husk is caught in flames as the humans abroad rush to put out the fire. It will be of no use as one of your spear tears through their bodies. Their heads barely turned to the sound of your war cry before screams of their own join yours as blood bursts from their pierced chests. More dead but you may be joining them as a third appears, gun in hand. Your tsurak rears back, catching the shots in its chest. The pain echoes through tsaheylu, carving a burning ache between your ribs as your mount’s jaw closes around the human’s head in a final act of retribution. It rears back with a muffled screech, tossing the three of you out of the flaming boat. You’re only thrown as far as a stone outcropping as tsaheylu breaks and your tswin is freed from the bond. The stony shore scrapes at your skin but you roll to your knees with the momentum. Without your skimwing you’re stranded in the middle of a battle with only a few spear arrows in hand and your knife on your hip. 

The dark stone hardly conceals your vibrant body and you slink back into the water, still keeping close to shore. Smoke fills the air with thick, grayish clouds that blot out the sky and everything has taken on the flickering color of flames. Most of the metal boats are destroyed or empty, a few unmoving bodies still aboard. The demon ship is in flames as well and the humans are scattering to smaller boats. They’re leaving. Abandoning their ship and this war that they’ve called upon themselves. Their shouts echo across the open water but from this distance you could never hope to understand their words. You hope they are laments of defeat and promises of renouncing their attempted claim on Pandora. To continue will only bring them more death at your peoples’ hands. Because more lives have been lost than just tulkun. Their fingers spread across Eywa’eveng like poisonous roots, digging deep and stripping all that they touch. Leaving would be best.

Your head falls back against the rocks behind you, eyes facing the hazy sky. It is nearly eclipse. Soon the battlefield will fall into a blue-lit night. Your eyes will not be burdened by the darkness but humans aren’t so lucky. They should leave, you think tiredly. Return to that distant star in the night sky. Your body aches and your heart hurts. You can’t imagine what more pain they’ll bring if they stay. There’s blood on your hand as you lift it from the water, patches of red that the ocean couldn’t wash away. Your hand trembles as you stare at it, trying to decide if the blood is yours or another’s. It hardly matters as you press your bloody fingers to your throat like Jake showed you. 

“Jake.” Half of you expects your only answer to be silence. Or that unknown voice that stole Lo’ak’s necklace. 

“I hear you.” His voice sings through you. He’s alive. 

“My tsurak is dead. I’ve lost my spear.” Your voice sounds tired even to your own ears. Low and gruff as you inhale another breath of smoky air. Exertion burns in your legs and your tail feels bruised as you keep yourself afloat. The moment of stillness has brought you back to yourself, steadied your mind enough to feel your body. No longer numbed by the instinct to fight, the aches and pains of battle slowly make themselves known until even the tips of your ears are throbbing. But now isn’t the time for pain. There will be time to nurse your wounds once the battle is won. 

“Where are you?” Jake asks, his voice pitching with panic. You move to answer only to stop short as a large shadow swoops overhead. You sink beneath the surface as an ikran flies through the clouds of smoke, a figure hanging in its claws. Their words are muffled beneath the water but you recognize the sound of your daughter’s voice. Jake calls your name, it rings in your ear but you don’t answer. Your spear arrows are tossed ashore as you fill your lungs with acrid air before diving after the banshee. As quick as you are in the water, you’re not nearly as fast as the ikran and you watch from a short distance as Kiri is dropped aboard the demon ship. You rise to take a breath, eyes desperately searching for a way in that isn’t through the throng of demon warriors still leaving the burning ship. A flash of blue catches your eye as two bright silhouettes board the ship, crouching low as they move further inside. Tuk and Tsireya. Now you have two more reasons to board the demons’ ship. 

This metal does not burn when you press your palms against it like it had in your vision at the Ranteng Utralti. Instead it reminds you of stones cooled in the shadows as you leave wet footprints in your wake. Even as the humans disappear the ship has not fallen silent. It groans and shrieks out in a monotonous trill as a red light winks in and out of the flooding rooms. Soon the ocean will swallow it whole and whoever’s left will sink with it. You don’t intend for this place to be your resting place. The humans make it easy as you slink through the underbelly of their ship. Shadows pass over you inattentively. A child has more sense than these demons. Even the uniltìrantokx do not seem to know how to use their bodies. Their ears don’t move toward the muted sound of your footsteps, their nose doesn’t scent the smell of blood clinging to your skin. 

