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eywa-eveng · 2 years ago

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ɪɪ. sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏɴᴇ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ᴊᴀᴋᴇ sᴜʟʟʏ, sᴜʟʟʏ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴹᴱᵀᴷᴬᵞᴵᴺᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 12.3k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst, fluff

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – widower!Jake, slight injury

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ – ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪɪ – ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪᴠ

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ – @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @amiets2 @neteyamforlife @itscheybaby @sunrays404 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @eternallyvenus @bobojojoba69 @behindthearcane @elegantkidfansoul @goldenmoonbeam @ladylovegood-69 @myheartfollower @pinkiemme @arminsgfloll @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @onlyreadz

A storm rolled in with the darkness of eclipse, shutting the bright eye of the sky as swollen clouds blotted out the pale light of Naranawm and the stars. Wind howled through the night like screaming banshees, and waves hissed as they crashed to shore. Even now the water is still dark and turbulent, choked with seafoam as the waves rise as high as leaping nalutsa past the safety of the seawall. The small outcroppings of sand and stone are drowned in the rising tide as the storm rages on. Now, it is close to midday but the only light bleeding through the thick covering of clouds comes in bright flashes of lightning that rend the sky in splinters of gleaming white. It is as dazzling as it is dangerous.

The waves have grown high enough to splash over the hanging paths that flow like woven rivers throughout the village, wetting your feet as you return from your sister’s marui. Rain means the day is spent inside, away from the fitful waters that could easily trap even the strongest swimmer of the clan. It is a time for menial tasks, weaving, crafting, and mending. Ronal had traded your finished baskets for another filled with freshly dyed sea fronds and shells she had collected, dismissing you for the day. You sift through the materials on your way home, nearly tripping over Tuk as she sits outside your marui.

Her legs hang dangerously over the edge of the path, the strength of the tide pushing and pulling her skinny limbs as it so pleases. Another wave could sweep her away from your marui and you’re quick to pull her away, tutting over her lack of sense until you remember this is the first storm that’s passed over Awa’atlu since her arrival. Storms do not shake the forest as they do the sea. Your arm catches her waist, lifting her to your hip to carry her inside. She is already chattering about how dull the day has been having been confined to her family’s marui all morning.

“It is only rain.” She says as you set her down inside. She stays at your side, pacing in your shadow as you relight the torches that substitute the sun’s light. Soft shadows shiver and jump in the warm glow of the flickering firelight, tracing dark shapes across the woven walls as Tuk explores your home. It is her first time here and you don’t mind her curiosity as she leafs through your belongings. There is nothing secret to be found in the things that fill the space of your home. She stops before your weapons, yellow eyes drawing over the sea crystal blade of your largest spear. It is a weapon meant for battle and hunting. Every member of the clan has one, but you are not a hunter nor a warrior. It is something you’ve seldom touched since its construction following the completion of your rites as one of the People. Instead you keep to smaller spears and arrows when weapons are needed.

“Rain makes the ocean hostile. Even the strongest swimmers can be trapped under a tall wave. It is best to stay out of the water until the storm has passed.”

“But it’s so boring!” She grouses, coming up beside you with your box of beads and combs in hand. “Sa’nok, can I play with your hair?” You nod, having settled yourself to begin making something of the supplies your sister had given you. There are glimmering shells and beautifully made beads, enough to keep your hands busy for hours to come. By the time someone else comes rushing into your marui you’re nearly done knotting together the intricate pattern of a new top. Neteyam looks frantic as he ducks inside the closed flap, wiping rain from his brow.

“Sa’nok, have you seen–Tuk!” He calms as soon as he sees his sister seated happily at your side, fingers still playing in the long waves of your hair. Her braids are thick and clumsy as she threads shells and beads into each loop but she seems content with the work she’s done. She’s gentle in her work, never pulling or tangling as she goes.

“I have been looking for you. Do not go off without saying where you are going. You know Sempul doesn’t like that.” In the corner of your eye you see Tuk’s ears droop and she moves in closer to you, hands holding your arm for comfort as she hides her face in your hair. Neteyam’s expression softens at the sight. His voice may be lighter with youth but when he speaks it carries the weight of Jake’s words. He is the eldest son, a heavy burden to bear. It is expected that he will look after his siblings as well as his father does and the stress of it must prick at his heart the same as it does any parent’s. More so considering the blame that is laid at his feet when he fails to meet his father’s expectations. You’ve seen it when Lo’ak got himself into trouble, the great disappointment shining in Jake’s eyes as he blamed one son for the actions of another. If there are cords twining the Sully family together it pains you to imagine how frayed each of them might be. Neteyam to Lo’ak, Jake to his sons. It makes your heart heavy to think of the pain each of them bears trying to keep each other safe and happy, but it is the nature of a family. Just as the thread between you and Ronal had grown thin upon the Sullys’ arrival these things can be mended with time. It is the way of the All Mother’s great balance. In life there is both darkness and light and both must be felt equally despite the pain of it.

“I’m not mad, Tuk,” Neteyam says finally, kneeling beside you and his sister. “I was worried.” She nods and moves from her place hidden in the thick tresses of your hair. The two of them remain by your side, talking between themselves as you continue your crafting.

The storm wanes as the day comes to a close, thick clouds parting enough that the tied flap of the marui can be raised once more. Neteyam does it for you, eager to help when you mention the quieting winds. What had been incessant howling earlier has soothed to a soft whisper that has warmed in the soft, misting rain. The tide is still high but the water isn’t so choppy without great gusts of wind stirring the water. Tuk is quick to abandon her braiding to bask in the revealed light of eclipse. For a few minutes there’s nothing but brilliant yellow light cast over the island before it winks out like a torch being snuffed. Light is quick to return as the stars begin to shine and the darkened ocean finally finds its light as the stilled waters give way to the faint glow of syuratan hidden beneath the wavering surface. Tuk hangs over the edge, little legs kicking in the air as she sticks her head into the calmed waters. She rises with a giggling splash accompanied by the clicking of an ilu as the larger animals finally emerge from their shelter beneath the floating village.

The rest of Awa’atlu resurfaces as well, breathing a great sigh of relief as if rising after a long dive. Children just as restless as Tuk rush to the water’s edge and she goes to play with them a small ways down the path. Her voice is still clear as you begin to prepare for dinner, lighting a cookfire and gathering ingredients. Usually the meals you prepare at home are for yourself only so it is a welcomed change to have more mouths to feed. Happiness swells like cresting waves in your chest as you watch the two of them eat, enjoying the food you’ve made for them. It is another moment of stolen motherhood. They are not your children but you feel responsible for them. For their health, for their happiness.

It is not only because you were tsakarem. There will always be a piece of you that wants to look after the members of your clan but these children–Jakesully’s children–feel different when you think of them. It makes your heart break and mend all at once as Tuk makes herself comfortable in the cradle of your folded legs when she’s done eating, content to fall asleep against your chest as you talk with Neteyam. Your conversation is aimless as you speak over the dying cookfire, torches slowly dwindling their light until there’s only the blue glow of Pandora around you. He tells you of his exploration around the island and his training with Ao’nung and the others.

