#ronal

He became shy, reserved. His thoughts held back from everyone.

Everyone except you.

You had become friends when you were barely teens, too young and happy to know about responsibilities or hardships. The relationship had grown from there into something pure and reliable. Tonowari was always there for you, even when the Olo’eyktan died and he was required to step forward as the new Chief.

Tonight, the period of mourning would officially end for the old Olo’eyktan and celebrations for Tonowari would begin. There would be festivals, dances, feasts, and challenging events that would last for a week. He would be showered in pomp and attention, two things he begrudgingly tolerated.

You could already see the painfilled and uncomfortable expression he wore whenever someone did something for him or treated him with more respect than he felt he earned. His lips would twist up in distaste, even as he felt grateful. He was so eager to prove himself as worthy that he did not feel that he had accomplished anything at all. You slowly smiled at the image of his face in your mind.

You sat in the sand, facing out to the ocean mentally organizing everything that still needed to be done. The wind pushed your hair into your eyes and sand crusted your lips, but you didn’t notice. You were too busy weaving a chest piece for Tonowari to commemorate his new title. You were currently finishing the designs on the front, thankful to be nearly done a few days early as the gifting would not take place until the last half of the festival.

You twisted fibers together, creating an intricate pattern to imitate the interlocking roots of the mangroves on the island. You had braided orange shells and carved bone into the back of the garment, but you were still attaching the last few adornments for the chest.

The creeping darkness of the eclipse settled over you, making you realize how fast the hours had gone. You groaned, realizing you needed to hurry if you were going to meet your mother as planned. You did not have time to worry about finishing your work now. You were late for prayer.

You packed away your supplies and stuffed the chest piece into your bag so no one would see it when you traveled back. It was going to be a surprise for Tonowari.

You hurried back to the village, bag stung over your shoulder, and you traveled over the walkways, steps bouncing across the elastic fibers. You didn't have time to stop by your marui to drop off the bag, you would have to take it with you. You broke into a run as you realized it had already started, the elders' voices rising above the distant waves.

You skidded into the village center and found your mother sitting near the middle, already her eyes were closed as she listened to the tsahìk. Cautiously, you side stepped tails and hands as you made your way to the front. Of course she had to sit in the least convenient part of the circle.

She sat with her legs crossed as did the other people in the space; dozens had attended today’s prayer meeting to Eywa. You sat in the spot saved just for you, blushing and averting your gaze when others stared, apparently annoyed at your tardiness. Ronal and her mother sat nearby and you caught the young woman rolling her eyes.

Shame curdled in your gut.

She was the perfect daughter, another Tsakarem of the tsahìk’s like you, but she was far more dutiful and studious than you had the capacity for. You would much rather go foraging for herbs than grind them into paste. The hours of monotonous droning from the current tsahìk made your skin crawl.

You were wilder than Ronal, a trait most of the matriarchs of the tribe tried their best to tamp out in you, but the effort was useless. Ronal would surely be picked to be the next tsahìk, a righteous mate for Tonowari.

The thought made your empty stomach churn at the thought of him belonging to someone else.

You glanced up from your hands to search for the man on your mind only to find him already looking at you from where he sat directly across the circle. His mother sat on his right and his aunties on his left. His father perched next to his mother, holding hands as they watched the tsahìk.

Many of the matriarchs sent you disapproving glares, but Tonowari’s gaze was full of mirth. His flashed you a grin, canines showing bright white as his chest shook. He was laughing at you.

You narrowed your eyes and pursed your lips to glare, but it only made him smile wider. His mother glanced over at her son, noticing his distraction and you quickly averted your gaze down, not wanting to be caught and blamed.

The tsahìk’s voice swelled as she lifted her arms and you realized they were starting to pray, voices merging to chant together. You slammed your eyes shut and joined in. You were a Tsakarem after all.

-

“You are dismissed,” the tsahìk said mellowly, lowering her hands to her sides as the nearly hour long prayer ended and the people started to disperse.

You winced as if you now had to face your mother. She was a spitfire of a woman, known to be abrasive and speak what was on her mind. “You were late,” your mother started, turning to you at the first chance she got.

“I know, Sa’nu, accept my apologies,” you begged earnestly.

“I expect you have a good reason for this? The tsahìk is your teacher, her student cannot be late for prayer!” she chided you, shaking her head in disappointment.

You froze, stuttering a “I- um”. You had no excuse and she knew that by the way her face grew stony.

“I am afraid it is my fault, matron,” a masculine voice said as someone approached you from behind. Your eyes grew wide when you recognized the voice and your suspicions were confirmed as you turned to see Tonowari over your shoulder. He stopped next to you and respectfully faced her.

Your mother recoiled slightly, the new information cooling her down from the rampage she was surely about to begin on.

“I asked her to run an errand for me, to visit with old man Makula since it is known that he was sick. I was engaged in my duties here, so she was kind enough to ease my worries. I am sure he is well?” Tonowari asked, turning to you to ask after his grandfather, a stubborn man who lived outside of the village and hardly liked to associate with anyone.

You nodded, catching on to what he was doing. “Yes, Olo’eyktan. He is,” you rushed to say, watching as your mothers eyes softened and she relaxed.

“I see, I suppose helping the Olo’eyktan is a good excuse, Ma’ite.” She nodded and bowed her head in respect to the new leader.

“Thank you for your understanding, matron,” he said, lowering his head in response.

“I am needed at home,” your mother excused herself, sending you one last stern glance before she slipped past the groups of young people and found her sisters and friends in the back. More like she was needed to gossip.

“Thank you, Tonowari,” you sighed in relief, turning to him. You had to crane your neck to see his face, his height towered over many in the village.

“No reason to thank me, there have been many times when you have saved my tail,” he admitted.

You scoffed, “hardly,” you shook your head.

You could think of only one, when he had been a boy and enamoured entirely with the sea. He had been out past the reef for hours, losing track of time. When his parents started looking for him, you had told them he was crustacean hunting in the inland marshes and would be gone for half the day. They had believed you and when he arrived back home in a panic, you had handed him a net of small, armoured creatures and gave him instructions to stick to your story.

“Come, it is too loud here, so many eyes watching,” he observed. Before you could reply, he grabbed the strap of your bag, tugging it off of your shoulder and putting it on his. It had happened so fast and you were caught so off guard that you did not even get to protest before he placed a hand on your back to guide you away.

“I can hold it,” you tutted, going to grab for it, praying the opening did not gape so that he saw his coronation gift. He dodged away, not letting your hand get near your property. “Do not insult me,” he teased, gently pushing you forward with his hand still at your back.

He respectfully took his hand away from your skin when you had escaped the communal space, his warmth there already missed. He stepped in front of you, taking the lead and you were helpless but to follow.

Your view of his broad back and black swirling tattoos was appreciated. He was a big man, wide shoulders and an imposing height, but he was never intimidating, not to you. You wondered what would be chosen to be his new tattoo to commemorate the switching of the mantle.

As he walked between the marui’s, you realized he was taking you towards the cove you had liked to play in together as children. A spot just for you and friends. Although, as your friend group grew older, none really visited the secluded beach anymore. None except you and Tonowari.

You found him sitting out here sometimes, just watching the water, rough hands playing absentmindedly with the sand. You would join him and silently sit next to your friend as the world went on without you. It was peaceful, and you knew he enjoyed the rest. Not talking, not listening, just being.

