Chapter Text
You were not able to sleep last night. Instead, you spent the night listening to the pitiful cries of a man. It was from above you, past the twisting roots of Kelultral, on a woven mat stretched onto the strong inner branches of the tree. Three people were lying there. From what you could hear, it was an older man, mourning the loss of his mate.
His cries are what you think about when you get ready for the day, fiddling with the beads of your stringed top. His words are what you think about when you sit perched on a tree log with your weaving group. It is all you can think about, really. His sobs are etched into your head. The words he groaned out to his daughters, however, are what truly occupy your mind.
“Those demons…” A wet noise leaves his throat, “My mate is gone because of them. Our home is lost because of them, yet-“ A daughter attempts to soothe him, “yet- we let those vrrtep that remain here, we let them walk among us. Your mother! She lies with Eywa now! Because of them!”
You had heard his daughters frantically shushing him, in fear he would wake people up. The way he speaks of the humans… It is true, you think. They ruined everything. The people are still hurting. And while many of the clan have forgiven JakeSuli, some remain wary, especially of those scientists. But it is fair.
You pause your fingers. They are tired, and you feel sleepy. A happy yell breaks you out of your mind. Ewe and two other girls have been helping you weave strong fibres onto the circular panel, they are the tethers that will be used to hang the snonivi up for the young boy.
“I am done!” Ewe sighs, cracking her neck. The pops make the other girls wince, and Ewe laughs at their reactions. So far, it has been a quiet day. There is an occasional breeze, and it feels so good against the sweat on your back. Some of the people are wandering the grounds of Kelultral, tending to their own errands for the day. Some warriors have come back on their pali from scouting the perimeters, hooves thumping into the ground like one of the songs we sing. It is not long until the snonivi is finished, and you cannot help but pat the heads of your little helpers. In return, their eyes gleam like their tanhi and they smile brightly – like that one second before eclipse where the sun rays shine brighter before they bid goodbye.
You roll the hammock up, securing it with a rope, and you start your walk into kelultral. The shade is cool inside the tree, and you take a moment to relish in the safety from the sun outside. With your arms under the mat, you make your way up. It is hard to keep your balance with only your feet gripping the rough bark, but you make it work. You keep an eye out for the family you’re looking for, but it seems Eywa is not on your side today, because you only find the mother at one of the highest alcoves in the tree. When you enter, she turns and says your name gently.
“Kaltxi, Nuepo,” You greet her, bowing your head in respect, “The snonivi for your son is finished.”
The older woman quickly grabs it from you, and it seems your exhaustion is obvious because she wastes no time pulling you in to sit. “I thank you greatly for your aid, parultsyip.”
You hiss at her playfully, reclining on the suspended flooring, “I am no longer a child.”
Nuepo bends down to put the snonivi away, “You are only 17 cycles,” she says without looking at you, “You are still a baby!”
You open your mouth to retort, but that is stopped short when you hear knocking on wood. In sync, you and Nuepo look towards the entrance. Your body stiffens. Neytiri is crouched on the thick tree root at the opening of the alcove, tail swishing idly. Her bright yellow eyes scan the room, bowing her head to Nuepo, before turning to you. She is very pretty, you think, she is always pretty. Neytiri is wearing a beaded top today, long orange feathers splaying against her chest. They match the couple of feathers in her hair, you notice.
“I am sorry to interrupt,” Neytiri’s voice commands attention, but her head tilting down shows respect. “May I steal,” she says your name, glancing up at you through her thick lashes, “from you?”
There is a brief silence before a smirk grows on Nuepo’s wrinkled face, and she says, “Of course, young Neytiri.”
Neytiri smiles and thanks the older woman, before she turns on her haunches and climbs down onto a lower branch. She pauses when she realises you are not following. Nuepo whistles at you, “Go on, parultsyip.”
Great mother please help me, please please please please please please-
You force yourself to get up, and you jump down to where Neytiri is. This area of kelultral is full of winding roots and stray baskets, so you do your best to avoid tripping and falling. You are so focused on not embarrassing yourself in the presence of Neytiri that you do not realise that she has been saying your name. Your head snaps up when you bump into her, “Sorry-“
“It is okay, come.” She resumes her brisk pace, hopping down onto a root beneath you.