“They laugh at me because I cannot throw a spear. I was taught to use a bow. Throwing arrows without it seems strange.” His complaint holds no malice. There is a smile playing on his lips. No longer are the arguments between the children rife with malice. Now there are only well humored jokes between friends, like teasing siblings.

“You will learn,” you hum. “It is hard to master a spear. I could not throw in a straight line for many months when I was first learning. Ao’nung was the same. Watch when you’re training. Sometimes he will still throw a bit to the left. Learning when to release takes patience.”

It’s in the pale light that Neteyam’s face seems to change, drawing into a severe expression as his eyes empty of mirth despite your light tone. When he looks up at you again there’s something heavy and longing in his eyes.

“I don’t know if ma sempul has said it, but thank you. For everything. I know that we are outsiders and that tsahìk Ronal did not want us here to start. But you have made this place feel like home for us. For me.” Your lips part to say something but all that forms on your tongue is his name, filled with a heavy maternal anguish. Here is this child taken from his home and all that he’s known because there are demons looking for his blood. He is fighting. Everyday he has to fight to find happiness here under such dire circumstances. There are times when you see them forget, when Awa’atlu truly seems like home but the soul doesn’t forget where it’s been.

“Oh, Neteyam,” you say again, trying to reach for him. He lets you comfort him for only a moment before standing.

“It is late. My father will be wondering where we are.” And like that the illusion shatters. You are not his mother. It is not your place to soothe and placate. It’s a small miracle that he does not take Tuk from your arms, that he lets you walk beside him back to his marui. Jake is still awake though Kiri and Lo’ak have gone to sleep for the night. He takes Tuk from you to lay her down in her usual place and you take a steadying breath before placing a hesitant hand on Neteyam’s head. His shoulders raise for a moment, tail stiffening behind him before he slowly relaxes and leans into your touch.

He wants to be comforted, you realize, but it seems that he’s gone without for so long that he’s forgotten how to accept it. Not for the first time your thoughts stray to his mother. She’s little more than a wisp of a thought in your mind, vague and undefined. It’s the one thing you can’t bring yourself to ask them about despite the itching in the back of your head to know even as little as her name. But the thought of her must be like a healing wound to the family she’s left behind and you won’t be the one to tear at their scars until they’re bleeding anew.

Neteyam leans against your side, not hugging but allowing you to smooth over his braids for a moment longer until he squares his shoulders and steps away. His eyes are towards his feet, avoiding your knowing gaze as he bids you goodnight. There’s a hesitance in his steps as if he is forcing himself towards his own bedroll in the marui. Whatever comfort he has taken in your gentle touch has soothed and disturbed his soul in equal parts. There’s conflict in his eyes when you finally see them flashing in the darkness of their home. He wants to accept your affection but something is holding him back. Before you can ask Jake takes his son’s place beside you, pulling you away from the sleeping children towards the beach. The water is colder than usual and nearly to your knees as the shore is buried beneath the heightened tide.

“I missed you today.” He says as he pulls you further into the water. There are others around, already enjoying the ocean’s embrace after going a day without it. The air is filled with the hushed sounds of laughter and lapping water.

“I heard you were out hunting.” Ronal had given you simple chores today but Tonowari was nowhere to be seen each time you went to deliver your mending and weaving to your sister. You assumed he’d taken a small party inland to hunt in the flooded rivers as they usually do when the ocean becomes inhospitable. Jake has proved to be a skilled hunter in the time since he’s arrived at Awa’atlu and it’s curried him favor with the olo'eyktan.

“Yeah,” he groans, rolling his shoulders back.

“Are you tired? You should rest.” Your ears perk up in concern.

“Nah, I’d rather spend time with you.” It makes your heart flutter in your chest but the happiness is dampened by the feeling of selfishness. This man is not yours and yet he makes your heart soar with only a few words. It isn’t fair to him or yourself to be so fixated on the feeling but you can hardly help the way you feel. If it were possible to tear the roots of affection from your chest and leave only thoughts of a newly kindled friendship, you would do it without hesitation. But Eywa was seen fit to fill your vitra with dangerous desire. You want to ask the Great Mother what she wants with you, why she’s chosen to test you in this way, but it will do no good. The seed has been planted and you must helplessly watch it blossom despite the inevitability of your feelings wilting in the face of rejection.

In the pale blue light of the watchful eye above, you decide to toss those thoughts to the wind. Jake is smiling at you like he’s never seen anything lovelier than your face in the starlight and it makes you want to be reckless with your heart if only for one night. Before eclipse breaks and the sun returns you’ll pretend that this man is yours no matter the pain that will come later.

“Come. I will race you to the seawall.” It is a game played between more novice swimmers, children trying to prove their prowess amongst their friends but Jake smiles anyway. Nì’eveng you’ve taken to calling him. Childish. The look on his face is nothing but playful as you both dive into the open water. There is no doubt that you’ll beat him. Even as he’s steadily improved in the water he still isn’t built for the ocean the same as you. Your body is strong from your arms to your tail and Jake is woefully behind by the time you climb onto the lowest levels of the terraces. They’re alight with shades of green, blue, and purple that shine brighter with each step you take towards the top. But Jake is faster on land, longer legs easily bounding up the terraces until he catches you by the waist just before you reach the top. It’s the closest the two of you have ever been as he swings you in a circle until your laughter echoes across the darkened sky. His arms don’t move when he sets you down. Instead his face finds the column of your neck, purrs sounding in your ears as his nose traces over the rippling stripes of your skin.

“Got you.” His voice is an entrancing drawl that sends a shiver down your spine. It feels as if the world has tilted and only you feel the shift as Jake’s hands soothe over your waist, keeping you close to his chest as he noses behind your ear. It’s intimate in a way you’ve never experienced. There has never been anyone to court you, to treat you with such affection. No man of the Metkayina would dare even after Tonowari passed over you in favor of your sister. Yet here is this man from a place you’ve never seen, giving you everything that you’ve ever wanted.

“You caught me.” You agree and Jake laughs against the shell of your ear. He mumbles something as he squeezes you closer. You turn in his arms, face drawn in confusion.

“Always,” he says again. “I’ll always catch you.” His forehead presses to yours bright eyes clouding your vision of anything other than him.

“I’m not running.” It’s a lie but you say it to preserve the fantasy. Just for this night you want to pretend that you belong to him in truth.

“You are.” He says and the illusion is shattered. His arms around you begin to feel too tight and his breath too close as it washes over your parted lips. This isn’t how you should be acting with a mated man no matter how you feel towards him. But when you try to pull away his arms tighten.

“There you go again. What are you running from, girl?” You shake your head, voice lost somewhere in your throat as you try to do exactly what you’ve said you aren’t. You want to run away but your heart will stay with you. These feelings of yours won’t be easily abandoned as they beat in your chest like a drum. They will follow you no matter how far you go. You don’t get farther than turning away from him before he has you in his arms again. His hand settles over your thumping heart, fingertips tracing over the shape of your tattoo.