They all simply meander, guns poised loose and useless as you slink past, careful of the debris scattered across the floor. Your silence is unnecessary as the warriors stir up enough noise to cover each of your footsteps. Their voices twitter like birds as they mill around with little regard to your shape moving through the shadows just beyond their sight. Their voices echo through the metal walls along with that shrieking noise. It keeps time like a drum as your eyes search for the children in every space you pass. There are so few people still aboard that their voices stand out in the din of the sinking ship. Soft and frantic rather than loud and self-assured. You move towards the sound of their voices like a stalking nantang, your fingertips pressing into the floor as you move on all fours. Your hand finds a broken piece of the ship. Thin and hollowed, the ends broken to jagged points. It’s not nearly long enough to mimic a spear but the shape and weight of it offers some reassurance as you emerge from the shadows, keen on getting the girls off this demon ship. 

Tsireya and Tuk are crouched next to Kiri, trying to cut her free. You wait for the next beat of the ship’s shrieking before letting out a sharp yip. Kiri’s ear twitches towards the sound. You match another shriek with your own, your voice ringing out in time with the strange noise. Tuk jumps, eyes looking around as she hears your voice echo through the air. 

“It’s Sa’nu!” She says quietly. Kiri nods, shifting restlessly as Tsireya’s knife makes little progress on her bindings. 

“Cut it here.” Kiri corrects her, holding out the thin orange material as best she can. All their heads are bowed low, watching the bindings begin to give. You move towards them slowly, only stopping as more humans and uniltìrantokx come into view. You leap from the large metal box you’d been crouched upon, bringing your makeshift spear down hard on a warrior’s head. It makes a sickening cracking sound as blood rushes to the surface of their cropped hair. You swing again and their mask shatters, blood bursting from their crumpled nose. He gasps for air and you watch as Pandora poisons his lungs before moving on to the next. An uniltìrantokx raises their gun and you duck away from the hail of their fire to the sound of Tuk calling for you. A voice follows hers. One that is vaguely familiar. The same voice that has buzzed in your ear before the battle began. 

I want her, you recognize the words if only barely. Alive. The guns fall silent. You dare to glance towards the girls only to see an uniltìrantokx grab Tsireya’s wrist and toss her off a ledge. The breath stills in your lungs as you pray to not hear the horrible sound of your niece’s body landing far below. Instead there’s a splash. He’s tossed her overboard. Thrown her to safety. The voice speaks again and you hear one of your girls hiss. 

“Are you a Sully?” The voice shouts in broken Na’vi. A child is more eloquent and you don’t deign to answer. You aren’t called Sully. It isn’t your family name. But Jake has told you that human traditions are different. You would not be called mates on Earth. You’d be married and he’d give you his name. But you are not on Earth and he is no longer human. Such things mean nothing here. 

“Demon!” You shout back. “Release my children.” It’s doubtful that he understands Na’vi any more than you understand his Earth language, but you won’t embarrass yourself as he has by struggling to string words together. 

“You are a Sully.” He says with a mirthful tone. His next words seem to be directed towards the people around him and you tense for another rain of gunfire. Instead there’s the echoing thud of their heavy foot-coverings against the creaking metal floor as they seem to close in. The sounds are muted but your ears have learned to recognize even the smallest noises. Even the faintest snap of a twig in the forest could mean death if you aren’t an attentive hunter. It has never been your strongest suit but as the smell of their sweat begins to fill your nose as your ears twitch towards each new footfall you realize your weakest trait is still stronger than whatever they’re capable of. At least you hope it is. When the first warrior rounds the bend towards you you’re poised and waiting. His legs buckle as you sweep them from beneath him with a swift kick. He lands with a shout, his gun jumping from his hand. You kick it further from his reach as you round on the next target. A human warrior. Easier to deal with. He’s learned from the last human warrior you took down and ducks when you swing towards his head with your metal spear. You swing again, lower than he can duck and slash open the thick armor over his chest. It spills out white fibers that float like pollen in the air. 