He held back a branch that blocked the entrance to the beach and you passed him, your shoulder brushing his chest in the tight space.

“Thank you,” you muttered, skin burning like a brand where it had met his.

You shuffled across the beach, watching out of the corner of your eye as Tonowari placed your bag onto the sand. You found a good spot where you could sit with your toes just barely grazing the sea that nipped up in gentle waves.

“It is a peaceful day on the water,” you noted, watching a canoe row by far out in the distance but you still waved at the three figures fishing. He sat next to you, arms wrapping around his knees after he waved at the people as well.

“It is…” he said, and his response made you think today would not be one for talking.

But you were surprised as he turned to you with guarded eyes. “What is the real reason you were late?” he blurted.

You stared back for a second, “I- I was busy, I lost track of time!” you defended yourself, taken aback by the manner of his question.

“That does not tell me where you were, paysyul,” he pressed, calling you the nickname he had come up for you years ago.

If you did not give him an answer, then you would be suspicious, you had to come up with something. “I was making something for a friend,” you explained, giving a half truth was better than a full lie. Tonowari could smell dishonesty like an akula smells fresh blood.

“A friend…” he muttered, "Is that what was so heavy in your bag?” He put the pieces together and you sighed, he was too smart for his own good.

“Yes,” you admitted, disappointed that the surprise was out, he would figure it out quickly. The festival in his honor was the only event big enough in the coming weeks to warrant a significant gift.

“I see…” he murmured, brows heavy over his eyes and lips tightly pressed together.

Silence fell back over the two of you when you couldn't think of anything to say. Normally, the silence was comfortable with Tonowari, but today it felt bitter. Charged like a brewing storm was approaching but you did not know from which direction.

“Is it for Talo?” He asked, finally breaking the relative quiet.

Your head swung in his direction, “What?” you asked incredulously as he dragged his eyes up to meet yours.

“The chest piece, is it for him?” he repeated, face unreadable as you started to laugh.

“Who said it was a chest piece?” You asked, somewhat impressed that he had figured that much detail out.

“That is the only item that would be a similar size and weight. There are many young men who have recently passed their iknamaya’s. You friend Talo being one of them,” he explained his reasons.

“Skxawng,” you muttered, shaking your head and pushing off of the sand. “See you at dinner, Olo’eyktan,” you added, fingers brushing over his hair in a farewell, sand now dusted his scalp.

“So it is for him?” he called as you collected your bag and slugged across the sand.

“No! Jealousy does not suit you, Tonowari!” you called over your shoulder teasing him even if you knew he was not truly jealous. You glanced back to see his forehead wrinkle in confusion. Good, better than telling him who it was for. Let him puzzle it out himself.

-

That night you approached the festivities already in full swing, dancers moved across the sand, kuru’s swinging as they twisted and turned. The aroma of cooked meats and heavy spices drifted through the air mingling with the wood smoke. Musicians sang songs of victory and peace and played reed instruments for the dancing couples.

“Y/n!” Ronal called, waving you over. You spotted her near the elders and matriarchs speaking to your mother. You steeled yourself in preparation for whatever topic they possibly had in store for you.

As you picked your way across the crowd, she called to you as if you were old friends, “What’s this I hear about you and Tonowari?”

“Excuse me?” you asked as you stopped beside her and glanced at your mother hoping she could help you understand. She just looked smugly back and your heart sank to your toes. She was meddling, you could tell.

“That he is courting you?” Ronal clarified, looking carefully for any reaction from you.

“What?” you barked out a laugh at the thought and she relaxed. “We are friends. He has shown no interest in me, Ronal. Do not worry,” you gritted out the last part, knowing her interest in the Olo’eyktan.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed, “That is not what it looked lik-” but you cut her off, “Things are rarely what they look like, Sa’nok. You taught me this,” you said, pleading with your eyes that she let this go, at least in front of Ronal. She closed her mouth and nodded slightly, backing away begrudgingly.

Ronal waved your comment away, “I am not worried, Ma’eylan. I simply was wondering,” she insisted.

You nodded slowly, “I understand,” you affirmed, averting your eyes so she did not pick up the terror in them.

“Has he arrived?” your mother asked, standing on her tip toes to see as the crowd's murmurs picked up and Tonowari emerged from a marui. The people flocked to him as they admired his new tattoo.

From this distance you could barely make it out, only that his face was covered in swirls of black ink. The sight twisted your gut and took your breath away all at once.

“He looks very handsome,” your mother commented as Tonowari started to make the rounds. You looked to her to see her eyes already on you, giving you a knowing look as Ronal hummed in agreement.

“Excuse me, I see the tsahìk,” Ronal said breathlessly, edging around the crowd to find the weathered woman who was your mentor. Her timing was impeccable, for as soon as she had given her a proper greeting, Tonowari approached them both, falling into conversation as you looked on.

“She will steal him away from you if you do not act, Ma’ite,” your mother urged.

“I will not play her games. If she wants him, and he wants her, then I will not stand between two in love,” you resigned, watching as Ronal rested a hand on Tonowari’s forearm.

“He does not see her as he sees you,” she argued, but you shook it off. The way Tonowari was looking intently back at Ronal with pure dedication made it clear to you that he saw her just fine.

-

The night dragged on into dregs of the festivities it once was. The old and the young had gone to bed hours ago, but you did not want to try to sleep only to toss and turn for hours.

You wound up at your secret spot, the cove sheltering you from the rest of the village as your mind raced.

You stared up at the sky, stars winking down at you from beyond the planet, Polyphemus. The waves lapped lazily at the shore, creating a gentle hush of moving water.

A rustle of palms made your sensitive ears perk up and you glanced back to the treeline. Tonowari walked towards you through the sand, steps sure but slightly crooked.

“You are too beautiful to be isolated,” Tonowari’s voice broke the peace in the air as he sat in the sand next to you, “The people should look on at your glory.” His tone was louder than he normally talked, and he seemed to boast the words as if he wanted the world to hear them

You had put extra detail into your outfit for the festival, wearing a moonstone hair piece to pull back your hair and a beaded top your mother spent weeks crafting for your birthday. You were thankful he noticed, but also surprised.

You blushed, feeling his shoulder bump into yours, “What are you doing here?” you asked him.

“Looking for you, Paysyul,” he said, words slurring together. He was far more casual and relaxed than you were used to hearing him.

“You found me,” you muttered, not sure why he was being so bold tonight. Maybe it was the moonlight, or maybe he had gained confidence as Olo’eyktan, or more than likely it had been the cups of spirits you had seen friends slip to him throughout the night.

You took his chin in your hand, gently turning his face in each direction to better see it. In the light of Polyphemus, you could admire his new tattoos now that you were much closer to him.

Each half of his face was framed with black ink. His eyes were surrounded by lines and arches which made his features stand out more, making him more beautiful in your opinion. They covered his nose, making an arrow pointing down to his lips and making everything look symmetrical.

You let go of his chin and traced your fingers over the lines, pads grazing the thin skin under his eye and swooping to feel the still slightly raised and inflamed skin under the tattoos.

You noticed him going completely still, eyes watching each of your movements and making you hyperaware of the intimacy in the moment. You let go, retracting your hand and setting it in your lap instead.

“You look handsome, Tonowari,” you told him.

He visibly relaxed, shoulders melting as his lips curved up into a dopey smile.

“Good, I am glad you like them,” he said, placing a hand on your knee as it was closest to his reach.