“I feel you,” he says, hand moving from your fluttering heart to your throat, “I hear you.” Your breathing comes in stuttered draws, lungs suddenly constricted with the wave of emotions crashing inside you. “I See you.” He says finally, lips caressing your ear. When your shuddering breaths calm he turns you to face him again. All that beams in his eyes is sincerity. Yearning and something close to desperation. He wants you to accept him.

“You’re not mine.” It’s a warbled cry as tears swell in your eyes.

“I’m yours. I’m all yours, yawne.” It makes your knees go weak and you fall from his arms, landing gracelessly in the water at your feet.

“I can’t do this.” Jake flinches back, his hands falling from where they’d been reaching out to you. “You’ve mated with another. I can’t have you.”

Never have you heard of a mated pair in which one of them had been mated before. When a mate dies, that does not make room for another. Tsaheylu is sacred, shared only between two lovers. What Jake is asking is something your heart cannot understand. The thoughts of the woman you’ve never met, the woman that came before you, keeps you from letting yourself love him fully. He is hers. Whatever part of him wants you now, it is not the whole of him. It is inevitable that when mates are separated by death, a part of the living dies with the one that went to Eywa. He will always be hers before he is yours. Or perhaps Jakesully will be different as he is in all things.

He is Na’vi but he was also tawtute. It was Eywa that decided his fate as Toruk Makto, that allowed him to have the body that he does today. Perhaps you are simply another part of his fate. Another bead in his songcord. Each thought swims through your head quicker than the last, growing more absurd with each passing moment. It would be so easy to ignore it, to reach out and be with Jake in the way that he’s asking you to. But your heart is delicate, your soul conflicted. He isn’t yours. And yet he is. His heart is in his hands as he stares at you, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Don’t cry, pretty girl. You’ve got me. I’m here. Whenever you want me, I’m here. I promise.” He carries you home once you’ve cried yourself dry, laying you down and pressing a kiss to your forehead before going to join his children. It breaks your heart to watch him leave but it is where he belongs. His children will always need him more than you. A lonely tsakarem will always pale in comparison to the remnants of the life he led before you met. His mate, their children. If you accept him it will be as if you are a mismatched bead looped at the end of a bracelet. Dull and out of place.

For once you do not rise with the sun as it breaks from behind Naranawm’s shadow. There’s a soreness in your eyes as you try to shield them from the burning white light of the morning sun as it burns unfettered after spending a day under heavy clouds. Tears have dried on your cheeks and Tuk’s braids have become tangled and undone after what was surely a fitful sleep. You remove them slowly, collecting all the ornaments she added as they fall into your lap. There are things that need to be done, tasks that need completing, but you ignore those responsibilities to hide your face in the forest. You take your time in bathing and cleaning your hair, spending too long in the memories of the hands that touched you last night. It’s as if he’s still with you. So gentle and earnest as he caressed your skin.

The memories linger like a bruise when you finally drag yourself from the bathing pool, sore and shameful. Once you’ve dressed you abandon the village to visit the one place you’ve been avoiding since the moment you met Jakesully. There was fear in your heart at the thought of bonding with the Ranteng Utralti. Fear of what the Great Mother might show you, what your ancestors might tell you. It still lingers even as you leave your ilu to bask in the pale purple light of the glowing fronds of the spirit tree. Tree spirits swim around you, yellow fish shining bright as stars. The waters around the tree are deserted aside from the animals. No one to judge your hesitancy to commune with Eywa after so long. The fronds of the tree sway in the gentle current, waiting patiently for you to gather the courage to make tsaheylu. It nearly knocks the breath from your lungs when you finally join your tswin to the tree.

There are no thoughts in your mind as you join Eywa. There is no one that you want to see, no ancestor you wish to visit, but the Great Mother embraces you still. It feels like the gentlest hug as the colors flashing behind your eyes fades to something tangible yet distant all the same.

Eywa has brought you to a place you do not know. It is like the deep forest of Awa’atlu yet different. The air doesn’t carry the scent of the sea. It smells rich and loamy as thick grass cushions each of your curious steps. Trees that seem to touch the sky grow around you and sunlight peaks through the leaves in dappled beams, warming your skin for only a moment before you pass beneath another shadow. In the richly colored forest you look out of place. Skin bright as polished river stone, beaming through the deep greens of the foliage. You walk until you see something of interest. The trees thin to a small clearing and you stop in your tracks. The vision wavers as you fight against what the Great Mother has to show you, shimmering like heat rising off sand before solidifying as you force your heartbeat to calm.

A long structure sits before you. Grayish black the same as the buzzing ikran that had carried Norm and Max across the ocean. Metal, Jake had called it. You’ve only ever heard the word. It is part of the Na’vi Way set by the Three Laws of Eywa. Never use metals from the ground. It is something made from digging and stripping the earth. Harmful. It tosses off beams of light as you slink closer, staying close to the ground despite the lack of danger. There’s another metal beast in the clearing. Seemingly broken and covered in moss and vines. Inside is a small headless skeleton with two arrows through its ribs. Tawtute. They have been dead for long enough to turn to bone and yet their strange metal body has not returned to the earth it was stripped from. Even the well-made arrows have gathered rot where Eywa has begun to reclaim them.

It seems so unnatural for the metal to be so unflinching and yet you can’t temper your curiosity. You lean closer only to burn your hands on the shiny beast as if you’ve touched an open flame. Whatever this metal material is, it collects heat like a black stone left in the sun. The tawtute structure is just as smoldering beneath your skin as you vault inside. The floor makes a sound like shifting seashells as you land, a strange material like shards of crystal tinkling underfoot as you slink through the small space, crouching in the unaccommodating space. It feels odd to find yourself in a place like this and yet this is where Eywa wants you to be.

There is a Law against things like this. Laying brick, building that which cannot be renewed or replenished. Metal remains. It is cold inside despite the sun shining just beyond the opening in the wall, and very little of Pandora has dared to reach inside. This is a place of sawtute and the forest recognizes that. Nothing other than pollen and lichen has found its way inside. There is something here for you. Something Eywa needs you to see among the ruins of the sawtute. There’s a childlike curiosity to your exploration as you pick through the remains of the banished demons.

There are strange pieces of color, thin as leaves cut into neat shapes. They’re untouched by rot yet the colors seem wrong, slightly faded like an old mat left in the sun. There are people captured in the strange, dull threads of color. Two of them look familiar in a distant way, like you’d seen them from afar but only once. It isn’t until you bring the tiny thing close to your face that you realize you’ve seen pieces of these women in other people. Their eyes, their noses. Small details that you’ve noticed in others. The uniltìrantokx is even wearing a necklace you’ve seen before though it takes you a beat to place who’d worn it.

