#wind traders

The smoke parted, and a figure emerged. He was broader than any Na'vi you had ever seen, his skin a washed out blue with red and black painted all over him.

This was Ka’un, Varang’s brother. He knelt over you, his weight a crushing mountain. He didn't look at you like a prisoner; he looked at you with a terrifying, wide-eyed hunger.

"So bright," he rasped, his voice like stones grinding together. He grabbed your chin, forcing your head back until it hurt. His fingers, hot and calloused, traced the line of your throat before descending.

He ghosted his hand over your belly, pressing down firmly enough to make you gasp. "The wind was greedy to keep this for itself. You will bear my children. You will carry Mangkwan fire in this pretty, soft shell."

He dragged you back to the volcanic wastes, and there, it began.

The ritual of the forced Tsaheylu was not a joining; it was an execution of your spirit. Ka’un snarled as he seized your queue, yanking it so violently you heard your neck crack. He didn't wait. He watched as your queue’s tendrils mended with his own.

The pain was blinding. It felt like white-hot needles being driven into your brain. A horrific torrent of his mind flooded yours—images of the massacre, the sound of your father’s yells to take cover or flee, and the jagged, erratic joy Ka’un felt while watching your people burn.

You shrieked, your body arching and convulsing on the jagged stone, but he held the bond tight, forcing his darkness into every corner of your mind until you felt your own identity beginning to dissolve under the weight of his madness.

When he finally broke the connection, you collapsed, shivering and hollow, your spirit felt as thought it was cracking.

Word of the massacre reached Awa’atlu like a poison. In the council circle, Jake Sully’s face was grim. "The Mangkwan are looking for a fight. If we go now, we bring that war here. We stand down. We regroup."

Neteyam stood in the shadows, his hands shaking with a silent fury. Neteyam had to ignore the orders to stand down. He couldn't eat; he couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your moss-green eyes clouded with terror

Late that night, while the village slept, Neteyam whistled for his ikran.

"He goes on his own path," Neytiri whispered, standing beside Jake as they watched the silhouette of their eldest son vanish into the stars.

Jake moved to stop him, but Neytiri placed a firm hand on his chest. "He has the heart of a leader— your strong heart Jake. He will succeed in whatever it is he is doing. Let him fly."

He had flown for two days, his ikran screaming with exhaustion, until he found the Mangkwan camp.

He watched from the shadows of a jagged ridge. You were tied to an obsidian pillar, your hair covered in ash, your vibrant orange top torn and grey. Ka’un stood nearby, distracted by a his sister’s ritual, his back turned.

Neteyam moved like a shadow. He didn't just rescue you; he moved with a silent, lethal fury. As you looked up, the light finally returned to your eyes—the first spark of life since the crash. You saw him.

He took Ka'un out with a single, devastating strike, silencing the monster before he could cry out. He cut your binds, catching you as your weakened legs gave way. "I've got you," he breathed, his voice a frantic, protective whisper. "I've got you."

You ran until the orange glow of the volcanoes was a distant bruise on the horizon.

Eventually, they reached a hidden spring, a small ribbon of crystal-clear water cutting through the ferns. You were covered in the filth of the Mangkwans—soot, dried blood, and the lingering scent of Ka’un.

You sat by the water’s edge, your hands trembling so violently you couldn't even cupped the water.

You felt disgusting, the phantom sensation of Ka’un’s touch still burning on your skin.

Neteyam knelt beside you. He didn't say a word. He took a soft leaf, dipped it in the cool water, and began to gently wipe the ash from your face.

His touch was the polar opposite of Ka’un’s; it was light, reverent, and hesitant.

As he moved to your arms, cleaning the grime from your skin, you finally looked at him. "I can still feel him," you whispered, your voice cracking. "In my head. He... he tried so hard to break it."

Neteyam stopped. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand over yours. "He is gone. The water is washing him away," he said firmly.

He spent the next hour helping you rinse the grey from your hair and skin, his ears twitching with a focused, quiet care until you finally looked like the girl he remembered from the market.

"Thank you, Neteyam," you whispered.

"You are safe now, i will get you back to your father" he replied, his amber eyes holding yours. "I promise."

In the morning, the sun broke through the forest. Neteyam helped you onto his ikran, placing you in front of him.

You were so mentally and physically exhausted that you couldn't even hold the saddle.