“I love them,” you agreed. Fighting back the words that wanted to come out of you instead, I love you. His thumb dragged a pattern back and forth on your skin, muddling your mind.

He nodded, turning back to the water and watching the world pass by with you.

-

The next morning, you woke up to your mother and father talking in not so hushed whispers. A third voice joined in and made you fully retract from sleep.

The marui was covered in more shadows than you were used to seeing at this time, making you realize someone was darkening the doorstep. “What is it?” you groaned, half asleep still, groggily sitting up to find Tonowari blocking the exit.

Your mouth snapped shut and your eyes flared open as he looked calmly at you and then back to your parents. “I will come back later, it is a bad time,” he apologized.

“No!” your mother barked, grabbing his giant arm in her small hand and pulling him inside. “You honor us with your visit, Olo’eyktan. My daughter is awake,” she brushed off.

He nodded, eyes sliding back to you as you stood up awkwardly and smoothed down your hair, not sure in the slightest that it was not wild.

He looked good today, despite the fact that he should feel poorly from the drinks he had last night. His eyes were each rimmed with a thin line of red, but he was otherwise himself. His new Akula tooth mantle hung around his neck and his plain, woven chest piece sat across his front. You were surprised to see a brown braided cape around his shoulders, a ceremonial gift the elders had given him last night.

The mantle was worn at all times, but the cape’s purpose was for rituals, prayer and ceremonies. Him wearing it now was giving the impression that this was something important.

“Paysyul,” he stepped towards you, “I bring you a gift,” he stated stiffly. You could tell he was nervous, the twitching of his tail and the green hue to his cheeks told you as much. You had no idea why he thought giving his gift to you in front of your family was wise. This would only get your mother’s tongue wagging.

“You do not have to give me anything,” you insisted, eyes darting anxiously between the three other people in the room as your parents watched the exchange carefully.

“I want to, it already belongs to you,” he assured. Over his shoulder you could see your mother visibly melt at the words.

He unfolded his hands to reveal a woven headpiece, inlaid with blue stones, cream shells and a polished gray akula tooth in the middle. You took the gift into your hands and stared at it in awe.

You could feel that it was hollowed out for lightness, the back of the tooth carved to match the curve of a head and sit comfortably, brown grass fibers woven around it to hold it securely. A fine hand made the piece that you were sure of.

“It was a recent kill. I give you tribute with its sacrifice,” he said, eyes searching yours for any sort of reaction. He looked as if he was seeking a certain understanding in your face.

You glanced up at him, and your eyes were drawn to the jewelry you already knew from memory. His Olo’eyktan mantle matched the headdress. A coincidence surely.

You dragged your eyes away from it with effort. “Thank you Tonowari. I cannot begin to describe how beautiful it is,” you said breathlessly. He smiled, pleased with your response. Your mother looked on proudly, but your father looked confused. You felt the same.

Tonowari continued. “Will you wear it tonight? You would honor me with a dance,” he said, head leaning forward in anticipation for your answer.

Your breath hitched in your chest and his ears lowered at the sound. “Yes,” you muttered in a stupor. You were shocked he would ask you so formally.

When you were kids, you danced and ran around together at all of the festivals, never having to ask. He would simply take your hand in his and lead you laughing and twirling across the beach.

He blinked, and you rushed to continue, “Yes I will wear it… and yes, I will dance with you,” you agreed and his face relaxed, shoulders lowering and he leaned back, as if whatever bubble the two of you were in had popped.

“I am counting the minutes,” he smiled, teeth flashing behind his lips as he turned to your parents. “Sir,” he lowered his head to your father who responded with his own nod, your mother did not wait for her turn before she dipped into a respectful bow, “Matron,” Tonowari added, backing up a couple steps. He turned to you, giving you a smile before he turned and left the marui.

You blew out a breath, thankful that he was not around anymore to make you so aware of the unruly state of your hair.

“This is surely a sign of courting, Ma’ite!” your mother exclaimed, gripping her mate’s arm in excitement. Your father simply looked befuddled.

“I had some idea the Olo’eyktan was interested in you, daughter, but I would have thought he would have waited until his celebrations were over before he made such a strong declaration,” your father thought out loud and your mother rolled her eyes.

“He is in love with her, yawnetu! Why would he wait when he already knows?” she hissed.

Your face flushed dark green, “Mother, do not speak so! He is only a friend, Ronal is the wisest choice for him,” you claimed, not letting their words mess with your brain.

“Do not be stubborn!” your mother ordered, forehead increasing in wrinkles as she chewed you out. “We will hear of a proposal before the end of the week, I can promise that,” she said, tone lilting back to excitement at the prospect.

“Do not get your hopes up, mother,” you muttered, looking down at the gift. You knew you could not afford to get yours up. The fall would be too shattering.

-

The day passed by far too quickly.

Your time with the tsahìk had doubled this week as you helped her with many preparations for the celebration. Today she had you crushing herbs and organizing food and drink well into the afternoon. By the time you rushed home to finish Tonowari’s gift, you only had an hour to work on it. You tied the last stone on just as your mother rushed into the marui, arms full of various adornments and beaded items.

Your mother swept you up in hair and your outfit as soon as she passed the threshold. You were sitting down with your back facing the afternoon sun as she braided your hair in ways she would have made fun of if she saw other girls wearing them. She normally criticized anyone for thinking too highly of themselves, but today she pulled out every trick in the book.

“Sa’nu,” you sighed as she stuck pearls into your hair. “This is too much,” you worried.

“Nothing is too much if you are to become tsahìk, child,” she tutted.

Nothing would slow her down as she pressed fragrant oils into your skin and picked out a beautiful woven top that matched the blue in the gifted headdress.

When you made it to the beach, the sun was beginning to set, but people were already gathered. You stood awkwardly as your parents left you to greet their friends, abandoning you to socialize by yourself. You glanced around, seeing that many of your friends were yet to arrive, but there was one person you knew.

“Talo!” you greeted your old friend, walking up to him as he stood next to one of the fires. He looked up and a smile broke across his face when he recognized you.

“Hello friend, you look pretty tonight,” he noted, as you stopped beside him, staring into the flames as you felt his eyes on the side of your face.

“Thank you,” you grinned bashfully. “Congratulations on passing your Iknimaya, you are a true warrior now,” you said.

“Thank you, the Olo’eyktan has been putting me on many hunts recently, I did not know I would be away from home so much.” he laughed, but the comment made you suspicious. Your father was never away from the village for more than a few days each week on hunts. He should have plenty of time at home as well.

You opened your mouth to say precisely that but two words halted you.

“Ma’ paysyul,” Tonowari’s rich voice drew your attention away from your conversation as the Olo’eyktan stepped up to your empty side. “I have been looking for you,” he smiled, albeit a little forced as he glanced from you to Talo.

“Olo’eyktan,” Talo greeted, lowering his head in respect and making you realize you should be doing the same. The chief ignored the other man, eyes only on you.

“Tonowari,” you said, bowing with as much grace as you could muster.

Tonowari took your forearm gently in his hand, cupping the bottom of your elbow and guiding you up, “No need to bow to me, Yawne,” he said, the name slipping off of his tongue so casually that you almost did not catch it.

Yawne… Beloved. A name for a lover, a mate. Something you were not.

“You are wearing my gift,” he smiled genuinely as if he did not just tilt your world on its axis. His hands went to the headdress resting on your forehead, tracing the curve of the top as it sloped into your hair. You stood perfectly still as he inspected you, pupils dilating.

