#ikran

You sighed softly, lifting your eyes toward the towering canopy. “If you think I didn’t hear you arriving, you’re wrong.”

Behind you, silence… then a quiet laugh.

When you turned around, Neteyam was already stepping out from behind a massive trunk, arms crossed, a relaxed smile on his face. “I thought I was being discreet,” he said, clearly amused.

“You’re late.”

“By a few minutes.” he grins as he reaches me.

“Ten.” you said a bit annoyed.

He shrugged like the detail meant nothing. “Details dear. No big deal”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile already betrayed your fake irritation. With him, it was always like this. You tried to stay serious and he always found a way to make things lighter. That's what you learned about Neteyam since all this time passed together in the forest doing trainings.

He walked closer and glanced at your bow with interest. “So? Today you will finally admit I’m better than you?”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “In your dreams skxawng.” (idiot)

He tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes shining with amusement. “You remember the last time you said that?”

You sighed already eyes widening. “Neteyam don't—”

“No, wait,” he interrupted dramatically, lifting a hand as a peace movement. But nothing is peaceful with him. “It is important to remember historical events.”

“Don’t start.” You sighs brushing my hand on my forehead knowing exactly what he's going to talk about. But it was obviously too late. His grin widened. “We were near the river. You told me I wasn’t capable of hitting a moving target.”

“And you missed,” you immediately started frowning annoyed.

“The first time,” he corrected.

You crossed your arms. “And the second.”

“The wind changed.”

“And the third…” You stopped, already knowing where this was going.

He leaned slightly toward you like he was sharing a secret. “You fell into the water.” he smirks like it was the proof of him being stronger than you.

You closed your eyes briefly. "Eywa… this is so embarrassing. You really are a pain in the ass Neteyam"

Neteyam burst out laughing. “You tried to grab a branch,” he continued.

“It broke.” You respond giggling quickly, ashamed.

“Yes.” he grins.

He gestured with his hand to mimic your fall. “And you disappeared into the river with your bow calling NETEYAM COME SAVE ME.”

You punched his arm hardly. "It wasn’t funny I never fallen like this before"

“It was very funny.” He's laughing as he'll.

“You laughed for ten minutes.” You admit ashamed.

“Fifteen.” He corrects taking his breath.

You glared at him, but your smile was already returning. “And then,” he continued more softly, “you tried to climb out of the water alone…”

“Don’t say it.”

“And you slipped again.”

This time you burst out laughing too. “Fine… maybe it was a little funny.”

“Only a little?”

“Just a little.”

Silence followed, comfortable and warm. The sounds of the forest returned around you: insects humming, leaves shifting in the wind, a distant cry echoing through the sky where an ikran flew somewhere above the canopy.

Neteyam was still looking at you, but something in his expression had changed. The amusement had softened into something quieter. Something more attentive.

You noticed his stare and frowned slightly. “What?”

“Nothing.”

But he kept looking at you.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The one where you think too much.”

He smiled faintly. “Maybe I’m just looking at you.”

Your heart skipped. “Why?”

He stepped closer. Then another step.

Now he was close enough that you could feel the warmth of his skin despite the cool morning air.

“Because I like it,” he said simply.

Your gaze slipped without meaning to toward his shoulders… then his arms.

Before you even realized it, your hand had landed on his bicep.

Just for a second.

But Neteyam noticed immediately.

His eyes dropped to your hand, then slowly lifted back to your face. “Are you checking my strength?” he asked softly.

You pulled your hand away too quickly. “No.”

“Too bad.”

Before you could step back, he gently caught your wrist.

The contact sent a small shiver up your arm.

“Neteyam…”

His voice was lower now. “You know you do that often.”

“Do what?”

“Touch me… and pretend it means nothing.”

Your heart was beating far too fast. “Because it doesn’t.”

He raised an eyebrow slightly. “Really?”

He leaned closer.

His eyes flickered briefly toward your lips before returning to your gaze.

There was almost no distance left between you.

“Then why is your heart beating like that?” he murmured.

You held your breath. “You imagine things.”

“Maybe.”

His hand slowly moved from your wrist to your arm, resting there as if giving you the chance to move away.

But you didn’t.

A small smile appeared on his lips. “I think you’re lying a little,” he whispered.

“I think you talk too much,” you replied.

He let out a quiet laugh… then leaned in.

The first kiss was brief. Soft. Almost hesitant.

When he pulled back, your foreheads stayed close together.

“You see,” he whispered gently, “that wasn’t so terrible.”

You grabbed the cord of the necklace around his neck and tugged him slightly closer.

“You talk way too much.”

This time the kiss lasted longer.

When you finally separated, Neteyam was still smiling.

“We were supposed to train,” he said.

You shrugged lightly. “We can train later skxawng” (idiot)

He looked at you for a few seconds as if seriously considering it… then nodded.

“Yes. Later.”

His thumb brushed softly against your cheek while the forest of Pandora whispered around you.

And for once, neither of you seemed in any hurry to start training again.

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.