"Sleep," Neteyam commanded softly. "I will not let you fall."

As the ikran took to the sky, heading back toward the coast, you leaned back against his chest.

he steady thrum of his heartbeat against your spine was the most beautiful melody you had ever heard. You fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, finally free of the ash.

Neteyam held the reins with one hand and kept the other wrapped firmly around your waist. He looked down at your sleeping face, then toward the horizon where Awa'atlu waited.

He knew his father would be waiting on the beach, his face set in stone, ready to deliver a scolding that would last for days.

But as he felt your breathing even out against his chest, Neteyam just tightened his grip and smiled.

“Sure. But it’s also needless chatter a lot of the time.” Tsu’tey starts, knowing that he’s just in a rut that cannot be fixed– which launches Tarsem into a long lecture about the sense of community that comes from idle gossip– the way the People relate to each other. 

Tsu’tey supposes he can see the value in that– until Tarsem orders him to meet with the Tlalim clan to barter for pod fruit, and he cannot say no to the Olo’eyktan.

/

Tsu’tey tries to get it over with quickly. Talk to a trader, exchange yalna bark for the pod fruit, and then move on.

Unfortunately for him, there’s many people bartering on the airships today. The caravan he picks is crowded, there’s a surprising amount of damage done to the wooden beams, chatter is immense, and the winds are fast– he has to steady himself across the path, furthering his time onboard. There’s no way around it– he’s going to have to let himself be conversed with.

“Hello. You look lost.” A female voice tuts behind him, and Tsu’tey turns, eager to rebuff that statement with his typical swagger– but he stops in his tracks almost instantly.

This woman is… different, he can tell. More delicate than Sylwanin had looked despite her young age, these are translucent, amber eyes that are not so hard on him. Just looking at him, not expecting anything. 

You’re dressed in a deep purple poncho, and there’s intricate beadwork and weaving throughout. You wear your hair in thick braids, swirled into a ponytail of sorts, away from your face– most likely because your life makes it difficult to have hair out and about.

You’re beautiful, and it takes him less than a second to decide that’s not important right now. He needs to be in and out– before you or someone else starts deducing things through simple conversation with him. The more distracted he is, by a beautiful Na’vi woman no less, the harder this will be.

“Not lost. Just looking to trade yalna bark.” Tsu’tey takes the sack of yalna bark from off his back, and you blink.

“For…” You’re about to take the sack from his hand, but your finger lightly brushes his knuckles, and Tsu’tey tenses ever so slightly, pulling his hand back.

“Pod fruit.” It’s a firm, simple answer, clearly meant to limit conversation with you. He places the sack in your hand with a thud.

“Sure.” You walk him towards a large basket of pod fruit– it’s practically full, having been recently delivered by a member of the Zeswa clan. The young man eagerly handed you off the basket while proclaiming that the chief’s daughter had recently mastered the way of their unique dance-fighting, which he witnessed firsthand– something he shared in a slightly bashful fashion, telling you that he certainly liked this woman.

Normally, you would pass on this information– but Tsu’tey seems uninterested, and so you move on quickly. “About how much yalna bark do you have in there?”

“Forty strips.” Tsu’tey answers immediately, not even looking inside the sack. Clearly eager to move on and out– which is fine, not everyone comes by your airship looking to talk.

“Sure. Equal to about twenty pod fruit– but I’ll let you have a little more since we’ve got more than we need right now.” You don’t say it to placate the man, more that you just need to get rid of excess stock, and you hope he doesn’t think that you’re placating him, either– he’s had a vaguely stern expression the entire time he’s been here.

Something tells you he’d find it patronizing. 

The entire time you take out the yalna bark, place it in another basket, and then start filling his sack with pod fruit– you feel his eyes on your back. You don’t know what it means, nor do you want to know, so you hand off the sack to him without making eye contact.

He thanks you, and walks off in haste, which both relieves you of his presence, and makes you wonder a little. 

It occurs to Tsu’tey, after leaving after the fact that your quickness in finding his requested item enabled him to leave as he wanted to. Something he had not considered, and in a strange way– it makes him want to say thanks. Or at least, be less stand-offish.

/

Tsu’tey tells Ka’ani about it, that for once a member of the Tlalim did not chatter incessantly to him, and he guesses (correctly!) that you must’ve been very special to be attuned to Tsu’tey’s brand of pride and vanity. 