The uniltìrantokx–their leader it would seem–barks another order and more of his warriors descend upon you like a cloud blocking out the sun. There are a few more wounds inflicted by your hand before you’re disarmed, someone’s arms hooked beneath yours with their hands clasped behind your head. You feel their knitted fingers digging into your skull, pressing against your tswin.  A hiss falls from your lips as he catches your thrashing tail between his legs when you manage to swing your hips and knock back a human that moved too close. The pain is a dull ache that thrums at the base of your spine but it doesn’t stop you from kicking as you’re dragged from your secluded corner into the full light of the fading sun. Eclipse is approaching fast and the warm light spills across the sinking ship, all of its metal innards limned in firelight. The uniltìrantokx that has you in his grip laughs as you thrash in his arms, flexing his arms to tighten his hold on you. You feel like a freshly caught fish dangling in a fisherman’s net. A snarl finds your lips to mask the shame as the leader of this war band approaches you with the saunter of a seasoned warrior despite his young appearance. He shouldn’t be so assured as he leans down to meet your gaze. 

“You are Jake’s woman, yes? Mate?” He asks. Whoever this man is, he knows Jake. Your mate never spoke of the war that he won all those years ago. The songs only praise Jake. He is Toruk Makto. A dreamwalker that became one of the People. But this man carrying himself as if he is a true Na’vi, wearing the skin of your people, must have been a part of the story he’s never told. From the time before the songs begin. He asks again, slower, as if you’re a child needing time to understand. As if he isn’t the one speaking like a baby. 

“Yes.” You bite out in English. That word you know. 

He huffs out a dry chuckle, “Good.” The smile that finds his lips is nothing short of predatory, his fangs catching the flashing light of the ship. He stands back to his full height and nods to the man still holding you back from attacking this uniltìrantokx with teeth and claws. The warrior at your back drags you to the ledge where Kiri and Tuk are bound and kicks at the back of your knees. You’re expecting it and your knees buckle but you don’t fall. He kicks again, harder this time, and you go down with a shout. But he doesn’t bind you as he did the children. Instead their strange orange binding is lashed to your upper arm, luckily leaving your injured arm free. You tug against the restraint as he ties you to the ship and the material bites into your skin. If you pull hard enough you’ll bleed where the edges dig into the rippling shapes decorating your arm. Tuk is quick to move towards you, tucking her body as close to your chest as her bound arms will allow. Kiri moves closer behind until she’s leaning against your back as you hug Tuk to your chest. 

“Sa’nok, your knife.” Kiri whispers. The warriors are inattentive, talking amongst themselves as if you’re of no threat to them. They hadn’t even bothered to disarm you or even search for any weapons. Perhaps they expect your comparatively sparse coverings to be incapable of concealing anything. And yet they’ve missed the knife still sheathed behind you, hidden beneath the thick waves of your damp hair. With a free arm and a weapon you could break free of your bindings but how quick would these demons fall upon you and your daughters. You only managed to fight against them for a few moments, injuring only a few before you were caught. Perhaps you could free Tuk and Kiri but they seem to think they need the three of you. Need people tied to Jake. 

“Not yet.” You try to keep the exhaustion from your voice as you squint against a sudden burst of light as eclipse closes in. A blue glow overtakes the last dregs of the amber glow of the sun and your skin flickers to life. The humans seem to draw in closer to each other, weary of the night even as the ship is still filled with false torchlight. Only their leader still stands alone. He guards the empty space between you and his warriors as you keep close to your children. His footfalls don’t have the same weight to them as he paces barefoot across the groaning metal. The pool behind you is steadily filling with water. The ship is sinking and if you don’t move soon it will take you and your girls with it. Your fingers twitch, eager to grab your blade, only stopped when the leader begins to speak again. Half of his words are lost to you but some are caught with the small knowledge you’ve collected. 

“I’ve got your daughters.” He sounds proud, taunting. “I’ve got your woman.” You hiss but keep still as the warriors turn towards the sound of your protest. They don’t look so worried now. The woman among them, arms covered in colorful tattoos, chuckles. She pushes out her bottom lip like a disgruntled child, mocking you. You bare your fangs with a snarl and she returns the gesture, though her hiss is hardly intimidating. Kiri snorts softly beside you, equally as unimpressed with these false-bodied warriors. The lead uniltìrantokx keeps up his taunting but your focus stays on the female warrior as her tail curls playfully behind her. She’s enjoying this. 

“You will never be one of the People.” You mutter. She snorts at that. Her jovial disposition disturbs you. You’ve taken many lives today but you took pleasure in none of it. It is the same as hunting. These kills were a necessity. This dreamwalker seems content to cause harm for her pleasure. You can See it in her eyes. Human eyes are empty. But she isn’t entirely human anymore. It’s barely a flicker of light but you catch the thread of amusement and it curls in your stomach like acid. Demons. All of them. She only looks away when one of them barks out some clipped words and they all begin to move in step, perching with their guns raised as they wait for something. No, someone. Their lively mood drops into a somber silence as they lie in wait for Jake. Even the humans know to fear Toruk Makto. 

