soft

That was easier than this, paper and pens that meant nothing. This means much more. This is the first bead on your songcord, Awakening. Gifted to you by So’lek who insisted that it was important you thread it on yourself.

A small yellow bead between your fingers. Cold and smooth, heavier than you had expected. The weight of Eywa’s blessing. The weight of the Sarentu name.

Your lip is tight between your teeth, gnawing at the flesh as you flip the stone in your hand. You’re certain you draw blood from frustration when you attempt to thread it over and over again.

Ri’nela had finished hers long ago, dismissed as soon as she did. You had watched it dangle from her wrist, giving her a soft smile as she ran out excitedly to show off her work.

The taste in your mouth grew bitter, envy thickening in your chest. It made you feel even worse, such a nasty emotion caused by your clan sister’s success.

You’re sure So’lek can sense the frustration radiating off of you. It’s ironic. The bead symbolizing your return to Pandora, your return to the Na’vi way, and you can’t even thread it.

It stings just that much more, how little you know. Maybe Ri’nela is a better Sarentu than you. Maybe Mercer was right.

“Patience, Sarentu.”

So’lek’s voice breaks through your thoughts when your vision starts to get blurry, placing his hands atop yours, gentle, but reassuring.

You look up at him, exasperated. “So’lek I do not—I can not ruin my songcord.”

The corner of his lip raises, subtle enough you wouldn’t be able to tell if you weren’t so close to him.

“You will not ruin it. I will not let you.”

He guides your fingers through it, nodding in encouragement when he lets go.

You’ve been at it for hours.

Fingers raw from your bow string snapping against the smooth pads. You’ll have to put salve on them later, wrap them in healing leaves overnight to subdue the pain for the inevitable strain the next day. Just another reminder of the hard work you haven’t put in.

Your arrow lands almost aimlessly, sending a cascade of ripples through the water, no fish caught between the edges of the sharpen rock.

So’lek’s voice is firm and steady when he speaks like he knew you were about to protest.

“Patience, Sarentu.”

You squint at him across the stream, frustration tight between your brows. There’s a quirk to the corner of his lips, teasing, despite the mentor he’s supposed to be.

“So’lek,” You sigh, closing your eyes to calm yourself, “Can we take a break?”

You meet his gaze when there’s no response, watching as he stands from his spot, plucking your bare arrow from the stream. The water barely reaches his thighs as he wades through it, edges of his loincloth flowing with the current. He stops when he stands before you, handing the wooden arrow that should’ve snapped shots ago back to you.

Your voice is quieter this time, ashamed. “I can not do this. I am not like other na’vi.”

He shakes his head. “You do not know the way. That is what I am here for.”

You inhale deep when he presses to your back, warm skin against yours, chest nudging your back with each breath. His voice is close to your ear, cadence rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your skin.

“Aim.” Goosebumps bloom.

You do.

His right hand guides your fallen bow back into place, left hand wrapped around yours, pulling the string of your bow far. Time feels heavy as the two of you wait for a fish to swim by, dragging on with each breath as a reminder of his firm body against yours.

He steadies your arms, evening your shot out.

“You see it?”

You nod.

“Shoot.”

You do.