That comment leads to Tsu’tey shoving Ka’ani off of his direhorse, while the latter laughs.

/

He stops by again. The winds are slow this time round, and so the airships have not left yet. For reasons unknown to Tsu’tey, there’s also much damage to the airships that are constantly being fixed, causing you all to stay for an extended period of time. Your ship is still tethered to one of the tallest floating mountains. 

 Tsu’tey cannot lie to himself– he does not want you to have the wrong impression of him, the same way he assumed you’d talk his ear off.

Sure, it’s a pride issue, but he also knows that he’s trying to be better. Be less angry, and harsh.

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to you immediately.

You’re deep in laughter, nearly buckling over your knees, at something someone said, and Tsu’tey stops– thinking he wants to know why your laugh sounds so loud, a far cry from the woman he spoke to a week ago– and he's hoping this isn't your real personality, and second-guessing if he should even be here.

It’s Takuk, one of Tsu’tey’s former trainees, who's speaking to you, and he groans internally at the prospect of this gung-ho, cunning young man, willing to play the cards when he had them, coming here at the worst opportunity. Takuk was aloof to most– but he wanted something out of you, clearly.

“Watch yourself. I’m sure there are many Omatikaya women that would want to hear those words, even if you’re just messing with me.” You joke with him, and Tsu’tey, despite himself, finds his interest peaks here.

“Who do you think you’re talking to? A coward?” Takuk leans in, and you stiffen ever so slightly– something Tsu’tey notices immediately. “If you’re here for a while, as you said– your ship needs time to be fixed– you should know I’m not interested in the women of my clan.”

“Not even Maru?” Tsu’tey speaks up despite himself, naming an Omatikaya woman that Takuk has been sweet on. He doesn’t like seeing your eyes squint like that– sizing up Takuk’s audacity, something you shouldn’t have to deal with.

Not when you don’t seem interested. The loud, exaggerated laughter you put on was just an attempt to play along, Tsu’tey guesses.

Takuk blinks, hearing Tsu’tey’s voice, and his face flushes a deeper blue. “I… should be going now.”

Tsu’tey walks over to you, noticing that you look much more at ease with him, something that makes him feel… mildly pleasant. “That skxawng. I apologize for him– he’s the type to look for easy lovers.”

“Oh.” You close your eyes, looking mildly flustered. Tsu’tey looks around, trying to give you space, having not thought what his comment was alluding to– what it would make you think of.

It’s a little awkward.

“I thank you. I didn’t know why he wanted to talk to me.” You smile up at Tsu’tey. “He’s not nearly as straightforward as you were last week.”

It dawns on Tsu’tey that maybe you do have the wrong impression of him. You seem to think positively of his brash nature, and here he is coming in to play the hero. Mighty warrior, stoic mind, he can see the way you're putting an image together by the way you're glancing at him.

He’s not sure if he should curse Eywa upon the apparent result of him becoming your saviour.

“So. Quiet one, why have you come today?” You ask, a slight smile still upon your face. 

Tsu’tey has already done well by you– perhaps too well. So he asks to trade in his arrows for something speedier. 

It hurts to see his quiver of twenty arrows, be equivalent to about ten sharpshooter ones– but he's thankful that you had something and he didn't need to talk to you anymore after that.

/

He thinks about you. 

He doesn't mean to. But Tsu’tey knows you a little better now, and so his thoughts drift to you from time to time.

While hunting, Ka’ani remarks on an especially quiet sturmbeest that runs by– and it reminds Tsu’tey of your nickname for him.

Quiet one.

Now that could be a compliment on your part– perhaps he is the strong-hearted warrior, of little words, saying as much as he needs to get by.

But on the other hand, Tsu’tey’s curiosity is getting the better of him. Never had he bothered to come closer to people outside of the Omatikaya, especially after the hard-hitting battle that had splintered their community. You seem… like you could be a friend, someone he could talk to more.

Perhaps Tarsem was right. 

/

You’re gently tracing the side of your robe when there’s a presence behind you.

“Oh, it’s you.” You smile upon seeing the quiet Omatikayan man who had so little to say to you.

Still, his presence was not a disturbance.

“Hello.” He speaks with hesitation, and it’s enough that you’re slightly taken aback. “I wanted to thank you… for…”

“...” You tilt your head at him as he trails off, sucking his upper teeth, unsure of what to say. 

