Dawn threatens on the horizon as the assembled forces ready themselves. The early-morning air is tense with anticipation, rustling with activity as warriors finish their last-minute preparations. Bows are bent and knife-belts tightened. Fingers flicker and tug as archers adjust the tension in their bowstrings. In the forest, direhorses snort and stomp in the gloom as their riders check their feet and adjust their trappings.
The Well of Souls is thick with wings as ikran swirl overhead, settling into formation with Toruk at point. Perched on the beast's shoulders, Jake Sully sits in the eye of the storm. He checks in with his units, monitoring status and providing the occasional word of instruction or encouragement. They're about ready to go, which is good, because they're almost out of time.
Jake scans the ikran-riders surrounding him — the greatest native airforce in living memory. He can read their clan diversity in the colorful variety of their decorations and dress. He wonders how long they will last against the RDA gunships.
His eyes linger on the faces of his warriors, who range from fresh-faced youths to battle-scarred elders. A broad palette of emotions is visible on their painted faces: eagerness, fear, pride, anger, love, hatred, hope.
Jake pauses as he catches sight of Neytiri off his right flank, poised for take-off astride her ikran, Seze. He stares at her. She feels the weight of his gaze and looks up.
Neytiri watches as Jake presses his throat mike, his eyes still locked on hers. She can't hear his voice from this distance, but his words come crackling through the communication collar around her neck.
"Stand by for my signal," he tells the army — once in English, once in Na'vi.
He dismounts effortlessly from Toruk's back, without breaking eye contact, and walks toward her.
At this point, Neytiri notices that she too has dismounted, without even paying attention. The two of them close the remaining distance at a run.
The kiss begins aggressively and ends gently, lingering on and on, neither of them willing to be the first to end it.
"Well," says Jake, after they finally pull apart. He looks up at the sky, turning his head in the direction of Hell's Gate. "This is it."
He is squeezing her hand so hard it hurts.
"There is hope, Jake," she tells him. "If anyone can do this, it is you."
He smiles sadly, still looking away.
"You command Toruk," she reminds him.
"Yeah." He turns to look at her again. "And you command me. What does that make you?"
Neytiri doesn't know how to answer. Jake looks her up and down, holding her arms as he studies her. His eyes take in her war paint, the hunting mask across her brow, her father's great bow angling up behind her shoulders, her lithe and deadly body. He smiles in admiration, shaking his head. "You look like a warrior," he says.
She studies him in turn. His face and body are striped yellow and black like his mount, the organic curves contrasting strangely with the harsh angles of the automatic rifle slung from his back. There is an air of legend about him — history in the making. He looks so different from when she first met him, and yet so much the same. The effect is otherworldly - surreal. "You look like a dream," she answers.
There's a long pause between them.
"Be safe, Neytiri," he says finally, very quietly.
"Eywa protect you," she whispers back.
He puts up a brave smile and turns slowly toward Toruk.
He only makes it a few steps. With a flash of movement, he spins suddenly, grabs Neytiri and engulfs her in another kiss – brief but thorough. He breaks away and looks her in the eye, gripping her by the shoulders.
"Courage," he says. He smiles again, with conviction this time, and Neytiri feels her fear evaporate. Jake looks so very alive.
He wheels and sprints for his mount. A dipped wing, a well-aimed leap, and Jake is astride Toruk once more — the two moving with perfect coordination, even before the bond is made. He unslings his AR and brandishes it with one hand, pressing his throat mike with the other. "Ayoeng-eyä kelkufpi!" he cries. For our home!
The call is echoed in two thousand voices. Small creatures in the surrounding jungle take flight, spooked by the thunderous sound, and with a storm of wings, the air cavalry joins them, sweeping away into the morning sky.
Author's note: For maximum emotional impact, try reading "You came back," "Last kiss," and all eleven-and-a-half chapters of "Five seconds too late" — in one sitting.
Alternatively, for a gentler experience, replace FSTL with "Sleepyhead," "Say my name," "Call it a draw," and "The Last Train Home" (WIP).
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