“Kiri?” The frozen memory jumps from your fingers like you’ve been struck and crystal shards dig into your knees as you stumble to the ground. The sharp pain rushes through you with startling vividness. Never have you been harmed while cradled in the Great Mother’s arms and the pain disrupts the vision, twisting and changing it as you try to stand. Light contorts and a sharp pain splits through your head, thrusting you back into your body with an aborted gasp.

Bubbles cloud your vision as you try to calm your racing mind. Who were those women with faces so familiar they seemed nearly tangible. Your mind races as your lungs pinch with exertion after all your air left in a warbled cry. Air seems far out of reach as you swim towards the light of the sun kissing the gentle waves. You surface with a strangled shout that echoes across the floating islands of the Cove, only treading water long enough to catch your breath. Your heart thunders in your chest as your ears cloud with the sound of your rushing blood. It takes all your focus to force your body to silence, to calm. Absently, you check your knees for blood, half expecting to find shards still embedded in your skin. When you find nothing other than the pattern of your skin your heart steadies enough for you to dive again. This time there is no hesitation as you connect to the Ranteng Utralti. There is a place for you in what Eywa has shown you. Everyone lives within the Great Mother. She remembers. Someone had been there before you. Someone precious to you. The Great Mother knows your heart, knows what it is you seek. A purpose. An answer.

Show me, you whisper in your mind. Tell me.

The vision is different as the flashing colors fade to night, the seldom patches of sky alight with stars and a gentle breeze lifting the curls of your hair as you stand at the precipice of a spiraling tree root. The sounds floating through the darkness are so different from the steady lapping of water. There is life all around you, just beyond sight as your footsteps stir up bursts of green syuratan. Everything feels new, like you’re a child again as you walk along the path the Great Mother has set you on. Specks of white like tanhì glow through the soft light of blue and purple leaves overhead, drifting on the faint breeze. They descend like a gentle rain and feel just as faint as one lands in your outstretched hand. More follow, tickling across your skin as they turn your body a pure shade of white. Eywa’s presence strengthens with each one that brushes against you and you realize they must be atokirina’. So different from the radiant seeds of your own spirit tree and yet the feeling is the same.

They dance over your body like lapping waves before departing in a glimmering cloud. It would be lovely to watch them float away if an echoing screech didn’t follow their departure. You don’t dare to turn and face what made such a deafening noise. Instead you clumsily sprint towards cover, wide tail doing little to balance your strides as you find an alcove in a tree to hide yourself. The bark is rough against your skin after being so gently touched by the hands of the Great Mother and your vision wavers once more as fear punches through your chest in an acidic burst. Never have you encountered danger when connected to the Ranteng Utralti. Never have you known Eywa to lead those seeking guidance into peril. But you’ve been hurt, you’ve bled. And now another shriek crashes through the quiet of the forest, echoing eerily through the treetops. The distant branches seem to shudder, shedding leaves as something crashes through the foliage. Is this the result of your covetous heart? The Great Mother turning her back on you?

A scream rips from your throat, nearly burning with its intensity as a giant ikran descends through the hole it’s torn through the canopy. The roots shudder beneath its mighty weight as it lands where you’d been standing and your thick limbs tremble clumsily, hands tucking into the groves of the tree bark to keep yourself upright and hidden. This beast is like no ikran you’ve ever seen though you’ve seen so few in the distant atolls of the Metkayina. Yet this one seems intrinsically different. Large and bright in the night as it spreads its fearsome wings, fanged jaw opening to let out another bellow that has your ears folding tight against your head. A pained noise slips from your lips as its voice splits through your head and it’s enough to draw the creature’s attention to you. Its eyes seem to find you even in the shadows and you’re reminded that the two of you are bright beings in a darkened forest. For a moment your heart stops and yet the beast doesn’t charge, doesn’t let out another terrifying scream. Instead it sits as if waiting for you to show yourself.

Every instinct carved into you since birth begs you to stay hidden and yet, with hesitant steps, you emerge from your hiding place. If this is your punishment for daring to think a man like Jake could ever be yours then you’ll have to face it.

The ikran fixes its four eyes on you, wings spreading to block anything but the warm shades of its striped skin. It is the color of the sun in a sea of shades of green and blue, a torch over the ocean. A fire, your mind sings. Wings like flames. The song of Toruk Makto. It is one you remember well, sung more often in the years after the sawtute were banished from Pandora. The ikran before you is no ikran. It is toruk. Last Shadow. A breath leaves you in an awed rush as tears begin to burn in your eyes. Toruk stays as still as an animal can be as you approach him. There is still fear in your heart, something instinctual that is sewn into the very fabric of your soul. And yet it bleeds away as you reach to touch him. Part of you still expects a quick reproach, a snap of his mighty jaw to remove your hand. But he only shifts his weight and watches as you touch the blue crests of his head. Any fear still lingering in your chest dissipates at the feeling of his head in the palm of your small hand.

You came to the Great Mother with a storm wailing inside you, burying you beneath the dark waters of uncertainty, and she has eased it. All at once the dark clouds of your conflicted spirit seem to part and warmth blooms in its place. Toruk shuts his eyes and leans further into your hand as if he too can feel the stillness finally easing inside you.

He is your answer. Eywa has heard you.

The days that follow pass in a haze. Even as your heart has been soothed your mind is still racing. It’s all you can do to pick up with your daily tasks, to pretend the Great Mother hasn’t just laid a magnificent blessing into your hands.

“Sa’nok, watch me!” Naleyä squeals before gulping in a deep breath and diving to the bottom of the pool, drawing you out of your own head. The tide pools are still overflowing after the storm and it’s made the children more confident now that the water has grown a bit deeper. They’re light as seabirds floating on their round tummies as they paddle in circles around you, daring to dive for a few moments before resurfacing with little gasps and eager smiles. It’s still shallow enough that you could reach Naleyä just by bending down but she seems determined to prove how well she’s learned as she picks up a shell resting at the bottom to bring you when she resurfaces. Mu’rak intercepts the gift, curious fingers taking the shell before he passes it to you for approval. It’s a simple shell. Flat and ridged, the color of a pinkish sunrise. You’ve collected many of them in your life but each is just as precious as the last. More so when gifted by one of your students. You press the shell to your lips before tucking it away in your medicine pouch.

“Me!” Peylil says, already filling his lungs with a big gust of air but you deflate him with a pinch of your fingers on his puffed cheeks. He’s young, too young to have even fully grown his tswin braid. He’s eager to follow but he’s only just learned to swim, hands still gripping cautiously at your loincloth to keep from floating too far in the pool. It will take some time before he is ready to dive, even in the shallowest of waters. He pouts up at you and for a moment he almost reminds you of Tuk. The thought is easily plucked away by the sound of a horn. It isn’t the same sound that had announced the arrival of the Sullys and there are no swooping silhouettes emerging from the haze of sunlight. Instead your eyes find the break in the sprawling seawall that lines the horizon. A rush of water rises like a cloud and through the mist comes the familiar crest of a tulkun. In an instant the feelings sitting like stones in your chest turn to dust and fall away. The tulkun have returned.