Their leader’s mood hasn’t shifted. He still sounds so assured as his voice hums in your ear. He hasn’t moved out of your line of sight as the others have and he’s gone back to pacing as they wait. He says something you don’t quite understand but Tuk and Kiri do. Your youngest looks up at you with eyes full of fear. Whatever he’s said has scared her. She looks under your arm towards the rapidly rising water that’s slowly filling the room below, overtaking the limits of the pool. Her breathing picks up as she shifts anxiously. You draw her head against your chest, letting her listen to the steady beat of your heart only for it to stutter as you hear his next words. 

“Your boy didn’t have to die.” It’s hardly understood but it settles like stones in your heart. 

Your boy, he said. Die. Your eyes cut towards him, ears drawn tight to your skull as the words echo in your head. Your boy. Die. One of your sons has died. Neteyam is dead. Lo’ak is dead. Your son is dead. Your boy is dead. 

Your breaths begin to come in huffs like a chuffing pale as you breathe deep through your nose. It does little to soothe your anger but it’s all you can hear. Your labored breath and your heated blood rushing through your ears. Your heart beat thuds steadily like the beat of a drum. Keeping time as you draw your knife from behind your back. The crystal blade cuts through your bindings with ease. You’re free. The man is still talking, eyes looking towards the horizon as he taunts your mate. His voice is still in your ear but you can hardly hear anything outside of yourself. It’s only the sound of your breath, the beat of your heart. There are no thoughts in your head and yet your body moves. You feel yourself taking staggering steps towards the uniltìrantokx, your knife gripped tight in hand. Heat drips down your cheeks as your vision swirls. The man before you wavers as tears cloud your vision, his back still towards you. He doesn’t hear your footsteps, doesn’t feel the waves of rage cresting over him as your shadow flickers across his back. You raise your blade to strike only to be swept off your feet and tossed away from him. 

For a moment, you’re weightless. Then your body is met with the floor. Pain throbs through your back as scraps of the ship dig into your spine. The space above you swoops and dives like a bird before settling as your vision steadies with a dull throb thrumming in the back of your head. But the pain hardly touches you. It feels like when you fell from a tree as a child. The air is punched from your lungs and you roll to your knees with heaving breaths. Whatever that was has thrown you into a lower area of the ship. Your fingers sift through blood and those same crystal shards from your vision as you push yourself upright, stumbling only slightly. The tiny chips dig into the soles of your feet as you retrace your steps to get back to your daughters. Too much has been lost. You can’t lose anything else. Not today. You find your knife and then a lost spear as you move through the ship. It’s sized to someone taller than you but it will do fine as you follow the shadows moving through the smoke and fire. 

They no longer look like people. Even the uniltìrantokx begin to lose shape in your eyes, becoming faceless entities. Empty and spiritless. Abominations. Demons. Disgusting mockeries of your People meant to be killed without mercy. You will show them none. The ground is hot beneath your feet, metal finally beginning to burn after another fire burst to life. It’s startled the last threads of the human plague and you’ll use their fear against them. 

The clouds of smoke and dimmed light hides you in plain sight. A spine is separated, ribs shattered, as your spear cleaves through the back of an uniltìrantokx. They shout, spewing out blood. It splatters across your face like warm rain as you heave the spear over your head, tossing their body off of your blade. The rest of the bugs are scattering under the light of the flaming rain. Another bursts open as you leap from the darkness. One end of the spear kills one and with a twirl the other end tears through another. The little ones are easier to kill even as they point their guns at you. You swing up and open one of them from groin to face, shattering their mask before pushing them aside to find something else to kill. A shadow moves behind you but they don’t feel faceless. You know their presence. Another hail of gunfire illuminates the silhouette in bursts of reddish light. He only glances at you for a second before throwing a spear of his own at you. You duck with a hiss as it flies past you, landing with a wet thud as it finds the stomach of another uniltìrantokx just behind you. His hands close around the shaft, fingers knotted tight as he tries to pull it out before going limp. When you turn, whoever threw the spear is already gone. Something tugs at your heart and the haze settled over your mind shifts for only a moment before snapping back into place as guns fire forehead. 

