#courtship

The wind shifted first — sharp and hot as it rolled off your ikran’s wings. Her shriek rang out through the mountains, wild and proud, like thunder tearing across the air. The trees below trembled with the beat of her descent. Tskärel.

She was enormous for a female — even larger than many of the males. Her wingspan stretched farther than any in the Omatikaya rookery, (besides toruk makto’s) — she was all lean muscle, raw power, and deadly grace. Her coloring was fierce: the same deep jungle blue as you, but with a crown of glowing orange across her head and down the back of her neck, marked by streaks of blood-red pigment that flared like war paint in motion.

It was no wonder you matched her so perfectly.

The beads in your braid shimmered orange and crimson, woven with thin black thread — exact replicas of Tskärel’s patterning. Even your chest wrap and hip adornments were dyed in the same hues, and feathered accents swung from your belt and armbands. You had chosen them with purpose. Not just to honor your bond — but to make it clear that you were her, and she you. There was no separation between you and your mount. You were a pair unlike any the clan had seen.

so much so that even the way you landed mirrored your ikran.

Tskärel flared her wings and dropped sharply onto the stone ledge, claws scraping briefly before digging in. You dismounted in one fluid motion — not a pause between her landing and your feet hitting the ground. You moved like water over stone — quickly and quietly. Beads clicked in your hair, muscles pulled beneath painted skin, and your tail moved in time with the sway of your hips. Tsu’tey watched with a stare he didn’t bother hiding. It wasn’t just admiration. It was memory.

He remembered the day youd chosen each other. You were younger then, still feeling unproven, smaller than most of the other candidates — and yet you had walked onto the rookery platform with no hesitation. Your eyes scanned the beasts like you were choosing a weapon, and when Tskärel emerged from the shadows — all size and flame-colored fury — the other warriors took a step back.

He had been standing above, arms folded, watching from a ledge higher on the cliff. “Way too big,” he’d thought immediately. “Nga ke tsun ftxey — you cannot handle that one.” The beast had shrieked, wings snapping outward, eyes glowing gold as she lunged. You did not flinch.

He remembered the sound of your battle cries, your sharp commands, your breath hitching as she knocked you flat and raked claws near your head. But you kept coming. You leapt, hands out, and somehow — you made the bond. The whoops and cheers of your teachers and peers filled the sky. Tsu’tey hadn’t spoken a word that day. But he’d watched. And something in him had shifted — a crack in the stone.

Now, years later, you walked toward him like a living echo of that moment. You stopped a few steps away, lifting your fingers to your brow and then extending your arm forward. “Oel ngati kameie, Olo’eyktan,” you said, voice smooth as river clay. I see you, leader. He nodded, returning the gesture. “Oel ngati kameie.”

“I have come to report,” you continued, slipping easily into duty. “The hunt was a success. Between my party and the southeastern flank, we brought in enough game to feed the clan through the coming rains. There were no signs of activity from the southern perimeter.” You stood tall, proud, eyes bright with the thrill of a job well done. Your tail flicked once in satisfaction. He nodded. “Strong work.” That was all. Your smile faltered, just slightly. You tilted your head.

“…That’s it?” you asked, crossing your arms loosely. “No list of praise this time? No ‘nga lu txantslusam — your formation was tighter, your arrows truer, your traps better placed’?” Tsu’tey turned away without answering, walking toward a flat stone near the firepit behind him. You frowned, your ears twitching. Before you could speak again, he turned back around — something small in his hand.

A woven neckpiece. It was bright — orange and red with black accents, made from softened root fiber and finely cut beads, clearly chosen with care. It mirrored your colors exactly. The colors of your bond.

You blinked, stunned. “…What is that?” He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of his voice. “It is for you.” You stepped forward slowly. “You… made this?”

“Yes.” He sounded irritated to admit it, as if the fact was somehow beneath him. “It is not much. But I have seen how you wear your colors. You wear them like your skin. Everyone sees how you and Tskärel are joined. They know of your bond.” You smiled softly.“I wished…” he stopped, jaw tightening. “I wished to give you something that would match. With me..and her” Your breath caught.

“I want the People to see it. Not just that you ride well. Or that you lead. But that we are—” he broke off again, ears folding back slightly. “That there is… intention. Between us.” You stared at him, blinking once, then twice. Your heart beat like a war drum in your chest. “And here I thought you were ignoring me,” you murmured. He snorted softly, looking away.

You reached for the necklace gently, brushing your fingers over the beads. “This is… beautiful. I never thought I’d see the day our Olo’eyktan sat still long enough to make something like this.” “I had help,” he admitted begrudgingly. “Only a little.” You laughed quietly, and without warning, you stepped close and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He let out a small grunt — stiff, caught off guard — but his hands came to your waist, anchoring you there with steady strength. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Oeru txoa livu…*” you murmured, grinning. Forgive me…

“…But I will wear this with such pride. Nga yawne lu oer.” You are beloved to me. His expression shifted just slightly — another crack in the stone. A breath let out through his nose. Relief, maybe. Or something close.

“More than your ikran?” he asked, his voice just shy of teasing. You gave him a look — sharp, amused before lightly slapping his chest “Kehe. Tskärel lu nga’it. She is my soul.”

He nodded solemnly. “But you,” you added, voice softer now, “are something she cannot be.” He did not reply. Just held you, gaze steady and searching, as if trying to see what you truly meant.

That night, beneath the canopy built into the floating mountain, the fire glowed brighter than usual. You and Tsu’tey sat near the center — side by side, quiet, steady. Matching.

The necklace glimmered at your throat. Its colors burned in the firelight. And though no announcement was made, no formal rite performed, the message was clear to all who had eyes: Two warriors. Two leaders. A bond forming, not made of public displays or a grand ceremony — but something quieter. Something earned. Neytiri nudged Jake with her elbow as she caught sight of the pair.

“Po tsun tìkangkem,” she whispered, smiling. He has begun. Jake followed her gaze and nodded. “Took him long enough.” “Sìlronsem,” she murmured. Stubborn man.