#firstbornsully

12 months after the battle of Ayrum Alusing, a small little girl was born. That night, the forest glowed, and atokorina filled the kelku of Jake Sully and his mate Neytiri. 

Mo’at passed the little one to Neytiri, who looked down at her with such admiration, until she saw her hands, and her eyes paused, only a fraction. The pause was gone as quickly as it came as Neytiri held her daughter's hand to her cheek. Jake, however, was standing perfectly still, as though paralyzed again. He had a beautiful baby girl. Her eyes closed, wailing, curling into her mother. Neytiri pulled her closer, looking down at the beautiful life in her arms. 

Neytiri then glanced up at Jake, who was standing completely still. “Ma’Jake,” Neytiri huffed, exhaustion filling her slowly. Jake suddenly snapped out of it, slowly making his way to his mate and newborn child. Jake crouched, looking at his daughter, and then his mate. “You do so well ma’yawne,” he said, his hand caressing Neytiri’s cheek. Neytiri leaned into it, exhaling softly. “Here,” Neytiri spoke softly, holding out the little baby in her arms, and Neytiri saw him look the most scared he’d ever been. He didn’t even look this afraid when he was on his knees, praying to the Great Mother for aid in battle. 

“She will not break, ma’Jake,” she spoke softly, and he swallowed, but held his hands out anyway. Neytiri softly coached him on how to hold her head, and how to support her. Soon, the baby was nestled in his arms, and he was tense, as if facing off against a palulukan. “Ka’tunari,” he whispered, and Neytiri smiled brightly. Jake was freaking out internally. Should he really be holding her? He looked at the innocent face of his baby girl, looked at her five fingers, and his heart ached painfully. He could see the hardships she’d face. Knew what the clan would call her, and how difficult her life would be. 

For a brief, terrifying moment, Jake regretted bringing her into the world, bringing her immediately into a life that would cause her to suffer. Neytiri saw it, she always did. They were too observant when they came to the people they loved. “What is it, Ma’Jake?” Neytiri asked, taking the bowl of tea her mother handed her. “Was this a mistake?” he whispered, rubbing his fingers against the velvety soft skin of his newborn, still wet and bloody. Neytiri and Mo’at froze. “The pain and suffering she must go through,” he breathed, tears filling his eyes as the thought of the loneliness and isolation his daughter would face – the thought of persecution. She’d be an outcast, a social pariah. 

“Simply because we decided we wanted children. Simply because she decided to breathe,” he spoke, holding his daughter tighter as the two women stared at him. They were not oblivious. Neytiri had even paused and flinched internally at the small amount of hatred that sparked upon seeing her own daughter's five fingers – at what they represented. She loved her daughter, and she always would. This was simply something she needed to work on, something that needed healing only time could offer. Mo’at stood as Neytiri hesitated, both parents' ears flat against their heads, frozen in a future that had yet to come. Mo’at stepped toward Jake and extended her arms for her granddaughter. “Do you want to know what I see when I look at her?” Mo’at asked, accepting her granddaughter into her arms, walking towards one of the open sides of the kelku. 

Jake and Neytiri looked at the other. Neytiri reached out a hand to Jake, the other wiping at the tears on her cheeks. “I see resilience, and a fierceness similar to what you see when you look into the eyes of a palulukan,” she said, cradling her granddaughter and looking out into the forest. “You see her surface. You see what they will call her, and what they will try to make her – instead of what she already is,” Mo’at said, and Jake bowed his head in shame. Neytiri sobbed. 

“I understand your fear. But if you allow that fear to control you, it will control who she becomes,” she said to them, running her finger down the bridge of little Ka’tunari’s nose. “If you chose already that she will have a hard life, that is what she will have. Choose instead to teach her resilience, strength, and honor. Teach her to be kind even though the world may not be. Teach her the forest. Teach her of the balance, of the give and the take – of the borrowing of energy. You ask if this is a mistake,” Mo’at said, turning to them now. 

The two parents looked up to her now, tears shining, but behind that was determination. “You ask if she is a mistake,” she says, and turns her eyes to her granddaughter. “Instead, look at her as a miracle. As a blessing from Eywa herself. She is the firstborn after the war. She is a sign of peace. She tells us the stars still shine, that Eywa still blesses us,” Mo’at spoke reverently. She spoke not to blame, but to teach, to explain and help understand. As Mo’at was standing there in the open way of the kelku, a growl ripped through the air from below. Jake popped up, knowing a palulukan growl when he heard it. He knew the creature had no way up, but it still stiffened Jake nonetheless.

Mo’at stood and glanced over the edge, and below were two paulukan, glaring up. Then, atokorina floated into the kelku, filling the space and floating above the palulukan. Mo’at stared at the child in her arms as atokorina landed upon her, tickling her softly. A sigh escaped the little one, and Mo’at turned just slightly to look at the stunned faces of Jake and Neytiri. “Your daughter is blessed by Eywa. Eywa has blessed this day, the day of her birth,” Mo’at said, her eyes slightly widened. In all of her years in this forest and as Tsahìk, this was the first time she’d ever seen anything like this. 

Suddenly, little Ka’tunari sneezed, and all of the atokorina dispersed, slowly filtering out of the kelku. When the last one was gone, Mo’at looked down and saw the palulukan slinking off. Mo’at walked and placed the little one into the arms of a stunned Neytiri. Jake crouched down, his hand on the back of Neytiri's neck as he cradled Neytiri’s elbow that held the head of their firstborn. Ka’tunari opened her eyes just a bit, and her eyes practically glowed. Neytiri looked at Jake, and when his eyes met hers, all of the previous fear, agitation, and guilt was gone. Replaced by utter awe, mirroring Neytiri’s own expression. Yes, their daughter would be just fine.