Arrows would be better. Would keep you further from the touch of these demons, but the spear is all you have. You swing with vengeful shouts that grate in your throat, burning as smoke fills your lungs. Three more. They turn to the sound of your landing. Tiny things. Easily killed. One. Two. Three. The third gets stuck on your spear, his hands blood-slicked hands clawing at the wood as your foot presses into his stomach. He won’t be moved. Your knife finds his throat to silence his screams. A mercy he shouldn’t be afforded. One moves behind you, crawling as he clutches the wound you’ve cleaved through his side. It’s leaking rivers of blood so thick that survival will be impossible and yet you can’t stop yourself from leaping onto his back. His frail body gives way under your weight and you finish him with your blade in his back. Puncturing through his lungs as you would an animal. That is all these things are. Invasive animals. A scourge needing to be held at bay. 

A hand meets your shoulder and you hardly move as they try to pull you away from the body still trapped beneath you. When you turn the force of it throws them aside. Another tawtute. Another vrrtep. You hiss, or perhaps you scream. It may be both as your knife tears through their soft body. Once. Twice. Again and again until your hand is wet with their blood. Their eyes are empty of anything as you scream. How dare they touch you. Touch your son. Your planet. You shriek and it shatters through the air like a crash of thunder. Everything has gone still. The air crackles with the sound of fire, embers still falling through the darkness as the ship groans lowly. Metal. Dead earth. Everything around you is dead. And yet it is not enough. Your eyes drag through the darkness, looking for any sign of life. There’s no direction to your footsteps as you stagger through the water and blood splatters underfoot but you find your spear, still stuck in the collapsed human. You set your weight on his stomach and his blood rushes between your toes as you wrench the weapon from his prone body. It tears free with a crack, the blue crystal blade hanging loose and useless where the shaft has snapped in the middle. It hits the ground with a dull ring as you let it slip from your fingers. Knife still in hand you stagger through the darkness in search of… something. Your mind has gone blank. As clouded as the smoke swirling around you. You follow the sound of voices. Eyes fixed ahead. Half of the ship has been lost to the water and it feels like the gentlest kiss as you wade towards the figures still wavering in your eyes. Your mind begins to steady as your senses return. 

You can smell blood and the ocean. Feel the waves against your skin. Hear the words being spoken. 

“–don’t hurt her!” Your eyes find the figure of a small human. Blue streaks across his pale skin, most of it exposed save for the tewng he is wearing. There are beads in his loc’d hair. A strange mix of human and Na’vi as the pack on his back hisses minutely as he speaks. The beads of his armband shift as you grab him with enough force that he spins to face you. 

“Vrrteptsyìp!” You snarl at him. His brown eyes widen as he stares up at you. Your fingers tighten around your knife as you raise it to strike only to stop as he keeps his eyes on you. Fear. It’s as clear as Naranawm shining overhead. He’s afraid. And you can see it in his eyes. You can See it. 

“What trick is this?” You hiss, the point of your blade biting into his neck. A trail of blood blooms and falls, streaking through the blue stripes that mark his body like war paint. 

“Sa’nok, don’t kill him! Please, don’t kill him.” Kiri begs. The uniltìrantokx holding her beneath his knife says something. His eyes fixed on you. They’re empty. But his tone sounds shaken. As if he is forcing himself to stay calm and flippant as he has been. But his eyes don’t move from you or the tawtute still in your grasp. With a curious tilt of your head you drag your knife away from his neck, not lifting from his skin as you poise it at his chest. The uniltìrantokx shifts in a way he probably does recognize. This body is not his own. It was stolen. But you know. A tsakarem Sees all. His tail moves, curling nervously behind him as his jaw flickers. There’s a threat in his bared teeth. And it’s one you recognize. Because it’s mirrored in your own face as you watch his knife draw blood from your daughter’s skin. Whoever this little human is, he’s important to the uniltìrantokx. You hiss again and feel the breathing system on the boy’s back stutter as he heaves an uneven breath. Your blade slashes across his chest with the gentlest pressure, just enough to break his skin. 

“I cut.” You string together those two words in accented English. Kiri has asked you not to kill him, and you won’t. He is probably the Spider she’s spoken so fondly of. For your daughter, his life will not end by your hand. But this demon doesn’t know that. You raise your knife over your head with a shriek, staring into the child’s terrified gaze as you wonder how a piece of Pandora has found its way inside a human. The threat is enough and the uniltìrantokx drops his blade, tossing Kiri towards Jake. You’re gentler with the human as you release your bruising grip. Kiri stumbles to her feet as Jake leads her and Kiri towards where you stand. You’re still a bit hazy, still unsteady as grief floods your chest, and your feet don’t move even in the face of victory. The uniltìrantokx says something that you don’t understand but the word “death” is met with a snarl as you bare your fangs at him. 