“I did not realize the Olo’eyktan was in a courtship,” Talo said from behind you, watching the interaction with an astounded gleam in his eye. You knew he wasn't a gossip, but even he might be inclined to tell a few friends of what he witnessed tonight. Tonowari was not one to be openly affectionate or speak words he did not mean.

“Yes,” Tonowari said firmly as you let another word tumble from your mouth. “No,” you said at the same time. Your face whipped to Tonowari and he stared wide eyed back at you.

He had said yes… he thought you were being courted by him. How had you missed this? His eyes flashed with hurt and confusion and you felt a pit in your stomach.

Tonowari gestured to Talo, “Go,” he ordered with barely a glance in the warrior’s direction, smouldering blue eyes boring into yours. Talo scrambled away, following the chief's orders without question.

You both sat in silence for several moments, both too afraid to speak first. “You do not accept my courtship?” he finally asked numbly as you gaped up at him.

“I did not know you were offering it,” you said softly, the drummers starting their beat as the singers joined in. Around you, dancers swayed and swirled in the dimming light but you barely noticed.

You could have never dared to believe that Tonowari would really set any intentions on courting you. He had always been kind to you, holding you in higher esteem than you deserved. You thought how he had been acting was merely an extension of his generosity, not a gesture of romance.

“I thought you were beginning to court Ronal,” you admitted.

Tonowari recoiled at the mention of the woman, “Ronal?” he cried, maybe more loudly than you would have wished.

“Yes! She is beautiful, a dutiful tsakarem, you look at her so fondly, how was I to assume anything different?” you asked, purely shocked.

“Because I am far too busy looking at you. You are the beautiful future tsahìk, not she,” he said gently, reaching forward to brush your hair off of your shoulder where it tickled your neck.

“But I am not very good at the practices of tsahìk,” you argued, shaking your head, eyes pleading for him to not be cruel.

He just shook his head back, “You follow your heart, that is all that is required, ma’ Paskalin,” he murmured, “and I must follow mine, it leads me here to you.”

You winced at the declaration. Not because it was not returned, but because you feared it was misplaced.

“That is lovely Tonowari, but I have to ask, what signs have you given me that you sought courtship?” you asked, your brain lagging trying to process all of this new information.

His head drew back in surprise. “We have spent many hours together every day for years, I call you my water lily! This very morning I brought you a gift befitting the role of tsahìk. It matches mine,” he pointed out, tapping the tooth on his mantle with one of his long fingers.

“I-” you stammered, “I did not know, you did not say!” You gnawed at your lip as he scoffed sardonically, not looking upset at you, but still upset.

“Last night, I told you you were beautiful. That gave you no idea of my intentions? Do those sound like the words of merely a friend?” he implored.

“You were drunk!” You cried, exasperated.

“I was barely affected, my lips were freed by it to tell you what I felt. I thought we had been courting for weeks,” he muttered, eyes looking beyond you as he tried to wrap your head around the miscommunication.

“Why did you not tell me in plain words?” you insisted.

“I thought my intentions were clear and reciprocated. I would have never dreamed that you did not see my love for you,” he said, sounding dejected. “If I had any idea that your feelings were not the same, I would have-”

“Woah!” you cut him off, flattening a hand to his chest. “I never said that,” you muttered, eyes avoiding him as you blushed. His scent filled your nose, salty sea spray, his favorite berries that grew on the inland, the leather from his Skimwing saddle, and the warm oils he put in his hair.

He stilled, glancing down at your hand touching his skin and holding it there firmly. You felt his strong heart beating in his chest, the rhythm growing faster under your palm.

You pursed your lips before saying, “I do love you. Your feelings are reciprocated,” you admitted.

His brow lifted, lips breaking open to reveal a blinding smile. “Truly?” he asked, gently cupping the side of your face. His hand was so large that it stretched from your neck into your hairline.

“Truely,” you repeated, your smile growing to match his. He beamed at the confirmation.

“I have bad news, Yawnetu.” he tutted and you raised your brows, not sure how much more you could handle tonight. “We are both skxawngs,” he laughed, eyes full of love.

You rolled your eyes, “You are the skxawng, you could have just used your words and saved us the trouble,” you insisted.

“Okay,” he agreed, voice dipping low. “I am the skxawng then, I am a fool for not telling you as soon as I knew. All the time I wasted,” he sighed.

“Time was not wasted, only stretched. Our love grew on its own two feet, it is stronger,” you professed. “I am future tsahìk, so I know such things,” you teased and he laughed.

“See? You are already wise,” he smiled, resting his forehead against yours and eyes fixed on your lips.

“Yawne, there are people watching,” you reminded him in a whisper, knowing he hated the attention.

“Let them stare, let them know you are finally mine,” he asserted, pulling your face to his.

Part 2

Join my taglist here.

Asked to be tagged: @sylviavf @tootstoots @llovekats @lottiea0

Tonowari Taglist: @chaotickittenanchor @queenofviolenceandnerds

“Like this, Neteyam.” You’d gently correct his stance. If you two were not out, then it was this. The training beneath the mangrove roots of your home. Hand over his nape. “I can feel the stress here.”

“I doubt our parents would care for it.”

That quirked your lip, and a faint smile appeared. “What do you mean? You don’t like watching the sea for demon-ships to appear?”

He smiled, relaxed. “No.”

Time reshaped him. His shoulders broadened, muscle gathered across his back and arms in strong lines. He grew taller—tall enough that you had to tilt your head slightly when he stood too near. His technique sharpened. His aim steadied. Every movement became leaner, surer, until even the smallest gestures carried some kind of efficiency you’d applaud.

He's stronger than he used to be. You noted. Stronger, maybe, than he realized. And in three days, he would prove it.

His rite of passage.

The work had changed. No more scouting missions with Neteyam, your father had disposed you to another chore. Instead of fighting sky people, or kicking rocks with Neteyam you were trapped in a hot filled room beading armbands tactically. 

Same color. Same width. Same pattern.

By the great mother my fingers are killing me…

Your knuckles ached in that deep-bone way that promised pain later in the evening, yet you volunteered each time to make sure neither your sister or brother had to go through it. Better you than your sister, who had real work—grinding medicine, scraping hides for the injured. Better you than your brother, who’s arrogance far outstripped his patience with thread. 

You smiled a bit. He'd snap the cord within an hour, then sulk.

So here you were sighing more and more often. You and a few other ladies were underneath a thin tapestry which hardly blocked the sun, one of eight groups. The women around you had grown used to your silence years ago. 

A murmured greeting when you arrived, a soft farewell when you left. It was enough. They never pressed.

“Ah,” A girl broke the silence. Everyone glanced at her as she momentarily stopped. “Do you think Neteyam will complete the Passage this year?”

Then it began, the raised brows paired with eyes that never left their work. 

Gossip was comeplace to overcome boredom and pain. 

“How could he not…have you seen him!” The others went into laughter, hands rising to cover their mouths as their freckles pulsed brighter. "His arms, his shoulders—and his thighs, Eywa has blessed that boy." She pressed a hand over her mouth, but her freckles betrayed her, flaring across her cheeks.

The others joined in, glances darting.

Another joined in "And his hands—"

The eruption of giggles drowned out whatever came next.

You kept your gaze fixed on your work. Thread looped through the hole, pulled taut. Bead slid into place. 

This conversation does not apply to me. Even though your body felt incredibly warm.