“For the sharpshooter arrows.” He finishes, and he shuts his eyes, sighing.

“Oh. You’re welcome.” You trace one of your braids back behind your ear– something that Tsu’tey glances over and continues to think about. “How was their performance?”

It’s not why Tsu’tey came here, but he figures if he wants to talk to you, might as well speak on his favourite subject. Hunting.

“I am so used to drawing my bow back with full strength. Strong posture. No fear.” Tsu’tey says, speaking tenderly of a subject that draws you in. “But those arrows… they were not just fast, they were brutal.”

You laugh a little at that. “Perhaps I should have warned you.”

“No, it is alright.” Tsu’tey smiles slightly at you, the upturn of his lips showing off his fangs, and a wave of something passes through you. Some goosebumps, maybe, that this quiet stranger has finally given a kind expression other than a stare.

It’s nice.

“I just did not expect to see the flesh of the beast splatter across the ground.” Tsu’tey speaks again, sounding in awe. “Truthfully, I do not try to waste the sturmbeest’s meat– but it was fascinating to see how quickly it could be killed. Almost… peaceful.”

“Hunting is honorable.” You agree, and Tsu’tey notices you look slightly bashful now. “I made those arrows. They have not been very well-liked– but I suppose they took more precision than most people have.” 

Tsu’tey’s mouth falls ajar, and he smirks after a moment. “Kind, but it was only easy because of your craftsmanship. You have a gift.”

At this, you touch his arm– and Tsu’tey is not well versed in the touch of women, not at all, especially after Sylwanin’s death. No, he never bothered becoming close to anyone else, even with his brief betrothal to Neytiri– that arrangement was so tense and full of expectations, he could not touch her in good conscience. A sister is not her sister.

But your touch fills him with warmth, in a way that makes him pause in the moment, kind of lingering, and he wonders, tentatively, if something is there– perhaps a sort of beginning of a friendship.

“Thank you. You’re the first one to say such a kind thing.” You murmur, and Tsu’tey instead is drawn to how your lips pronounce the words, before remembering to respond in turn.

“Thank you.”

/

Because he asks, you let Tsu’tey know that the Tlalim will be able to leave again in a week or two. The caravan seems to be coming along fine in repairs, and winds are picking up. Trade routes can’t be neglected.

He’s not really looking forward to it. To your departure.

Tsu’tey comes again today, on the caravan, to get more of your arrows, and then another day he insists on getting a quiver made by you to hold them, and then he sees one day that you’ve made a bow.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” He motions to it, asking non-verbally if he can touch it– and you’ve become more accustomed to his ways, little moments in which you can read him with ease, that you hand it to him.

Tsu’tey takes it in a way that forces him to clasp your hand slightly– but he doesn’t feel bad about it.

No, it feels good to see you blink, suddenly shy– but not in a way where you’re horrified by his touch. A far cry from how he was a couple weeks ago. 

Is he liking this new pseudo-friendship with a trader? He likes making you nervous, he knows. Makes him feel important, powerful, as if he’s got a bigger place in the world than he thinks.

You turn your head, bashful as Tsu’tey lets go of your hand, but he doesn’t drop his gaze from your face, staring in a way that’s a little more intentful now. Not the wary stare of a man who was unwilling to know you, but now someone coming in closer. Curious in nature. 

But you’re not willing to give into whatever this is, just yet, whatever Tsu’tey wants from you– you’re not opposed, exactly, it’s just that you don’t want to be disappointed. You can’t be sure that this is going the right way– and you don’t know if you deserve this, either.

Especially as of late, since what has transpired in Awa’atlu. Mangkwan pirates chasing after your airship, in which you barely got out unscathed– but others were not so lucky, and knowing that, you feel sick. Were you meant to survive?

Your amber eyes seem to still on Tsu’tey now, as he draws the strings of your bow back. 

His muscles are taut, firm– his posture is strong, upright, and you find yourself leaning in a little to see where he’s aiming his arrow.

It lands with a thwack into the beam of a nearby caravan of another airship below yours, and the Na’vi there turn their heads to you both, which suddenly makes you self aware of there being a “you both.” 

An us, a duo, something that you’ve never had before.