A hand finds your arm. Small and gentle as they pull you towards the water. 

“Sa’nu, come on. Please. Sa’nu!” Tuk says quietly, clinging to your side.

“Sa’nok!” Kiri pleads as you finally realize the battle is over. Your children are free. The humans are dead. You can leave this place. Jake says your name evenly, still crouched in front of you. He hasn’t accepted this victory either. 

“Get them out of here.” It’s an order. Spoken with the voice of a legendary warrior. Your feet begin to move. The water sings to life with pale blue syuratan as you all slip off the sunken edge of the demon ship. The last demon is still talking, knife poised for a fight. And Jake hasn’t moved. Kiri warily calls for him, but her words go unheeded as Jake lunges at the uniltìrantokx.

“Jake!” You cry out for your mate but your attention is called away by the sound of something bursting. Fire fills the water, arcing towards the ship in lashing tongues of orange light. 

“Get back to the ship. Swim. Now.” The ship is finally succumbing to the ocean, spewing out dark liquid as the fires aboard eat through the last of its integrity. Water rushes up with you as you and the children clamber back onto the ship. Tuk clings to your hand as her small legs buckle in the push of the waves. She screams as she loses her footing and falls deeper into the ship as a waterfall forms at the edge of an opening. There isn’t a thought in your mind as you dive in after her. No thoughts as you push her ahead of yourself. She shouts at you to open things, heavy swinging pieces of the wall that come open as you pull. Until they don’t. You tug at another place where a shape is cut into the wall, a handle jutting out for you to pull. But the ocean presses in as you pull out and the wall seals itself before you can push Tuk through the small opening. 

“There’s no way out!” She screams, round eyes searching frantically for any place to go, but the light is beginning to wane. Winking in and out until it begins to dim like a dying fire. 

“Sa’nu, I’m scared.” She whimpers. 

“It is alright. Stay close to me.” You pull her closer, fingers weaving through her braids as she buries her face in your neck. The water rises around you as the darkness closes in. You pray for the Great Mother’s mercy. To save you and your daughter. And then only your daughter. Just Tuk, you beg within your heart. Please, save ma Tuktirey. For a moment there is nothing. No shift within your heart as there usually is when the Great Mother breathes her will into you. There’s nothing but darkness until a dot of yellow light appears. And then another and another, like stars as seeds of the Ranteng Utralti fill the water with warm light. A dark figure swims among them, rising to meet you as you hold out your hand. 

“Kiri!” Tuk leans into her touch as her free hand finds her cheek. 

“Everything is going to be alright, tsmuke. Follow me.” The yellow light guides the way through the flooded ship as you follow behind your daughters. The open ocean is a blessed sight as you follow the starlight to the surface. It isn’t the longest breath you’ve taken but the anxiety twisting in your chest nearly punches the air from your lungs and you take in gasping breaths as you swim towards the shape of a tulkun floating nearby. Payakan. Jake and Lo’ak cling to one of his fins, beckoning the three of you closer. 

“Come. Come here.” Lo’ak pants, holding his hand out towards Kiri. Their five fingered hands intertwine as Kiri pulls Tuk closer to her. Lo’ak is alive. He is alive and safe and breathing. Tears burn anew in your eyes. Neteyam is dead. Your son is dead. It emptied your head of all other thoughts, empties your heart of all other feelings. You go still in the water, barely kicking your feet as the thought washes over you. Perhaps you begin to sink but Jake pulls you towards him before your head dips back into the water. His arm wraps tight around you until even the water can’t reach the space between you.

“Thank you, Great Mother.” You whisper it again and again until you aren’t sure if you’re saying it aloud or in your heart. Thank you. 