How could you pretend not to notice the very same things these girls did? Because you did. You’d noticed those same things too—quietly, reluctantly, when missions left you both alone under a sky too wide to hide your thoughts.

In those times, all alone and far away, you would look at him. (As any woman would, you'd remind yourself)

Primitive instinct tugged your gaze where respect said it shouldn’t. His back flexing beneath a load. The way he brightened when you praised him. The subtle roll of his hips—

No. 

And there it was. Even mid-thought, the reflex kicked in: wrong, inappropriate, unacceptable. He was a person, he deserved respect. 

"—more ways than one, hmm!"

The sudden voice broke you out of your thoughts. One of the girls—bare-chested in the casual way of the reef people—set down her half-threaded armband and leaned with a small smile.

"He's so protective of his family. Imagine how he'd be with a mate?" She drew the word out, savoring it, then pitched her voice lower, though everyone was already leaning in. "Remember? Few months back, when we saw him and his brother heading toward their marui?"

Heads bobbed in agreement. Yours too, though your hands kept working.

"Ao'nung and his crew showed up right after they left." The girl's tail flicked with emphasis. "Completely wrecked. Lips split, eyes swollen shut, bruises all around their body. Four against two—and the brothers won."

She sat back, fingers resuming their work. "With those skinny arms, too. Makes you wonder what if someone threatened his mate?" A theatrical sigh. "I'm just saying, whoever he chooses is lucky. Truly, truly lucky."

You glanced at them, tying the bead and moving on to the other as you picked up a shiny one. 

They weren’t wrong, the bullying didn’t stop there, even if Ao’nung commanded them to. You'd watched Neteyam return from the reef more than once with split knuckles and a jaw set tight enough to crack teeth. Hours later, some reef boy would limp into the healing hut nursing worse wounds, hissing while Tsireya pressed bandages.

"Who do you think he'll choose for the fertility festival?"

For a moment, everyone paused, thinking, silenced. Then the names began.

"Aui." The girl across from you sighed, a sound halfway to dreaming. "It has to be Aui. She's a natural leader. So lucky—no wonder Neteyam hunts with her so often."

Agreement rippled through the circle. "She's pretty too," another added, toying with the edge of her loincloth. "Great at dancing, riding the ilu. Good practice for riding something else…" Her tone turned playful, wistful.

Laughter. But it was different. You paused, lifted your eyes.

Their eyes found yours. One girl cocked her head, the question already forming. "What do you think, Y/n? Does Aui have a chance?"

This was rare. Their inclusion, that is. Not for spite nor for cruelty. Just acknowledgment that you usually held yourself apart from such talk, that you watched but did not participate. Yet today, apparently, the topic seemed too irresistible.

You squeezed your eyes shut, genuinely searching. Your mind turned over memories, looking for Aui's name attached to his. Nothing came.

"I'm not sure," you said slowly, setting the armband in your lap. Your fingers stilled. "He hasn't shown interest in girls. Not during training, at least."

"What?" Disbelief colored every face. "But you're always together!" They shuffled closer. One leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"Well—not… not always together.” You grumbled, ears flickering. “I mean—Yes, but it's professional." You traced the grain of an unfinished shell, feeling its ridges. "Either we're busy with our duties, or we're too focsed. There's no space for that kind of talk."

"But—?" One girl gasped. "You've been training him for nearly a year! You must talk about something."

"We do. His family, my family. His home, mine. Stories from the forest." You paused. "That's all."

A pause. Then laughter.

"Let me train him then!" One slapped her thigh, bright.

"Ask him for us!"

"Eywa, what did we expect?" Another shook her head, grinning. "You're so serious, and he's so quiet. Plus you have Tey!" Her tone gentled, almost teasing. "I bet you find it disgusting, being around another man when you have a future mate."

A smile tugged at your mouth, but it was small and reflexive. "I can't say it's disgusting," you admitted. The words felt careful in your mouth, like carrying water in cupped palms. "But definitely strange."

Strange didn't quite capture the weight of Neteyam's presence during training, though.

The truth of it settled between your ribs: Neteyam was duty, discipline. He was the clean lines of spear-work, and the warmth of a fire.

Strange didn't account for the relief you felt in that distance you put, or the faint unease that came from not understanding why it mattered at all. Questions upon questions. If Neteyam was not a threat to your love for Tey, why push him away? 

Suddenly, a hush fell over the room.

Each girl bent to her work, fingers moving with the kind of focus a child may reflect if a parent or elder stood too close.

“Y/n?” 

Your name arrived funny in your ears, and your ears flickered to the door to compensate.

You lifted your gaze, and Neteyam stood above you smiling something too small to be considered anything but polite, yet too earnest to be innocent.

Heat prickled beneath your cheeks. Idiot, you thought, and meant yourself.

Nearly a year together—training, sparring, the occasional shared meal—and still your name in his mouth felt like something new and precious.

"Neteyam?"

You fumbled for the handful of beads scattered beside your knee, fingers clumsy as you pretended to sort them. The girls across from you murmured low greetings,

Behind you, Neteyam shifted, hesitated. Right, the girl who was topless. His gaze skittered away and she laughed.

She winked, adjusting the fabric back across her chest. "So shy. I forget your forest people hide everything."

You shot her a look, then returned your attention to Neteyam. "Why are you here?"

The words came out sharper than you'd intended, like you didn't want him near. Which wasn't true. Or maybe it was. You couldn't decide.

Neteyam didn't flinch. He never did .He picked his way through the chaos of your workspace with that politeness he always carried, just until thigh hit thigh, and he grinned.

"Ao'nung told me to help you." He played with some thread.

You didn't know whether to thank your brother or throttle him. As Neteyam's trainer, you were responsible for his preparation—for ensuring he was ready for the trials ahead. Not for dragging him into ceremonial busywork while the rites came closer and closer.

You tightened your grip on the fastener. "Shouldn't you be training Neteyam?” The words came clipped, deliberately sharp. "The passage is tomorrow. Surely you have better things—"

Instead, a pout ghosted across his face as he crouched lower, fingers reaching for a few scattered beads. His head dipped, but his eyes—those eyes—glinted with something playful, as if accepting a challenge.

You relented with a huff. 

Cupping your hands around his, you opened your palm. The beads caught the light, little sparks of color against your skin. Neteyam stared at them, quiet, his expression softening. "Thank you," He grumbled.

With one hand he took the beads. With the other, he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, gaze lifting to yours and holding. His touch lingered, and you quickly looked away.

Behind you, the weaving circle had gone quiet.

You felt their attention, you felt their eyes tracing along the three fingers curled against your own. Heard the rustle of fabric as bodies shifted, leaned, and traded glances. They were watching, of course they’re watching.

"It will be difficult," you said, reaching for a simpler pattern. "You don't know these sequences. Perhaps something else—"

He leaned closer.

His fingers left his lap, traveled slow and deliberate up his stomach, his chest, the hollow of his throat. The whole time, his eyes never left your face. Something faint tugged at his mouth, gone the instant you met his gaze.

"I made all the clothes I wear," he murmured, voice pitched low so you'd have to follow every word. "Except my songcord. My mother helped with that." His hand rose, guiding yours to the delicate choker at his neck. Warmth folded around your fingers. "This one, I made."

Your fingers twitched, you focused solely on the piece. The beads were impossibly small beneath your fingertips, each one threaded with a precision that spoke of hours bent over firelight, of patience you hadn't credited him with. Master-level work, if you were honest. The kind of detail that required not just skill but devotion.