You eventually reach another alcove, this time in the lower levels of kelultral. It is a wide space, and you do not notice it until Neytiri walks through, but there is an opening onto a wide branch outside. You follow her through, and the sight takes your breath away. The broad branch you stand on extends far, ending with a cluster of more branches. You can see the expanse of the lush green forest beneath you, and it forces you to take a deep breath in. Because this branch is a bit lower and shorter than the ones above, thick vines cascade around you, creating what feels like a shield. It seems that they have already set up most of their home. Thick hides and strong fabric intertwine to create a triangular hut, pulled taut by being secured to different, spaced-out branches. You admire the skeleton of the kelku, sturdy wood curves along the structure, supporting it. Neytiri walks onto the floor of their home, crouching in front of their belongings that have not been organised yet.
“Jake and I will reside here.” She hums as she moves their things, she ushers you closer, “I ask you,” she pauses and turns, still crouched low, “to help me with this.”
You kneel beside her, hands hovering over the baskets. “Of course.” Your voice is meek, but the grin you receive from Neytiri straightens your back. Her voice is soft when she thanks you.
Both of you work in tandem to organise their things, and while you are still nervous, your heart does not feel like jumping out of your chest anymore. It is probably her humming that soothes you.
The minutes go past slowly; it is the rest that you have needed for the past few days.
“Is there something troubling you?” Neytiri’s sudden question snaps you out of your daze. Your hands fiddle with the stack of cloths you are holding. It is an odd question to ask you.
“N-no…” You shake your head. You try to avoid looking at her, but when you glance up, Neytiri is side-eyeing you. She hums non-committedly and goes back to placing a decorative rug down on the centre of the floor. “Okay, maybe.” You shrug.
Neytiri looks over her shoulder from where she kneels, smiling like she has just won something. “Tell me.”
You do not respond for a while, focusing on taking their clay pots out of a basket to clean them. “Last night I could not sleep,” You start as you wipe them with a rag, “There was a man. I overheard him crying out his hate towards the vrrtep. His mate was lost during the battle. It makes me think… I do not know. It makes me feel weird.”
You do not know why you are telling her this, but she is your Tsakarem, you know you can trust her. You look up at Neytiri to see her reaction, but she says nothing. She only stares at you intently and nods for you to continue. You hesitate, trying to choose your words carefully. “I understand his anger. We lost our Hometree, we grew up in it. Our memories are marked with loss now. And- And, I don’t know. I do not know how it feels to mourn the loss of my mate, because I do not have one. My mother was the same, if not worse. She would not stop crying. But it is like, what if I do not want a mate?” You begin to speak fast, head bowed to stare at your hands, “I do not want to feel that pain. I am scared. But at the same time, I do- to be able to bond with someone so deeply that their loss changes you. I think it is scary, but it is so beautiful. It does not help that I feel like…”
“That you feel like you are wandering without aim?”
“Yes. All the time.”
You look up at Neytiri, trying to gauge her reaction to your little rant. She shuffles closer to you, her hand reaching to grasp yours and squeezes it once. “It is okay to feel like this. Do not be afraid of it. I sometimes feel the same.”
She does not speak further about it and instead stands up. Her hand pulls you up to do the same, and you move hastily to stand with her. Neytiri’s golden eyes shine brightly, “I am very honoured that you trust me with these thoughts,” and the way she says your name makes you tail swish restlessly. Her hand, which is not holding yours, moves to rest on your chest, where your heart lies beneath. Save me, Great Mother, you think.
You bring up your other hand to press against hers, butterflies in your stomach.
Neytiri murmurs your name, “Let us be friends.”
A breeze caresses you, “Okay. We are friends.” You try to be calm, but you panic internally – why would Neytiri want to be friends with you?
The woman in front of you laughs and tilts her head away. You have noticed Neytiri is shy about some things, and you find it incredibly endearing. “We shall part ways now, but know that I understand you,” She retracts her hands from yours. “I must speak to my mother.”
You nod in a daze, “Okay. I will... see you later?” What is meant to sound confident only comes out as a question.
“Yes,” Neytiri grabs your hand and squeezes it once before stepping away, “I will see you later, ‘eylan.”
You are standing there by yourself, looking up at the hanging kelkus above you, and it hits you that you are alone in the home of your Olo’eyktan and Tsakarem. You slap your cheeks rapidly, “Oh my gosh!”