Once more Awa’atlu stops but there isn’t a storm to dampen this day. Everything has been abandoned to welcome the tulkun home. It is a time for reunions. For stories of what has come to pass since the tulkun last graced the waters of Awa’atlu. Whatever thoughts still lingers in your head are lost in the face of sharing this moment with those you hold dearest. The children are gathered quickly by their parents eager to introduce the younglings to their spirit family. You set off to find the children that have claimed your heart, but Kiri is the only one left inside when you reach the Sully marui looking as downtrodden as she’s been in the weeks since her seizure. It makes you wonder what the Great Mother might have shown her on that day. You’ve yet to mention what you’d seen of her mother, but if Eywa blessed with a meeting with toruk, then Kiri could’ve seen something truly amazing. And yet she hasn’t spoken of what she saw or who she spoke to. It isn’t your place to ask. Connection to the spirit tree is a private commune with the Great Mother and you won’t begrudge her that.

This will not erase her pain but it is your hope that it will ease her spirit even for a moment. Kiri shines so brightly with the light of Eywa and she will surely bloom in the majesty of the tulkun. She barely looks up when you enter the marui, ears lifting only slightly to acknowledge you despite the smile you feel overtaking your face.

“Kiri, come!” When she doesn’t move you guide her to her feet with gentle hands. She returns the soft touch though she is hesitant to heed your urging towards the water.

“What?” She groans but her attitude does little to deter you. She is still young, still hurting. Her words are only as harsh as whatever she is feeling and you’re eager to soothe her pains.

“What is it?” Her voice stops short as you finally guide her outside. She squints in the sun and you wonder when she last left home. For a moment your smile falls and you turn to look at her fully, holding her hands in yours as you look her over with the sharp eyes of a tsakarem. She is the same as you last saw her. Still dulled. Her light has dimmed and it aches your heart to see her faith slip. Eywa has not turned her back on Kiri. It’s clear to see in the way the fish seem to gravitate towards her as you lead her into the water. They mingle around her ankles like they’re caught in a whirling tide but she hardly notices as her eyes take in the spectacle playing out over the horizon. Yellow eyes widen in awe as the two of you watch the village become whole once more. Her hand tightens in yours as she looks to you with the first sparks of excitement shining in her eyes. Suddenly she’s pulling you along, eagerly dragging you along with her.

“Sa’nok!” Tuk shouts gleefully, already bouncing with excitement. She stands behind Kiri on her ilu, hands on her sister’s shoulders as they follow you into the flood of Na’vi and tulkun, tsurak and ilu. The whole of Awa’atlu has poured into the sea and voices rise joyously over the blue waters. It is the blissful sound of the People and tulkun as siblings are reunited after the season apart.

“There! Do you see her? That is my spirit sister.” Your voice is pitched with excitement as Kiri and Tuk ride beside you. The water is warm as you urge your ilu to dive. She chitters happily, feeling the elation coursing through you through tsaheylu. Veyan hums eagerly when her eyes finally see you riding towards her, dismounting as you swim in close. Her voice is a warm timber that sings through the water as you greet her.

«Veyan! Oel ngati kameie.»

«Oel ngati kameie, tsmuke. I am happy to see you.» Her skin feels welcoming beneath your hands as you press your forehead just above her eyes in a gentle embrace. «Who have you brought with you?» She asks when you part. Kiri and Tuk have kept close to you, signing a respectful greeting when Veyan’s eyes land on them. Kiri hugs close to her ilu as Tuk clings to your back, both bashful in the face of your spirit sister. Veyan is a lovely being known for her beautiful voice and playful disposition. She is as curious as they are upon first meeting.

«This is Kiri and this is Tuk.» You gesture to each of them in turn. Names are harder to convey without a voice and you name each with words that are easily signed. Kiri you call txanatan for how brightly she reflects Eywa’s light, and Tuk is weopxtsyìp; little wave. It is a common name tulkun say before a child is properly introduced.

«It seems now is a time for children.» Veyan laughs, pointing her snout across the water. Many Na’vi and tulkun dance in the blue waters but you recognize who she has gestured to.

Ronal is a short distance away and just as you always are you’re struck by your sister’s smile. It’s a rare sight to see the stoic tsahìk so open and unburdened as she speaks with her spirit sister. Roa looks radiant as she cradles a calf beneath her fin. A gorgeous son. You taste the sea on your tongue as a smile breaks across your face. After so long Roa has finally had her child. He looks precious swimming next to his mother, curious eyes taking in the world around him. Just as you’re about to suggest the girls introduce themselves to the young calf they sign that they need air, swimming to the surface.

«They must be a long way from home.» Veyan notes, keen eyes watching their shadows as they float overhead. It is easy to tell their differences. Their eyes, their tails. It’s made clearer as Rotxo finds them, wide limbs clashing with their willowy frames as he gestures for them to follow him. Both you and Veyan surface for a breath as you watch them all swim away. Neteyam is nearby as well, smiling wide as he watches the tulkun breach and twirl, playfully flapping their fins as skimwings fly overhead.

«Is he one of yours too?» Veyan asks when you name each of them properly.

«None of them are mine.» Your tone is dejected as you say the words as you sign. Veyan’s orange eyes roll at your denial.

«I can see it as plainly as the sky, tsmuke. They are your children.» The sound of Roa’s voice raises from beneath you as Ronal and her spirit sister come to join you and yours.

«Children?» The older tulkun asks curiously. She has known you since you were young, seen you through many seasons of your life. Roa is just as much your sister as she is Ronal’s even if the two of you do not share the bond of tsaheylu. You greet her happily, giving her well wishes on the birth of her son. She thanks you with a happy trill, nudging him forward for a shy greeting.

«Three of them.» Veyan says happily, fins fluttering in excitement and nearly shaking you back into the water.

«Four.» Ronal corrects her. «Two sons and two daughters.»

«When did this happen?» Roa asks. You lay back on Veyan’s fin, watching the sky as you try to gather the courage to speak your feelings into the air. You’ve spent months keeping them tucked close to your chest. It is plain to see how deeply you feel for Jake and yet you’ve refused to admit it, like he will disappear if you so much as whisper your affections to anyone. At first it felt wrong to so shamelessly pine for a man that was already spoken for but Eywa has proven you wrong. Now you are unlearning such ideas but it is slow going like pulling the stray threads of a knot. It has taken so much patience and trust in the Great Mother to loosen your grip on the thoughts of desiring a man like Jake being treacherous and wrong. In death, tsaheylu is broken. An ikran may only ride with one hunter in their whole life, but when a spirit sibling is lost another may rise to take their place if a Na’vi so chooses to accept. It is not betrayal, it is balance. As Eywa intends all things to be.

Yet there is still hesitancy in your words as you tell your sisters about Jake. How he came to Awa’atlu seeking uturu, how you challenged Ronal before the clan to allow him and his family to stay, the way your heart has been so easily taken by the Sullys.