Your tail flicked. You hated that it did.

Damn him.

Heat crept up your neck. You'd underestimated him—again—and the realization sat uncomfortable in your chest. But what less could you expect from someone blessed by Eywa herself?

"It's beautiful," you said, and meant it. "I thought your mother made this. You have... remarkable talent." He leaned closer still at the praise, shoulders dropping, gaze searching yours for something you weren't sure you wanted to name. Like an Ilu. Cute.

But the moment passed. You pulled your focus back with a cough. "You still need to learn the design.” You thought of your mother then, when your father became too touchy and she couldn’t help but be shy. "Watch closely," you said, fingers already threading cord through shell. Your tone returned to its usual efficiency—clipped and functional and safe.

Neteyam nodded, seizing the opportunity to drift nearer. His chest pressed near your shoulder, body curving over yours with the excuse of a better view. His hands hovered at your back—close enough that you felt the heat radiating from his palms.

He let out a small—“Yes,” and, “I understand.”—Every now and then, just to show he was listening.

But his gaze flickered: Armband to your face. Face to lips. Lips to eyes. Then it stayed on your eyes, two seconds, before drifting back to the work.

You were single-minded by nature—both of you were—and the women in the circle knew it. Soft giggles escaped mouths hidden behind working hands. Knowing looks passed between them, cataloging every unspoken thing you'd failed to notice. Small mercies.

When you finished and glanced up, Neteyam was still staring. His eyes snapped left a beat too late, landing on the weaving with performative interest.

Your friends were quiet, focusing on their own armbands. 

Things felt weirdly tense. 

“Do you understand? Try it now.” 

He did. Easily. Too easily. You wondered if you'd wasted both your time on something he already knew—wondered, too, how many offerings he'd receive at the fertility rites. How many girls had already practiced their smiles for him?

"Is this good?"

He tilted his head. Braids slipped off his shoulder, exposing the long line of his throat, the lean muscle of his chest. Those golden eyes half-massed, long lashes shadowing the sweetnes of his look.

Around you, unmated girls stole glances—cheeks flushing in biolumienscence. They pressed palms to cheeks, trying to cool the glow before he noticed.

Eywa, you thought, then stopped the thought before it could finish.

Tey wasn't as broad-shouldered, but his body had its own—

You dropped your gaze to the floor.

Well, actually. It wasn't as heavily muscled, but his body was attractive too. Lean and capable. That's what mattered. Practicality. Compatibility.

Right?

Neteyam's tongue clicked. He moved to the next knot. At a glance, his expression stayed flat—neutral in the way stone is neutral. He’d offer you a hum sometimes, or a nod when you spoke. For everyone else, he simply looked.

It reminded you of your first meeting. Your father had commanded you and your siblings to assist his family, and the eldest was naturally paired with the eldest. Both so flawless in temperament it seemed inevitable.

Until it wasn't.

Neither of you had much use for small talk. Training. Missions. Occasionally—like something sweet and forbidden—he'd offer a fragment of his forest life. You'd return the gesture. Then silence would come back.

From golden child, to golden child. A love letter of actions.

Neteyam's heart hammered against his ribs, though his face betrayed nothing. Your reaction hadn't been what he wanted, but knowing you felt something—even this small flicker of awareness—was enough. For now.

He frowned slightly, gaze falling to the completed armband you'd set aside.

When everyone turned to gather fresh materials, he moved. Swift and silent, he swapped it for his own unfinished piece and tucked yours inside his loincloth, pressed against his hip where it would stay warm.

.

.

.

The beads held you captive for hours—shell and stone strung in patterns older than the clan itself.

Your fingers moved with usual efficiency. By evening, when the last strand lay coiled in its basket, exhaustion had seeped so deep into your bones that standing required audible effort. A groan escaped as you straightened.

Your gaze drifted to Neteyam.

He hunched over his work, all concentration. The armband beneath his hands showed promise—clean knots, even spacing—but his fingers told a different story. His hands cramped visibly, fingers seizing mid-motion before he forced them to continue.

Unlike you and the others, his hands had not gotten used to the feeling.

He was still new to this.

"Neteyam," you said, keeping your voice low. "You can rest now."

Guilt pricked at you. You should have offered him gloves—it was normal for beginners, but you'd forgotten, distracted by deadlines and your own exhaustion, and now his knuckles bore the evidence of your apparaent selfishness.

He looked up, releasing the half-finished work from his grip as if receiving an order. Tired, yes—you could see it in the way his shoulders sagged—but he smiled anyway. Color rose faintly across his cheeks as his gaze dropped, fingers fidgeting against each other.

"No, it's fine."

His help had cut the work in half. You knew that. Still—

"Look at your hands," you pressed gently. Small cuts marked the pads of his fingers where the cord had bit deepest. He followed your gaze to them, then back to your face.

"You can do more tomorrow—" Please don't, you thought, but didn't say. "—but right now, heal. You deserve that much."

He stood. Immediately. The speed of it caught you off guard. This tall, silent warrior rising as though you'd pulled a string. Obedient. Trusting. It was almost comical.

Around you, heads lifted. Brows raised. Your companions had noticed.

"Of course," Neteyam grinned.

You offered a small smile, nodding once to the others. "Get a good sleep, everyone." You bid them farewell, giving one final look as the beads would wait patiently for your return.  

.

.

.

The path stretched ahead, empty save for usual corals and distant sea-spray. You'd been walking for thirteen minutes, maybe more when the footsteps finally registered. Persistent as an itch you couldn't place. 

Neteyam.

Thirteen minutes you'd been walking. Maybe less. And only now did you notice him, trailing just far enough to look normal.

Except his home lay in the opposite direction.

You knew this. Everyone knew this.

You looked over your shoulder. Stopped.

The eclipse caught his face just so—half-light, half-shadow—and the familiar lines of him turned strange. Beautiful, as always.

"Is everything alright?" Your voice came out smaller than you intended, and it came with an uncertainty that didn't belong to you.

He didn't falter, nor did he pause. Instead, he closed the distance with easy strides, almost jogging, his smile warm in a way that’d make any woman gush.

The wind stirred the beads in his hair. His ornaments clicked softly with each step. Each sound too crisp in the absence of other voices.

The village had emptied behind you both, and you were only now noticing.

"Can I walk you to your marui?" He stood beside you, hands loosely clasped, lips pressed together as he waited.

You hesitated. Your eyes swept the surroundings, a hunter's habit, you told yourself. Checking for people, weighing distance.

Neteyam couldn't hurt you. Not directly. But some animal part of your brain whispered otherwise. Why do I feel weird about this…? This was Neteyam. Son of Toruk Makto, Eywa’s blessing.

A couple of seconds. Great mother, you needed to respond before it turned awkward.

"Why not." You managed a thin smile, forced the tension from your shoulders. "Though if you're worried for my safety, you should know I can handle myself."

“I know.” He smiled.

Neteyam kept quiet. You appreciated that. Though his sideway glances made your freckles flicker just a bit. The way he looked at you was just… it was as if he’d memorized the angle of your jaw, of your eyes, and was checking his work against the original.

What you didn’t know—of course, was Neteyam’s pulse hammering. Giddy that your arms were brushing. 

He was closer than necessary, and you felt the heat of his skin through the thin material of a wrap he provided. The contact should have been forgettable. It wasn't.