You call down to the nearest trader, telling him you’ll grab that arrow later, and he nods his assent. You feel a warm sensation near your cheek– and you realize in speaking, you came so close to Tsu’tey that you were nearly pressing your cheek against his own.

He glances at you– still with that look that you can’t quite name yet– and you pull away, blinking and stiffening.

“Is something wrong?” Tsu’tey asks, because somehow in the few weeks he’s known you, he’s somehow become acclimated to your expressions, always beautiful across your features.

It might have something to do with the fact that he likes you. He thinks you’re very kind, so it’s easy for him to read you because he wants to. 

You don’t want to lie to him– and you’ve been yearning to talk to him more, anyways. It’s your clan’s way– what is the point if you cannot fulfill that?

“Back at Awa’atlu, as we left towards High Camp…” You trail off, not wanting to reveal so much about Jake and Neytiri bringing the pink-skinned boy back, but Tsu’tey searches your eyes, now intrigued. “The Mangkwan came. They managed to take down quite a few people, and two air ships were destroyed. Ours took damage too, as you can see– that’s why we have been fixing this ship and have been stationed here for a while. But that’s not important. So many people I knew are dead.”

There’s silence, and you blink back tears you didn’t know you had.

“I hope it’s not too much to hear. But I feel like it was a mistake– that I was meant to go on, while everyone else was not. I don’t always know how to feel like I should…” You swallow, and look up at Tsu’tey, expecting to see your quiet Omatikayan man taken aback, silenced to a level that you can’t bring him out of, because you came too close, too quick, but instead:

“Like you should keep going. Keep living.” Tsu’tey responds, and you nod, glad that he understood. “I know. I should have died when the Sky People attacked the Omatikaya. I loathe that I don’t always know what to do now– I was supposed to be more than this.”

He sounds so angry at himself, that you frown, squeezing his hand, wanting to reduce the weight on his mind. Tsu’tey’s face lightens a little.

He sighs, and then places his hand on your shoulder, making you feel warm. “All I do know is that you do deserve it. If you will take life seriously, as Eywa wants you to– you deserve that.”

It’s something he says not just to comfort you, but to comfort himself, too. Maybe his plans for the future didn’t come true as he had hoped– but Tsu’tey feels now that he can be who he wants to be. Choose what he wants out of life, even if it took grieving people and chances to understand that.

He doesn’t know how much his words have meant for you until you suddenly hug him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and Tsu’tey stills, not sure what to do, before lightly wrapping his arms around your back, and he realizes you’re warm, and you smell good, like the aroma of spices traded in the caravan has been intensified on your skin and in your hair, and he’s beginning to soften into the hug when there’s jeering below.

The group of Na’vi who Tsu’tey had fired an arrow at earlier– traders and others alike– are hooting and clapping, pointing at you two, making kissy sounds, and Tsu’tey lets go of you– his forearm still lightly touching and splayed against yours– and he fixes a stern glare, hissing at them.

“Kalweyaveng.” He shouts, meaning son of a bitch, and you burst out laughing at that, knowing that Tsu’tey’s well-known ego wouldn’t let lighthearted teasing slide so easily, and then Tsu’tey grins somewhat sheepishly, but also proudly at you, because you’re beginning to know him so well.

/

That night, there’s a large feast of sturmbeest stew and payo nkitsyey (fish food wraps) and many Tlalim and Omatikaya are singing and dancing, stumbling around in joyous excitement, eager to travel again soon.

You’re sitting by a lantern, weaving a baby cloak for one of the women in your clan. She’s expecting soon, and you want to have this cloak done before then.

“That’s not for you, is it?” Tsu’tey suddenly appears and you swerve towards him. He sits down next to you.

“Quiet one.” You smile at him, eyes crinkling, and he smiles back, although somewhat distractedly. “No, I’m not with child. I don’t have a mate, anyways.”

It’s a little piece of information that you don’t share with any intentions, but Tsu’tey places that in the back of his mind.

“Are you ever going to tell me your name?” You ask, realizing that this man will always be a little unknown to you otherwise.

“Isn’t it more fun if you don’t know?” Tsu’tey teases, and he doesn’t say his name. “I wanted to ask about… something that may hurt you.”

“Oh.” You bite your lip, staring down at the baby clothing in your hands. “Okay, ask me.”