You are exiting the hollow of kelultral, walking past a trio of young boys – one is restringing a musical instrument, and the other two beat their hands against their own drums. You smile as you watch a few children dance to the music. You pause and stare, particularly the young boy restringing his instrument. There is something you feel like you are forgetting… Oh! You remember something you’ve been meaning to do for a while. Your loom has been lost since Hometree was destroyed.
You know just the guy to help you. Tukeyng. He is older than you by three cycles, a great warrior of the clan, and a master craftsman. You resolve to find him today. As you continue on your path, Siv’anya walks past, waving.
“Ah! Kaltxi, Siv’anya!” You stop her before she can go any further.
She greets you back, “How are you? It has been a while since we last spoke alone,” she leans in dramatically, hands gripping your shoulders, “is this your way of saying you hate me?”
You giggle, smacking her hands off of you, “Never, my dear sister. You are too busy with your mate now.” You pause because you know asking her this will set off a chain reaction. “Your mate is good friends with Tukeyng, right?”
Siv’anya gasps, her chest puffing and her eyes widening. She leans in once more, her nose grazing yours, “No… way…” she says deeply, “Do you… have an interest in Tukeyng?” She presses a hand to her lips.
“No!” You shove her face away, and she laughs boisterously – loud like the sound of an ikran bellowing.
“I am only teasing!” She grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers as she leads you towards the forest, “But I think you would pair nicely. He is a good man, and very tall.” Siv’anya winks mischievously. “Many women have been attempting for his affections, but I hear… he is waiting for someone.”
You go deeper into the forest, the foliage rustling against your knees, “Should he not be the one asking to court?”
Siv’anya hums distractedly, her ears flickering back and forth as she concentrates on your path. Then, you hear the loud cackles of men in the distance. “Siv, where- where are we going?”
“To Tukeyng.”
You’ve finally reached a small clearing. I do not want to be here, is your first thought. Your second is, wow.
Two men are sparring, a semi-circle surrounding them as the men yell out. But it does not seem serious; in fact, the two men wrestling look to be enjoying the competition. “Training,” Siv’anya whispers. But it just looks like they are rolling around in the dirt to you. Siv’anya tells you to stay as she parts from you, finding her mate amongst the group of warriors. You watch as they converse, the way he wraps his arm around Siv’s waist and how he leans in to hear her better. You look away. That is when you realise someone has been watching you too, because when you scan the men, your eyes meet JakeSuli’s. Heat crawls onto your cheeks. Your head nods in a silent greeting, and he reciprocates it. You study him quickly – how he stands a little bit behind the group, how his stance is wide and guarded, his arms crossed, but his tail swishes leisurely behind him. You look away, you feel flustered.
You stand awkwardly to the side. A loud yell makes you flinch, “Tukeyng!” Siv’anya’s mate bellows out. You watch as JakeSuli walks forward with interest. The two men who are wrestling stop. It is silent now, except for their heaving chests and their deep breaths. “Tukeyng,” the male says once more, “someone is here for you.”
That makes everyone notice your presence because their heads snap to peer at you. Oh, get me out of here.
You do not like the way they stare at you, and the silence makes it worse. Your eyes scan the group before they land on one of the men on the ground. Right. I am here for Tukeyng. You hesitantly smile at him, and that sets off a reaction within the group of males. Whistles and chuckles echo through the forest. Tukeyng rises to his feet, brushing the dirt off his knees. You notice that he easily towers over most of the men in the group. The man he was fighting shoves him jokingly, and Tukeyng shoves him back. He walks to you, who is still standing under the cover of the trees. His hair is longer than most of the men here, and the beads clink as they sway with his movement. His eyes are sharp, like a palulukan. Okay, I admit it. He is quite handsome.
When he reaches you, he smiles, fangs glinting in the sun, “Oel ngati kameie, little weaver.” His voice is deep, fitting for a warrior like him.
“Oel ngati kameie, Tukeyng.” You have to crane your neck to look him in the eye.
“You needed me?” His wording makes you flush, and he laughs at your reaction. “I am only teasing, come, let us talk away from these skxawngs.” Tukeyng guides you with a hand at your back.
You follow him, but when you turn your head to look for Siv’anya, you catch JakeSuli’s eye instead, as he lowers himself to spar with another warrior. Predatory. The look in his eyes. He looks at you, still, when his opponent hisses at him. You force yourself to look away when you hear Tukeyng say something.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”