A low hum built in his throat. Contentment, you realized. The sound made your jaw tighten.

Of course he's pleased with himself.

Weeks of watching, of careful distance, of swallowing words that crowded his mouth—and now this. Your arm against his. He'd take it. He'd take whatever small intimacy you unknowingly offered and hoard it like a fool.

Take that, Tey. He thought.

He felt as if he suffered well enough. Bits of shame, wonder and heartache traveled to him easily these past months.

He was troubled on what to do, what to say. He'd asked his father for advice, face hot, voice low. Just the two of them, late one evening. The man looked more excited than Neteyam felt, which was saying something.

"Walk her back to her place," his father had said, counting on his fingers. "Ask how she's doing. Pull out her chair if there is one. Make her laugh. Smile at her. Keep doing it until she tells you to stop—and if she doesn't, keep going anyway." He'd leaned in, eyes bright. "Flirt with her, boy.”

Flirt. 

Right.

Neteyam cleared his throat. "Your skin," he began. "it's—it's a beautiful color. Like the ponds near my home." He hesitated, tail twitching. "Maybe I could take you there one day? On my ikran?"

Your gaze slid toward him.

"Thank you," you said. You didn’t smile, but your eyes softened. He knew, he could tell the difference. "But I prefer yours. It's a nice deep color. Like the night sky."

Heat crawled up his neck.

Damn it.

It seemed that every attempt at flirting, every playful gesture he mustered, backfired on him. His jokes were met with confusion, his efforts to make you grin resulted in frowns. "That makes no sense, Neteyam, Ilu don't have legs."

Hell, he didn’t even know what a chair was! He was so frustrated, so… so frustrated at the gap between what he wanted to say and what actually came out.

He wanted you to smile. Just once. For him.

So he sought his mother instead. She would know, surely. She fell for his skxawng of a father, so there must be something he can do.

"Show her what you are," she said finally, fingers working a torn net. "Not what you think she wants. Gifts that mean something. Let her see your hands at work, your heart in the details." She touched his wrist, thumb pressing the pulse-point there. "Treat her as if the Great Mother herself walked in her skin." She paused. "Show her your skills."

So he did. He strung his bow at dawn and put three arrows through a breadfruit leaf at sixty paces. You watched, arms crossed, then turned back to whatever held your attention. Competent, your silence said.

He brought down a yerik with a single spear-thrust and carried it home across his shoulders, still warm. You clapped—actually clapped, like he'd performed a trick—and thanked him for "working so hard." As if effort were the point. As if you hadn't seen the kill was clean.

He wove you a satchel from stripped reed, dyed the strap with beetle-wing iridescence, lined it with cured hide soft as a atokorina. You accepted it carefully, almost confused, and wore it twice before it vanished into your hut. He never saw it again.

Responsibility, strength, patience, wit—he offered them all. You smiled. You nodded. You drifted just out of reach.

Except once.

Once, he'd carved an earring from fishbone and feathered it with three blue plumes—the kind that only appeared after storm season, when the lortsyal molted. The wire was braided, not twisted, so it wouldn't catch in your hair.

He'd heard you sing at your sister's Dance of First Breath, and the memory lodged in him like a splinter. So he made something that might hold it.

When he offered the earring, fumbling the words, you'd covered your smile with both hands as if it were something precious that might escape. But he'd seen it anyway, caught in the corners of your eyes.

“Thank you,” you said. “Thank you, thank you.”

Was it then I decided I love you? He glanced at you now, still wearing it, even now. Yes. He decided. The day you wore his gift. That's the day he knew.

You must love pretty things,. he assumed. And in desperation, he asked your brother what those things might be.

Ao’nung’s response had been a slow grin and an elbow to the ribs. "Metikiayna women love pretty things, sure. But mostly?" The grin widened. "Pretty men. So, will you give my sister a pretty boy, hm?"

Pretty boy.

Neteyam could manage that. He thought he could, anyway.

During those missions, he made sure to show interest. All alone, the both of you far away. You two could’ve done something, and no one would know. And oh great mother, he tried, he really did. He wore his thinnest loincloths, bands that sat tight against his ribs, braided his hair thick to add length and volume. Anything to make you look twice,

He imagined you would break first. Give in to whatever heat simmered beneath your skin and take what you wanted from him. He would let you. Great Mother, he would let you do anything if it meant having you, even for a moment.

And if you felt guilty afterward—guilt for betraying Tey—then he would be there to comfort you. To press his calloused palms to your cheeks, to smooth over your shame until it dissolved beneath your touch. You deserved release, didn't you? After waiting so long for a boy who barely deserved your heart.

Kiri said this was plan A, that she had a plan B, and C in case it didn’t work but still.

Shouldn’t that make you want him?

…He never struggled like this before…

Now his chest felt tight, and frustration tangled with something bitter and shameful. You stood right there, and the ache of wanting you—of not having you—carved itself an anger towards your weak and clumsy beloved.

“You are staring.” You finally said.

His tail whipped, he stumbled. “Oh. Sorry.” You watched as his ears lowered.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Concern softened your features. You mistook his silence for nerves, maybe, or uncertainty. Your hand found his forearm. "Hey," you said quietly, offering a fragile smile. "It's okay."

You tugged a bit, reassuring. Just like you did to Tsireya when she felt stressed, or Ao’nung after failing his responsibilities.

You opened your mouth to speak, then paused. What to say? “About our conversation a few months back, when I helped carry some baskets for you..."

His tail wagged. “Yes…?”

"I just want you to know..." You paused, searching for the right words. "I have faith in you, Neteyam. In what you can do." The words came out softer than he’d ever heard it. Your hand slipped from his arm. "To become a warrior twice... that must feel strange."

You understood more than they gave you credit for. He'd earned his place once, bled for it, stood before his people and been born twice underneath his clan. Now the reef demanded he prove himself again, in unknown waters, among people who measured strength by different marks.

His eyes found yours, and he dipped his head just enough to bridge the height between you. "What brought this on?" He was bold. He took your hand and squeezed. “Hm?”

“I’m worried.” You flinched at the admission. “The rites are… difficult. You barely had any time to heal.” Your eyes found the bullet scar, you found yourself reaching.

He gently put his own hand over yours and pressed it against his chest. You felt the steady beat, increasing, strong.

You couldn't hold his gaze. Your focus slipped to his hands, the knuckle of his fingers. Three, not four like Lo’ak, not wide like Tey’s. You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste the blood, then forced yourself to look up again.

Neteyam's eyes were wide—amber bright as eclipse-light, and the sight of them gave you pause long enough to forget what you'd meant to say.

"You are worried about me?" His smile came slow, bashful at the edges, charming in the way dangerous things often are. "I will be fine, Y/n."

"You—"

"I will be fine because you worry for me." The words came soft, teasing. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing the skin beneath your eye. He dipped his head—close enough that his breath went warm against your skin. His other hand found yours, the fingers threading through more fingers until the gesture became familiar. A dangerous kind of familiar that made your pulse stutter.

You hated how easily it worked.

You pulled back, walls snapping into place. Tey. Black wavy hair. Tey. Skin like sea-foam. Tey. Tey. Tey.

"Right."

His hand fell away.

Neteyam stared, mouth parting as if to speak, then thought better of it. The boy—still a boy, despite everything—closed his eyes and squeezed them shut. His fingers twisted together, clenching until his knuckles paled into a skin-tone reminiscent of yours.