“The Mangkwan. You were on the way to High Camp, to drop off the pink-skinned boy as you said.” Tsu’tey watches as your gaze heightens, and he knows that you know. 

“It was Jake Sully. And Neytiri, was it not? They were dropping off Spider.” Tsu’tey says it just to see visual confirmation on your face. “I knew it. Why did you not tell me?”

“To protect you.” You answer firmly, but Tsu’tey looks unconvinced.

“You don’t have to baby me. I’m not a child.” He says, but you take his hand, willing him to look at you instead of being petulant.

“Jake Sully and Neytiri, their family… they were on the ship that went down.” You stare at Tsu’tey, watching him mull over these words. “They have not been seen since. I am unaware of where they are, or how they could have survived– I did not want to alarm you.”

“Toruk Makto protects his family. They will be okay.” Tsu’tey says, but his eyes are a bit harder, as if he’s trying to convince himself, before softening looking at you. “Thank you.”

You’re still clinging onto his hands with your own, and something about his gaze now– kind of hazy, his teeth half biting his lips, a small smile forming– you blush, and you drop his hands as gently as you can.

Tsu’tey is unfortunately, devilishly handsome, and because he’s a formidable, strong man, you feel you are almost too out of your element. He’s loyal, kind, but also prideful, arrogant at times, and somehow, you like all of these things.

Unfortunately you especially like the way he’s looking at you right now.

“Do you want to dance?” You ask, despite yourself, feeling like you deserve to ask, because life is short, and you hope he doesn’t say no.

He’s playful. Tsu’tey nods and grabs your hand, leading you to where the other Tlalim are dancing, and together you dance– and although Tsu’tey can seem firm at times, here he’s loose and moving around you eagerly.

/

“Be careful of that Omatikayan man.” Peylak mentions to you one day, a week later, as your fellow Na’vi begin to rearrange boxes before the airships must leave High Camp. Finally, after the Mangkwan attack, the ships have been effectively repaired. 

“What? Who are you–” You try to have some deniability, but it’s not selling.

“Tsu’tey te Rongloa Ateyitan.” Peylak says with a finality, and your eyes widen upon hearing his name. “I saw him dancing with you a week ago.”

It’s not familiar to you, but placing a name to the Omatikayan’s face was something you wanted to do on your own, with him, and now that’s been taken away.

“That was not your name to share, Olo’eyktan.” You admonish him, turning with a huff. 

“Listen to me.” Peylak saunters over, as you play with the tail end of your cloak. “Tsu’tey is not a bad man, but I think you should be wary. He was meant to be Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya. He was promised to Neytiri, and Jake Sully stole his bride to be. According to others in High Camp, he’s looking for them right now. I worry he will attempt to take revenge. Kill Jake Sully, and take Neytiri back.”

“You don’t know him.” You say sharply.

“And you do? How easy it would be, to sneak into our clan, and befriend one woman who seems overly placid.” Peylak motions to you, and you roll your eyes. “Lie to her for a couple of weeks as she becomes convinced that he likes her? And the next thing you know– Tsu’tey decides to ask what he’s already known. Their Olo’eyktan and people know of Jake and Neytiri’s survival, and they have been looking for them too. Tsu’tey has a bad motive to find them, and if he does first, he may harm them.”

“I–” You start, but Peylak shakes his head.

“And one more thing. Tsu’tey has never bonded with a woman, but he has mated with plenty. Supposedly, Neytiri’s sister, and perhaps her herself. You would have been discarded just as easily.” Peylak leans in close. “Did you know that, if you really know him?”

“I…” You shake your head, overwhelmed with information, unsure what to grasp. “I guess I didn’t know enough.” 

You want to tell Peylak that this could just be gossip– a different perspective, not the real truth– but he’s left you with this, walking away to talk to others.

Unbeknownst to you, Tsu’tey waits at the opening of your airship– and one look to his expression tells you he heard everything.

/

You run towards him, wanting to tell him nothing more than that you don’t believe Peylak. That there must be a clear explanation for everything he said, not shadowed with falsities. With rumors meant to hurt him.

But you see that Tsu’tey’s left arm, his bicep, is covered in blood. Red-brown trails of blood are running down his arm, dripping onto the floor of the caravan.

And despite that, he doesn’t look in pain. He just looks angry, and hesitant to even be near you.

“You’re hurt.” You start, your voice shaking, moving closer to him.