«She is in love.» Ronal says, sour attitude clear even as her fingers shape the words. «But stubborn like a child.» Her voice is rife with disappointment. Not at your desire, but your unwillingness to act upon it.

She still taunts you. Making jabs about your empty home knowing that you could so easily join the Sully family if only you let yourself. Ronal may be your elder sister but she is also tsahìk. The will of Eywa is hers to interpret and the Great Mother has made her intentions clear. Yet the longer you go without acknowledging the truth of what you both know the more abrasive she becomes at the mention of it. Now she has grown far past pointed remarks. It has become an argument at even a passing mention. If either tulkun hears the frustration in Ronal’s tone they choose to ignore it. Though even her body has gone tense with dissatisfaction as she floats beside Roa.

«At last?» Veyan rolls over, clearly elated at the news. It knocks you back into the water with her. You take in the shapes of her tattoos on her belly as she spins. The same ones you’ve traced countless times in the years since you’ve bonded. This is news that she has been waiting for since the two of you passed your rites together. Finally you have found a mate. And yet your heart can’t let it be so simple even when what you want is so close at hand.

Jake has kept to the fringes of your life since the night on the terraces. He lingers, just out of reach. Whenever you want me, he said. His heart won’t stray from those words, from you. Even as you pass him in the village he doesn’t dare to speak or touch yet his eyes follow you, gaze wistful as he watches in silence.

«But he is already mated.» You tell them. Ronal narrows her eyes.

«His mate has returned to Eywa.» She quickly corrects you.

«Tsmuke, Eywa sends blessings for a reason. The Great Mother would not give you such a gift if you were not meant to accept it. He has chosen you. All you must do now is choose him.» Roa advises.

«There will be a celebration tonight.» Veyan chimes happily. «You must dress beautifully and go to him. I ask Eywa to bless this union.» Roa seconds her enthusiasm but Ronal keeps any kind words to herself until the two of you have surfaced once more to prepare for the evening. It is nearing eclipse, the sky faded to shades of pink and purple as night closes in. Ronal will have many things to do before the last sparks of sunlight fade from the sky. It is the duty of tsahìk to lead ceremonies and tonight marks one of the clan’s most sacred celebrations.

“Tsmuke,” Ronal says finally, joining you in your marui. Her tone is strong, sharp as a blade. She’s yet to speak and already you know her words will be unsympathetic. Ronal is past sparing you for the sake of sibling harmony. It’s clear in her green eyes that she feels nothing but irritation with you at this moment. It feels much the same as when you were children being scolded for going against her words despite her being the elder. Now she is tsahìk, the leader of your clan, and you must bow to her council no matter your relation.

“I have waited many years for you to choose someone. I do not want to hear any more of this stubbornness. It is done. This man has chosen you and you have chosen him. Not with your words, but with your actions. I see how Jakesully looks at you. I see how his children cling to you. It is as if it was your hands that drew out the aysnatanhì. You See so much and yet you are blind to this. He was mated but she is gone. His heart is free to be given to another. His children will need a mother. I will not allow you to keep yourself from happiness.”

“Syay,” she says pointedly. “It has been decided.”

And so it has. The dreamwalker that looks like Kiri and the woman that shares Neteyam’s face stare at you when you sleep. And when it isn’t their yellow eyes it is toruk’s voice ringing in your mind. He is lonely, in your dreams. Nearly desperate. The same look that takes over Jake’s eyes whenever you pass him by as if he were a stranger. You’re hurting him, you realize, just as much as you are hurting yourself. And it is a pain that can be easily soothed. Eywa has shown you how to heal if only you’ll listen. As if hearing your thoughts as if they were her own, your sister speaks again.

“You were tsakarem just as I was and yet you act as if you do not See. I know that you do. There is freedom in life but some things are decided by the Great Mother’s will. This has been one of those things. Eywa has guided you here, tsmuke, do not ignore her.” Her voice carries a tone of finality. It is the truth and you’ve felt the Great Mother’s guidance. It is as strong and unwavering as mighty toruk, as patient and comforting as Jake’s gentle words. He is meant for you just as you’re meant for him. There is a reason you’ve met him now. He had his mate. She was meant for him just as you are but that was then. Her purpose was served and her spirit returned to be with Eywa. The final hesitant piece of your heart wonders if you’ll leave him just as soon. If your purpose beside him is to be completed just as quickly. It hardly matters. Your heart was his from the moment you first saw him. If death waits close around the bend you’ll gladly face it if he remains by your side until Eywa calls your spirit home.

Ronal seems to soften after she’s said her piece. A heaving breath leaves her as she steadies her anger, expelling the negative energy from her body in a great heaving sigh. After a moment her eyes open and they no longer carry the stinging bite of disappointment. Instead she has softened to a look of quiet anticipation. A small smile sits in the corner of her mouth, barely lifting her cheeks.

“Tonight we celebrate the return of our brothers and sisters. It is a time for happiness. Dress beautifully, wear your adornments. I want to see my sister shine brightly on this sacred night.” It is the same thing you said to her so many years ago on the night that Tonowari chose her. She is relieved, happy. This will be a burden lifted from her shoulders at last. With a resolute nod she leaves you to dress. As a former tsakarem you’re afforded more beautiful garbs than most women of the clan just as Ronal is. Tsahìk is always the most lavishly decorated woman and being your sister’s right hand has provided you with the same dignified attire. The Awa’atlu tradition of training many for the role of tsahìk means that each woman to complete the trials is just as precious to the clan as the chosen tsahìk mated to olo’eyktan. The People often present you with lovely gifts of the most beautiful beads, shimmering shells, and handsomely dyed materials after healing a member of their family or teaching their child to swim. It’s a balanced exchange as you return the favors with carefully made baskets and newly carved knives.

The most precious of these gifts you’ve kept hidden away to be used only as ceremonial pieces. For births and deaths, and the celebration of completed rites. The return of the tulkun marks such a worthy event. It’s as you’re combing through your basket of woven tops and beaded loincloths that Tsireya joins you, arms overflowing with freshly picked flowers.

“Ma sa’tsmuke.” She says happily. There’s a bounce in her step as she sits beside you. “Ma sa’nok has asked us to make aysylangtel for tonight’s ceremony.”

“Did you enjoy your time with your spirit sister?” You ask as the two of you weave together the flower cords. The petals are soft between your fingers as you weave together the stems until you’ve braided a rope as long as your tail. They’re meant to be worn in your hair, along the length of your tswin.

“Yes,” she laughs bashfully, “I had much to tell her.” She doesn’t say more, cheeks flushed a soft shade of purple as her tail sways happily against the woven floor. She speaks instead of making aysylangtel for Kiri and Tuk after you’ve finished with the ones meant for Ronal and herself as well as yours. When they’re finished she gleefully takes them to the Sullys, leaving you with the brightest of the cords. The flowers bloom in shades of sunlight. Red, orange, and yellow petals tipped in black. It feels like another sign from the Great Mother. These are toruk’s colors. It determines your dress as you set aside any choice that isn’t the color of firelight and when the first drum beats begin to echo over the village you emerge from your home draped in flames.