ɴᴀ’ᴠɪ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

Nawmtu – great person (honorific)

Spono alusìng – floating island (speculative)

Hì’ikran – dorado verde, small ikran (speculative)

Kawngtu – bad person, “bad guy”

Naranawm – Polyphemus, the planet Pandora orbits

Syuratan – bioluminescence

Taronway – hunt songs

Muntxatu – mate

Txopu rä'ä si, vrrteptsyìp. – don’t be afraid, little demon

Teylu – a grub, similar to a jumbo shrimp

Tswin – neural braid

Vrrtep – demon

Tewng – loincloth

Tawtute, Sawtute – sky person, sky people

Ranteng Utralti – Spirit Tree

“These things happen.” Neteyam stiffens under your hands at the reassuring words, muscles tensing before he slowly eases himself. He’s embarrassed if the purple tinge of his cheeks and low draw of his ears are anything to go by. He’d come trailing into the marui holding his bleeding arm and promising that it couldn’t be as bad as it seemed given the blood dripping through the seams of his fingers. He keeps his gazes pointedly out of sight, lashes lowered to hide what you might find there, but his tanhì still keeps a stuttering glow beneath your fingers as you smooth a soothing balm over the newly made stitches of his arm. The jagged welt is short but cut deep, the mark of an irritated tsurak. These wounds are common in the clan, nearly everyone receives one during their training. It will heal and fade with time but perhaps quicker than Neteyam’s pride. 

“Skimwings are not easily mastered. It will take time before your chosen mount fully accepts you as its rider. These bonds aren’t as easily made as those with ikran and ilu. Ilu are docile and easily soothed. Tsurak are fierce creatures meant for hunting in open water, and they do not choose their riders as ikran do. It is good that they are vicious. With time their attitude will soften towards you. Until then, you must take care to stay away from their sharp bits.” It’s meant to be teasing but Neteyam shrugs from under your hands. You sigh. 

“Neteyam.” His head turns towards your voice but his eyes don’t rise to meet yours until you say his name again. He is embarrassed and disappointed. It is expected to fail before you succeed but it doesn’t seem like your son will allow himself such grace. As with everything else, he must uphold the highest standards lest it reflect badly on his family. So much of his life has been molded by the expectations of others. As the eldest son of Toruk Makto, and the older brother to a spitfire like Lo’ak who is so prone to making mistakes. It was clear from your first meeting that Neteyam tries his hardest to be like his father, and to make up for what others might say about his brother. But he is still young, still learning. 

“It’s alright. No one is expecting you to ride a tsurak with the ease of a hunter on your first attempt.”

“Sempul did.” You tuck a stray braid behind his drooping ear, stifling a laugh. 

“Your sempul has ridden greater things than a skimwing and even he took a few attempts before he could mount properly. I watched him. Even when I was training, I got scars of my own. It is the way of things. Mistakes mean you are learning.” 

“But I shouldn’t make mistakes.” He grumbles. “I should be better.”

“And you will be, ma’itan, with time. Now go. You’ll miss the rest of your lessons and be more upset with yourself come eclipse.” He still hasn’t fully shaken the weight of disappointment from his shoulders but Neteyam stands with a dull nod. His whole body sags beneath the weight of this failure to meet his own expectations. His tail is limp between his legs as he trails out of the marui. You’re only alone for a moment. Just long enough to turn the fish over the fire before Jake comes ducking in. 

“Neteyam was hurt?” He asks. 

“He is your son.” You sigh, setting aside the fish you’ve already wrapped in leaves. “He has learned to ride an ilu and now he is learning to mount a skimwing. He learns as quickly as the wind, but a storm can’t blow on forever.” 

“Did you talk to him?” He asks, finding his place beside you. You feel his hand find its way into your hair, twisting the dark waves over his fingers as he watches you cook. Neteyam isn’t usually so stubborn but he takes his responsibilities as the eldest son of a legendary warrior all too seriously. Never mind that Toruk Makto has only emerged five times since the times of the First Songs with Jake being the sixth. He needn’t be so insistent on being the strongest, the fastest, the absolute best. It is like the newly made warriors of the clan boasting their strength as if to prove their place among the People. Learning with a swiftness isn’t necessary especially when he is still adapting to life in a new place. 

“I told him these things take time, but he won’t hear my words. A tree does not grow overnight, but he seems to think he must make miracles happen to live up to you.” Jake’s ears fall back against his head, brows frowned as he mulls over your words. It is the truth. 

Jake is a miracle walking among the Na’vi. An uniltìrantokx that became one of the People. He came from a star. Lo’ak had shown it to you once. Pointing at a distant dot of light in the deep blue sky like a pearl at the bottom of the ocean. It seems so impossible to travel through the skies as if it were the ocean but you’ve seen what the sawtute can do. Their metal, their light. It is all so strange. Frightening. They take and take. More than what is needed. From the ground beneath their feet, they twist and distort until it is something unrecognizable as earth; as their home. There’s a sharp pang in your chest as you remember the feeling of Eywa crying out as Kelutral fell to the humans’ greedy hands. Jake said that their mother was dead, that the Earth had nothing more to give, but they wanted more. They wanted to do that here. Perhaps Neteyam is right to want to be like his father. This war isn’t over. The attacks on neighboring islands have proven that. 