“Stop.” Tsu’tey says, and you stop in your place, dreading his tone. His anger, his pride, everything is intertwined in a way that is so… Tsu’tey, but it hurts you nevertheless to hear him like that towards you.

“I didn’t…” You shake your head. You were about to tell him the truth, that you know him, you know his character. But there’s no time for that right now.

He’s hurt, and he could be dying, if he keeps refusing help.

You move towards him once again.

“Why do you come closer when I tell you not to?” Tsu’tey huffs, intending to ward you away, but it’s too late.

You’re already right next to him, loosening his arm band, and he motions for you to get away, gently-but-firmly– meaning that his next move would be more aggressive, if you test him– but you simply refuse eye-contact and continue on. 

You see it now. An arrow wound that Tsu’tey had broken off effectively, but did not have time to dress. The blood is still hot and running, and as you touch near the wound with your thumb, he quivers.

“Stop.” Tsu’tey speaks the word in a hushed growl, advising you to quit it now before he has to touch you, after all this, Eywa forbid– but you stare at him now, with a steely gaze that stops him in his tracks.

Tsu’tey hates this. Hates everything you’ve turned out to be– a Tlalim woman more interested in gossip than his friendship, everything he thought you were the opposite of. What is your problem? Is it all women who are like this?

No, no. Sylwanin wouldn’t like to hear that, he knows. 

But still– he thought perhaps you two were becoming something, a pair, even just friends would have been ideal, and instead, you betrayed him in a way.

“Please. You’re hurt.” You shake your head, and Tsu’tey tuts. 

“This is nothing in comparison to what you’ve done to me.” He mumbles in a tone that almost has you flinching.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” That’s all you say for now, just accepting the blame, until Tsu’tey lets go of his burgeoning grudge.

“Okay?” Tsu’tey sits down– he actually nearly collapses. “That is not good enough.”

You’re silent, focused on cleaning his wound, letting Tsu’tey continue to talk.

“I should’ve known better. The Tlalim clan, spreading news so kindly, but also sneering at whoever they think is below them.” Tsu’tey laughs harshly. 

“Were you only talking to me so you could just ask others everything?” He asks.

“You barely told me anything about yourself.” You counter, but you only say it out of some desperate cling to dignity as you’re getting berated– you never asked Peylak to share those things, nor did you want to pry, and Tsu’tey’s gaze hardens.

“You didn’t tell me anything about yourself either.” Tsu’tey crosses his arms and then winces, and you continue wrapping his arm in a spare, clean piece of fabric. “I thought you were different. Respectful of me. Gentle. Now I see you were just impatient to know all about the Omatikayan failure.”

His words hurt you, but you don’t correct him of his confusion, not just yet. His blood still has not slowed enough– you need pressure on the wound. You tighten the wrapping with a tie– and Tsu’tey sucks in a breath that tells you it hurts, but that means it’s working. 

Now he really does push– he tries to get you off him. Light shoves, but somehow you don’t move.

He doesn’t want your healing if you think so lowly of him. 

“You would rather talk to people so you have grand stories to make of them, wouldn’t you?” Tsu’tey turns to the side, staring at the sun as it sets, the glimmers of red and orange peeking through the moon’s eclipse. “Let me tell you. We are not just stories to be shared, we are people. You have no idea the damage that is done when you make myths out of us.”

“I know.” You finally hiss out. “I didn’t tell Peylak to make a mockery of you. I don’t invent tall tales, I tell people what they need to know.”

“And perhaps you told him to talk to Tarsem about me?” Tsu’tey wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Maybe you needed intel so you asked him to speak as Olo’eyktan to another. I think you were desperate for a man to choose you, and you wanted to know if I would want you.”

“Shut up.” You start now, getting angry. 

“Aw, did I hit too close to home?” Tsu’tey smirks now, but it’s all mirth. “I know your kind. Weak to ask for what they want– instead choosing to hide in the shadows.”

He’s breathing heavily, perhaps because of his wound, heightened emotions, but you’re so upset now– irate beyond belief– that you’re breathing hard too, staring him down, daring him to say more.

It works.

“Are you so pathetic you’ll just sit here and let me insult you?” Tsu’tey snarls now, getting far too close, his face nearly brushing your own. 

It’s scary, being this close to him, but you hold your ground.