The ceremony is beautiful as it always is. Torchlight dances over the calm waters as the village comes alive with the voices of the People. Ronal’s voice rings over the water as she formally welcomes the tulkun home, Tonowari’s booming voice seconding her words. When the time comes and the drums begin to beat anew Ronal nods to you expectantly. You stride forward in time to the music until the ocean rises up to your knees. The sound of your voice peals through the air like the caw of a bird, sharp and melodic as you begin to sing. The first verse of the song is yours alone as you dance through the water, beads and shells of your clothes tinkling with each movement. Euphoria wells inside you, blooming through your chest like a flower as you sing the story of the tulkun. It is nearly as old as the First Songs, passed down from the ancestors and your body moves with each word. Such dances tell a story, signing in a grander, more fluid way than how you speak in daily life.

Every woman of the village will play a part in this performance and their voices begin to join you. They flow together like the rise and fall of the waves as the song begins in earnest. The history of the tulkun is long and storied. It will take hours before the song is finished. By then the girls will begin to sing, their young voices swelling the music to a close as the tulkun join the chorus. The whole of the celebration moves like the tides as the crowd thins and renews in waves as more people leave and arrive. There is a whole night of celebration ahead and no one will arrive late to enjoy it. The first line of dancers falls away and you with them, returning to find Tuk bouncing excitedly on shore, her eager hopping stirring up soft bursts of sand.

“Sa’nu! Sa’nu!” Her smile is nearly wide enough to split her cheeks, round eyes wide with wonder as she grabs one of your hands in hers. The shortened aysylangtel you made for her beats against her back as she swings your arm eagerly.

“You looked so pretty, Sa’nu!” Kiri settles her hands on Tuk’s shoulders to get her to still.

“You look very lovely, Sa’nok. Your voice is beautiful.”

“Thank you, ’ite.” You dare to say. For a moment, Kiri startles, her brows rising before her face settles into a shy smile. When her gaze flits up to you through her lashes she looks content. It eases your heart to know your sister’s words have been true. Even as you saw Jakesully’s children grow closer to you like flowers bending towards the sun you hadn’t dared to claim them so forwardly, scared of the rejection. They had a mother. You seeing them, no matter how vaguely it has been, truly solidified them in your mind. No longer were they shapeless threads of words said in passing. For you to so blatantly step into that place could’ve been seen as a thing worth sneering at. But there is no offense on Kiri’s face.

“Have you seen your father?” It’s your hope that you don’t sound desperately curious asking after Jake’s whereabouts.

“Last I saw he was with olo’eyktan.”

“I will look for Tonowari then.” You find the olo’eyktan around a fire smoldering in the sand with a few men around him. Many eyes rise to meet your arrival; green, blue, and a bright shade of yellow.

“Our lovely tsakarem.” Tonowari greets you. He’s one of the few in the clan to still call you as such. There’s a fondness in his words that hasn’t wavered since the elders first declared you as a potential mate for him, though the affection between the two of you is like that of siblings. Your heart was never moved by Tonowari the same as your sister’s was. Yet the other men collected around the fire seem more enticed. Their eyes are easy to understand. Drunk from fermented juice and hearts light with the spirit of celebration, they’ve become bolder with their admirations. The only one that is unmoved by your arrival is Jake. His face is tight and guarded, eyes flickering with firelight and nothing else as he watches you watch him. It’s a wonder the way he can so completely close himself off, hiding his soul and masking his feelings. The feeling of wanting to unravel him rises again as you hold out your hand for him to take. It is a request, but there will be great pain inside you if he rejects this humble offering of reconciliation. You are at fault for gouging this rift between the two of you and it’s your hope to bridge it tonight.

For a moment he simply looks at your hand as it sits before him and there’s a cold flash of pain inside you when you realize that you might be too late. He said he would wait. Promised that he would. But perhaps you’ve made him wait for too long. It’s not until his hand joins with yours that your racing mind settles. He looks to where your hand sits in his, thumb tracing over your skin before he meets your gaze once more and it’s like a storm has lifted. The silence between the two of you still speaks so many words as you watch the light of the fire play over his features. Feeling emboldened you pull him away from the men around the fire.

“You must dance.” Jake is already shaking his head before you’re more than two steps from where he’d been sitting.

“You must. It is the way!” A new verse has started and the melody has shifted. In the time of the First Songs the tulkun were unruly. Fighting amongst themselves, killing each other. This new rhythm marks the turn in their histories when they began to see that killing only brings about more killing. It is a livelier tune more fit for dancing than what you had first sung when the celebration began. Already couples are forming on the beach, eager to enjoy the night’s festivities.

“Go,” Tonowari laughs when Jake looks to olo’eyktan for help. “She is one of the best dancers in the clan. You will enjoy yourself.”

“I’ve never been a very good dancer.” Jake laughs as you drag him into the crowd.

“Then show me a dance you know.” The dances of the Metkayina are complex. Men and women face each other and move in a winding line that spins and twirls like waves, weaving between each other and switching partners as you go. It will surely be too much for Jake to learn in a night and he seems to ease at the thought of not joining the already dizzying swirl of dancers. The dance he teaches you is comparatively simple yet more intimate. There’s a closeness about it as you press your hands and chests together before stepping away from each other. Eventually Jake doesn’t want to part and his hands twine with yours, lowering them but not letting go.

“And who taught you this dance Toruk Makto?” The smile on his face slips at your playful words. Sadness flashes in his eyes before it settles into something fond as he releases one of your hands to catch the curve of your cheek in his palm.

“My muntxate.” As soon as he says it his ears fall in shame. Just for a moment it feels as if he isn’t seeing you even as his bright eyes rest on your face.

“Come,” you say to break him from his reverie. “I want to show you something.” He lets you lead him to the water’s edge, following behind when you mount your ilu. Jake says nothing as the two of you ride past the edge of the reef into open waters. There still isn’t much danger so close to the village and you only go as far as a smaller island just outside the safety of the seawall. Jake is silent through all of it, allowing you to lead him wherever you please.

The island’s shores are stony and thick with trees, the world alight with a familiar blue and green glow so far from the light of torches. Jake watches as you dance through the trees, happiness still soaring in your heart despite his soured attitude.

“I’m sorry.” He says, finally breaking his silence.

“What is there to be sorry for?”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he insists, “not to you.”

“Why shouldn’t you? Unless you are running from me now, Jakesully.”

“Never.” You hear the hesitance in his voice even as he grabs your hand to pull you closer. He looks beautiful in the light of the trees. It’s different from the hues of the village where everything is drawn close to shore over the light of the ocean. Jake looks more at ease here. It is not the forest but it must feel like something close to home for him, or at least that was your hope in bringing him here.

“But it feels wrong. To talk about her. With you.”

“Jake, you said that I may have you. That you will be mine. I do not want just a part of you.”

“You have me, yawne, I swear. I meant what I said that night. I’m yours.” He suddenly seems frantic.