"Sorry…" The word came slow. He cleared his throat. "Can I ask you something… personal?"

The shift caught you off-guard. Still, you heard yourself say yes.

His face smoothed inot something you recognized—the impassive mask of strangers. "I've decided to participate in the..." He faltered, fingers worrying at the beads woven through his hair. His gaze drifted left, then down. "...forgive me, I have forgotten the name... er... the ceremony."

"The fertility ceremony?"

"Yes." His voice dropped, barely audible. He wouldn't look at you. "I am not well-versed in your culture's… courtship." The word sat awkwardly on his tongue. "I want to understand what to do—how to respond if someone approaches me. Or if I approach them." His eyes found yours again, those dying-star freckles fading to nothing. "I thought you might help me."

He appeared hesitant, lost somewhere behind his own eyes. Maybe there was a particular Metikaya girl in mind.

"Well first,” You cough. “You’'ll have to present your arm band and ask what she requires to earn her love. You clasp them like bracelets, tie them together, hand to hand, and then—"

"Mate." The word left him flat, his gaze wandering toward some fixed point in the distance. His brows drew tight, yet his skin looked faintly clammy.

His people were modest by nature. Intimacy and its implications lived in whispers, behind closed lips, if discussed at all. But your culture wove together the intertwining of Tulkuns, the intertwining of bodies, the act of sex itself—all spoken with the pursuit of parenthood, shared without shame.

"Yes," you said slowly. "But I want to be clear, Neteyam, you're not obligated to participate."

A sharp indigo flush crept up his cheeks. You didn't look away.

"I—" He stopped walking, eyes closing. "I want to. I just need to be certain she's ready."

She. Perhaps Aui, then.

"Even those who participate sometimes choose not to complete the ritual. The dangers are real." You paused, letting the weight settle. "That's why this will be my first year. The person you pursue must meet two conditions: they must be twice-born, and they must stay close to you throughout."

He glanced over, waiting.

"Once you've completed the Passage, you can choose any mate—as long as they've passed their own. It's a reward for achieving your second birth." Your voice dropped, threading through the humid air. "But when multiple warriors want the same person, they must fight for their chosen. Sometimes those fights don't end cleanly. Sometimes they end in blood."

You paused, voice dropping. "That's why this year will be my first time. As the daughter of the Olo'eyktan many would expect me to bear their child. I cannot refuse such requests—not according to our customs.” You played with your hands now. “But… well, I want Tey.”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched. "It's similar to what we once practiced. But my father forbade it—said we shouldn't spill each other's blood while the sky people still walk our sacred ground."

"It is tradition more than law," You said carefully. "A way to honor the cycle. The fertility ritual follows the Tulkun's breeding season—your child born when your spirit sister or brother brings new life to the sea." You paused, letting that settle. "But it doesn't lock you to anyone. No queue, no bond. 

"So you'll be in it this year." It didn’t sound like a question, and yet you nodded all the same.

"Only if Tey wants it. He's never cared much for tradition.”

A pause.

"I understand," he said finally. It sounded swallowed.

It struck you then—this was the first real conversation you'd had beyond missions and training. Strange, how foreign it felt. Strange, too, how easy.

.

.

.

BY the time you reached your home, shadows moved inside. Your family within the privacy curtains. 

Neteyam drew the curtain aside with careful courtesy, stepping back so you could enter first. You stepped through, and there, Tey was waiting. You felt warmth bloom in your chest, and you crossed to him before kissing him. “Tey,”

He kissed back. “You came late.” He hummed, nuzzling his nose.

Behind you, your mothers expression shifted. Her features tightened, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Neteyam? What brings you here?"

His gaze found yours first before shifting back. "I wanted to ensure she arrived safely."

Ronal and Tonowari exchanged a look, something unreadable passing between them. Guilty and apologetic, but then something in Ronal's expression softened, the sharp edges of suspicion dulling to acceptance. "I see,"

Tey released his grip on your shoulder and crossed to Neteyam, landing a light punch against the warrior's arm. "Thank you, brother."

Neteyam merely glanced. "I must continue my training." His tone was polite, and his eyes touched each face in turn—Ronal, Tonowari, Tey—before landing on you with something softer. “Rest well, Y/n.” 

Tey laughed. "You're just like her! Always focused on training."

Then Neteyam was gone.

The meal that followed was simple: roasted fish, sea vegetables that tasted of salt. You heard murmured thanks as Tsireya passed one meal for another.

You felt alert.

You chewed without really tasting, smiled only to be polite. Something was wrong, you just didn’t know.

With sleep came the usual bid of goodnight. Foreheads touching, gentle notes of love before you retreated to your sleeping quarters.

Tey’s arms wrapped around you, anchoring you against his chest. His snores came soft, the sweet kind a lover would gaze and feel comfort by. Instead, you lay rigid in his arms, pulse ticking against your throat like something caged.

Prey, you thought. I feel like prey.

Sleep when it came, brought no rest. 

Figures moved in the dark behind your eyelids. A warning through the vision, that you knew. It was urgent and incomprehensible, as though Eywa herself were trying to speak through static. You strained to understand, but the message slipped. You slipped. And then you woke.

Beat. Beat. Beat.

Your heart beat. 

For a second you felt Neteyam’s heartbeat again, underneath your palms. Why am I thinking of him again…? You rubbed your eyes.

“Y/n?”

You glanced off to the side, Tey frowned. “Come here,” You turned. Tey laid watching, brow sharp with concern. Without a word, you moved into him, letting your weight settle against his chest. Beat, beat, beat. Slower this time. You didn’t need to say anything, Tey allowed you silence. His fingers stroked your back.

“...I love you.” You whispered.

Then he stopped, his tail wagged. “I love you too.” He turned his head and kissed you, deeper this time.

His hands drifted beneath your ribs, trailing up until his fingers just barely caught the swell of breast. He shifted his weight, hovering above you now, and pressed his lips to the line of your throat. "I love you," he breathed against your skin.

“Tey,” You frowned. This felt wrong too. You turned your face away. "We… we should sleep. My family—" Heat crawled up your neck, and you let the excuse die there.

His ears flattened, then came forward again. “Sorry. Sorry.” He kissed your cheek, wet and loving. "I love you, Y/n. Tomorrow, then."

“Tomorrow.” You echoed.

He settled beside you, one arm draped loose across your waist. Within minutes his breathing deepened, lengthened, until you knew he'd slipped into sleep.

Sleep would not return tonight.

Tag list-

@faqetrendafili @nssssns @moomooring @neteyamneteyam @nyekchevski @petalsmoons @ph4nt0m-zeena @lov3g0re09 @roseblushpink1 @21-princess @avatarobsessedgirly @itsymiri @moonpetrichors-blog @gamorxa @imsojuliaaaaaa @bananscatx @kxsm3t @jokerfreak123 @xvyeul @camjam3008 @fettuccinispiz @levi-09 @leonskenn @sweaterkitty-fluff @40shadesoffaith @kissesanddailah @zofreakky-420 @white-olive @broodyyamss @tojiscumsocks @extramundaneforestry @paula-bratu @sooonotme @emjeez @grayvenna @saturssz @springkuinn @dimidsm @axrithtiy @nshmrarki @shiraa32 @empiricsad @sidecharacters @hicpra @emforjin @slvdsjjk @notmeduhh @serpentstarr @quirkylaugher @famouslovepanda @bymuse