Another sigh leaves him and you can’t help but count the seconds it takes for the heaving breath to pass. 

“I wish he could’ve seen what I was like before. They wouldn’t believe the mistakes I made to become what I am today.” 

“I would.” You tease, letting the moment of tension pass. “I’d believe you fell out of every tree you tried to climb and missed every mark you tried to shoot. Like a baby.” 

“Kawngtu,” he says, mirthfully bearing his teeth, “I should show you all I have learned. You should know I am not a child.” Your ears grow hot at his words, cheeks warming as your freckles flicker to life as bumps like plucked flesh prickles down your arms. His tone is unmistakable. Low and warm with a teasing drawl but you won’t entertain his obvious advances. Even as his tail traces over the exposed skin of your back, drawing around your waist in a flirtatious display of affection, you ignore him in favor of continuing your cooking. Night is slowly approaching and the children will be hungry after their lessons and chores. Still acting childishly as always, Jake continues to pluck at your nerves like the string of a musical bow. You swipe at him when he gets in your way, whipping him with your tail when he won’t be moved quickly enough for your liking. His current disposition is favorable compared to how somber he’s been as of late. 

It’s regrettable that the two of you weren’t able to bask in the sweetness of a newly made bond. It is expected that the days following the first tsaheylu between mates is filled with only happiness. A break from responsibilities as a new spiritual thread is woven between two souls. But the Great Mother did not seem to think your bond needed moments of leisure to be made strong. Instead there have only been these few gentle moments stolen between the growing worries that seem to draw nearer with each passing day. Even this small moment is broken as a shadow passes through the soft light of the disappearing sun, tall and commanding as Tonowari arrives with a heavy look of resentment rising like a wave in his blue eyes. It’s a look you’ve come to recognize well in the weeks since the first sawtute found their way to Awa’atlu’s distant atolls. So far from the lush green corner of the Pandoran jungle where the humans first set their covetous sights, yet not free from their treacherous hands. 

“Tskano’a.” He says. Another village just like yours touched by those hands of destruction. “No one died. They were expecting an attack. Most of the marui survived their burning. But they are drawing nearer, Jakesully. I give you my word that no one will tell them where you are, but this is all I can do.” 

It’s what he always says. Tonowari is patient and kind. A worthy olo’eyktan. The protector of peace above all else. The safety of the clan means more to him than the destruction of these demons. To attack would mean to wage war and war would mean shattering the peaceful life he has built for his people. Yet it doesn’t seem as though the sawtute want to give him a choice. 

“The boy is still with them.” Are his parting words before he leaves the two of you to mull over his words. The human boy. Spider. That is what Jake called him. A friend of the children since childhood. He was brought up in the ways of the Omatikaya as close as the clan would allow and now he has betrayed his people by serving the sawtute. His life matters to your children and so you are glad to know he lives, but he is still human. A plague upon Pandora. 

“They’ll be here soon.” It is the truth you feel inside you, sounding as clear as your heartbeat as the Great Mother breathes the words into your spirit. Always listening. It is a tsahìk’s purpose. And these words you’ve heard countless times. Softly, like the whispers of the wind. But now they rush like blood in your ears.

It is the undeniable truth as plain as Naranawm’s blue eye in the sky. The humans are coming and they’ll be here soon. Even if they have to burn every village to the ground. The men look at you with fire in their eyes. A passion burns within them both; a need to protect. Now more than ever. Tonowari only nods at your grave words before departing. Jake ducks back inside but you remain just outside, feeling the warmth disappear from the air as the burning orange of the sun fades to the bluish darkness of night. The children will be returning soon but you can’t shake the cold hands of fear from your body. They linger over your heart and tie knots in your stomach, staving off any thoughts of joining your family for dinner. This family that you’ve only just become a part of. 

“We need to do something.” Jake ignores your words, crouching down to continue cutting fruit as you’d been before Tonowari’s visit. There’s an irritated strength in each slice of the knife, scoring the slab of wood as he goes. “Jake, they are looking for you. We need to trap them. Kill them. Before these demons destroy anything else.” The knife is set down with a troubled growl.