“I’m trying to fix your arm!” You yell back, and Tsu’tey scoffs.

“Fix my arm? Why don’t you want to fix our friendship? Why didn’t you just ask me about myself?” Tsu’tey asks every question with increasing incredulity.

“Because you seemed scared.” You respond firmly, loudly, and then clear your throat, and now you see the bleeding has finally stopped, so you begin to clean the drying, excess amounts trailing off his arm. “Because you needed time. You were quiet, but I wanted to ask– I wanted to know everything about you from you, not what selfish bastards like Peylak think about you. I respected your need for space– forgive me for not knowing you wanted to tell me, too.”

“But–” Tsu’tey starts, but you shush him.

“I never asked Peylak about you. Not because I’m not interested in you, but because…” You swallow and then trace one of your braids back, behind your ear. “Because I am interested. I wanted to know you truly, from my own perspective with you. I think you’re very intense at times, and passionate, and I think so highly of you– I See you, Tsu’tey, and I wish you had told me your name first.”

There’s a beat of silence, and it feels strangely intimate, like deeper, inward feelings are about to come out– it doesn’t help that you’re looking right into his eyes, and his mouth is slightly ajar, and now all you’re thinking about is kissing him.

“I understand why you said I’m cowardly and desperate.” You add, not letting him speak, letting your gaze drop to the ground, turning away from him. “I’ve never had true, real love in my life, not like that– and the older you become, the more obvious it is. Perhaps I was pushing you without realizing, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m so sorry. Forgive me, I spoke out of turn.” Tsu’tey shakes his head, and reaches out towards you, coming closer and making your gaze drawn to his again. “I let my anger get ahead of me, yet again, and I spoke so lowly of a friend, of a… I am the one who’s weak to ask for what they want, not you.”

“What do you want?” You ask, and it’s you being daring– albeit a little shy, still.

He grins now. “Tell me your name, and that will be the answer.”

/

Tsu’tey tells you that he doesn’t care if you’ve never had a real partner before, and he was just jumping to a conclusion to hurt you. That he doesn't think you're that kind of person to be so pushy– he just wants to be wanted.

He tells you the real, honest truth. About Sylwanin dying, Neytiri, Jake Sully, and the battle against the RDA. About wanting to be Olo’eytkan one day, and having that taken away. Learning to be a warrior again after being hurt. 

He tells you he thought he’d only be able to ever love one person– Sylwanin– that everything with Neytiri was him trying to follow through with his promise to Sylwanin. But despite all this, he’s sure he feels it with you. Something he tried to push away, and act as if it was entirely in your own head or of your own doing.

Love. Kame. Real sight of you.

Something he thought was dead to him. Like every other thing in his life, he was anguished by the loss, and unsure of how to keep going– but now he knows. He knows change is real.

“I’m glad to hear it.” You murmur, and Tsu’tey, feeling weak from both the blood loss and the energy expended over such a long argument, begins to fall asleep.

“Tsu’tey, you can’t sleep here.” You whisper, not wanting to kick the man out, but hoping he would not face ill will from Peylak or other Tlalim people with grudges. “We leave in the morning.” 

“You’ll wake me up before then.” Tsu’tey yawns, and he lies down, wrapping his arms around your waist and taking you down with him.

You turn shy at this, but you’re not against such a thing– you feel that you know him so well anyways. You just haven’t had the opportunity very often.

He curls onto one of your pillows strewn on the floor, cuddling you against his chest, and before he can think better of it– he becomes less respectful and kisses your cheek, before kissing you. It’s not insistent– just soft, gentle, as he’s contentedly – and he pulls away.

“Sorry.” Tsu’tey says, and then winces. “I do not normally apologize so much. But I hope that was not your first kiss, done without much ceremony.”

“Oh. Well, no. I am not that inexperienced.” You smile up at him, and Tsu’tey mockingly gasps, half jealous, but not really. 

“There are other first things…” Tsu’tey jokes, but he's caught off guard by how quickly you kiss him now. 

It's hard and intense, your teeth very nearly biting against his inner lip as you kiss him, because maybe the past few weeks of pent up passion, and lingering looks, have left you with a lot of energy– and you overtake him, straddling him and causing him to lie back. Tsu’tey is too tired to tell you to stop– he also likes the tickling, warm sensation of your lips kissing his cheek, travelling down his neck and jaw.