“Jake, I am not ignorant. I know that you have lived before we met. You were tawtute, uniltìrantokx, Toruk Makto. You’ve carried many names, led many lives. I was not a part of it until now. Why would I fault you for decisions made before we met?”

“It doesn’t bother you? That I was mated before now?”

“It did. I felt like I was taking something from someone else. But not anymore. We do not have to be mated before Eywa. I know that tsaheylu is sacred. Knowing that I’m yours is enough.” The words pain your heart but it is a sacrifice that you are willing to make to stay by his side. Bonds aren’t made frivolously. To form tsaheylu is to commit your souls to one another for life, and he has already given that part of himself to another. Life has parted them but, to him, it must feel like a wound that will never heal. It would be wrong of you to ask when he has already given you so much. His eyes search yours and you’re grateful that Eywa has not given your gift to everyone. If she had he would see the falsehood in your words. Still he reassures you.

“I chose you. I want you. All of you.” His hands move from yours, drawing up the length of your arms and the curve of your shoulders until he’s holding your face with the softest touch.

“You look so beautiful.” He whispers so quietly that you’re not sure you were meant to hear, but the sentiment is shared. He is beautiful. Thick locs, yellow eyes, soft stomach. He leans into your touch when your hands find his face in turn, thumbs brushing over the light of his tanhì and the dark shapes of his pil. So different but so familiar.

“Come, I have something to show you.” Jake seems to be in lighter spirits, as playful as he’d been on the night the two of you climbed the terraces. His hand tugs at your tail as you lead him further inland, laughing when you swing your hips to smack him with it. It’s a beautiful sound. One that you prefer to the melancholic tone he’d taken earlier.

“It’s here.” You watch Jake’s face as he ducks into the clearing hidden by low hanging leaves. His head tilts, tail swaying inquisitively behind him.

“What is it?”

“I do not know. I found it once when I was young, avoiding my training as a hunter. Ronal and I call it Wayutral.”

“Tree of Songs?” He’s curious now, ears flickering in interest. The tree is small by comparison to the rest rising to the sky around you. It’s rooted in the basin of a tide pool, trunk twisted like a braid, with only its spindly branches dotted with glowing pink flowers reaching above the glowing water. It’s a strange tree but Pandora is full of such curiosities. Gifts from the Great Mother. The bark of the tree is soft and glows a pale purple at the gentlest touch, lighting veins through the tree when you connect your tswin. In an instant you hear voices raise in a joyous song. It is not always the same but they’re always familiar. Sometimes a lullaby from childhood or one of the First Songs. Today the tree sings a tulkun song meant to welcome a new birth, their voicing ringing deep and haunting in your mind.

“What do you hear?” You ask as Jake ties his tswin to the tree. His brows draw down and his ears tighten against his head. Perhaps it is a sad song the Wayutral has shown him.

“It’s a tawtute song. Like a Taronway. Marines chant it during training.”

“Marines?” Your Na’vi tongue stumbles over the syllables of the word. Another English word for you to learn. Jake breaks tsaheylu and your heart wilts. This was meant to be a happy exchange and it’s been spoiled by memories of his past.

“It’s nothing.” He shakes away the thought.

“I’m sorry. Wayutral only sings memories. I didn’t know what it would show you.” You draw your tswin over your shoulder, fingers picking at the bright flowers of your aysylangtel. The bright petals begin to gray under your anxious fingers until Jake collects your hands in his. His eyes linger on the length of the orange flowers, or perhaps he’s staring at your tswin. Either way his eyes draw away slowly, blinking away the distraction as his eyes meet yours.

“It’s not your fault, sweet girl. I’m not upset, it’s just been so long since I heard anything like that. Brought back memories.”

“Bad memories?”

“Some.” His tone is clipped and he looks lost in thought as his five fingers play over yours. He maps the pattern of your skin with his fingertips until you break his trance with a thought you meant to keep tucked inside.

“I wish I knew.” It’s the truth. There is so much about Jake that you’ve yet to learn but your heart yearns to know every piece of him. But you hadn’t meant to let your longing slip off your tongue. A twinge of shame swims through your chest once more. His life as a tawtute is behind him and yet you want to know what he had been like. So much of his life has happened without you. It’s so uncommon to mate outside of your clan, outside of those that have been beside you since birth. Tonowari grew up beside you and Ronal and yet here is this man that was a stranger some months ago and it’s all you can do to not beg him to sing you the story of his life. You were raised to be in step with Eywa. To listen to her guidance and the spirits of the world around you. A tsahìk does not wait for Eywa’s word, she is always listening. That is what the former tsahìk taught you. Now your ears are eager to listen to every beat of Jake’s spirit. If he were a woven fabric the threads would be many colors, patterns varied as he passed through the different stages of his life.

“You want to know, yawntutsyìp?” His tone is lightened now, eyes bright with mirth as he teases your curiosity. It makes your ears lower bashfully, eyes falling away from him as heat creeps over your cheeks. Jake is quick to draw your gaze back to him with a hand under your chin.

“Don’t be shy now, yuey. If you want to know, I can show you. I can show you everything. Let me give you everything.” His lips find yours, closing the space between you. He kisses you like you are the air in his lungs after going without. Deep and desirous as if he’s trying to draw all that you are into himself, trying to taste your soul on his tongue as it grazes yours. It’s enough to make you sigh against his lips and the sound draws a satisfied smile to his lips. Jake doesn’t let you part more than a hair’s breadth from him, thumbs hooked under the curve of your jaw as he nuzzles against your cheeks.

“I want you with me.” He whispers. “Let me be with you.” A hand leaves your skin, the place he held going cold in an instant, as he draws his tswin over his shoulder.

“This is what I want.” His voice rings with assuredness. “I want this. I want you. All of you.” There isn’t a moment of hesitation as you lift your flowered braid from your shoulder. Your eyes follow the searching tendrils as they twine together until your vision goes white.

The feeling is something beyond words. Every piece of your being is lit like a flame, burning and melting as light bursts behind your eyes. It knocks you to your knees as you feel yourself tear and mend all at once, expanding and joining until there is no part of you–body or soul–that doesn’t feel touched by Jake’s presence. His gasping breath becomes your own. Your hearts beat in tandem. Everything that he is becomes a part of you, the roots of your love winding deeper than they had before. Your voice stutters when you finally find the words to speak.

“I feel you.” They’re hardly words as they fall soft as the wind from your parted lips. Jake laughs and his happiness echoes through tsaheylu. He is content as he basks in your presence. More than just being together under the light of the stars, you’re joined in tirea.

“Ma Jake.” You’re still breathless, still floating on the waves of joy. Every fiber of your being has been tied with his and you can’t tell where you end and he begins as he pulls you into his chest. Gentle hands guide your hazy eyes back to his.

“My girl,” he says through a kiss. “Oel ngati kameie.” He means it. With everything that he is, he means it. Those words, so simple, so common, draw the last dregs of pain and hesitance from your heart. He is yours. You are his.