Okay, here's a oneshot focusing on Tsu'tey's last thoughts as he falls through the air to his death. I made up a lot of this, but everything I made up could have happened. Anyway, enjoy.

--

Falling.

I can't say that I'm not accustomed to the sensation. I used to leap from the uppermost tree branches to the forest floor, and even, on occasion, from the back of my ikran, Tingay. Only to perform aerial tricks, to impress Neytiri, or for the simple rush of adrenaline--nevertheless, this feeling is not entirely foreign. All the same, I've never fallen like this before. That is to say, I've never fallen through the air knowing that, when my spiral ceased, I would not rise again.

Yes, that's right; with each passing moment, my life's end hurtled nearer.

It's not just the wind that's rushing by me. All around me, I see memories. I see former days, former trust, former love, and former hope. And, in tiny flashes and flickers, future dreams.

The first thing I see is Tingay--or was he real, just below me?--I fall a few more feet and find that he is not.

But he's still visible in the deepest recess of my mind. There he is, one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever known. There are few creatures on Pandora that can rival the strength in his great wings, the depth of his breath, or the majesty of his flight. He is strong and fearless, and I can think of no other ikran that could rival him but for the great Toruk.

Momentary rage pierces my core as I think of the Toruk. The Last Shadow was the only threat to Tingay's position, in my opinion, and the brutal irony, the cruel irony: the Toruk Makto of these days is the only Na'vi to have ever threatened me. To have had a chance at dominating me.

He won.

I twist in the air quickly, and I can still see both of them; there's Tingay as he tears at one of the flying machines with his powerful jaws. I feel pride in the creature; he fights on for his world and his life, even without me to guide him. And the great Toruk flies near him, the warrior dreamwalker Jakesully atop his back, his evil machine spraying a barrage of hard pellets at our enemy. They pepper the other men and they fall from their positions like the limbs of my people's beloved Hometree.

Seeing Tingay fighting side by side with the only ikran to ever threaten him reminds me: on Pandora, we are ALL brothers.

I have to concede this much: without Jakesully, we would all walk with Eywa now.

Maybe we would be better off that way, I muse, spinning gracefully in the air once more to look death in the eye.

The wind whips stronger through my thick black hair; my fall is gaining in speed. My braids spread like a fan around my angular face. I feel the cool beads brush my cheeks, and the effect is comforting. Whether my people survive this war or not, I will meet them with Eywa sooner or later.

And unfortunately enough, the Na'vi seem to be losing this battle. Despite the help of the foreign clans, warriors and their ikran fall from the indigo skies like rain, crimson blood spraying from their fatal wounds in every direction.

We are strong, yes, with great courage, excellent aim, and the love of our home behind us, but I realize now that the sky people's weapons, always exploding in fire and unleashing great pain on us, would always win against our bows and arrows. By losing this final confrontation, we lose everything. Our connection with Eywa will be utterly shattered. Obliterated. Why can't the sky people see that?

The ground is growing closer, and the canopy of trees is just now visible, if I squint. Blood spews from where I was shot multiple times in the stomach and I watch it fly through the air to the earth below. My wounds are fiery with pain, but I pay them little mind.

Momentarily, I wonder if I can survive. I've watched beautiful Neytiri fall from great heights only to be caught by great leaves that would gently set her on the forest floor; all Na'vi have pulled off this feat, and perhaps I can save myself by doing so.

But reality and common sense are prevalent in my mind: it is unlikely that the leaves will be below me, and even then, I doubt they could save me from a fall as high as the Hallelujah Mountains. I will not survive this.

Thinking of Neytiri falling from above makes me wonder if she has yet been killed. I quickly pray to Eywa that she has not; betraying me, and taking Jakesully in my stead has not changed my love for her.

I think of her last words to me; my mind spins backwards to many hours ago, before we set out to fight.

--

"Tsu'tey," she whispers.

I awaken. Light streams down from the sun, reflecting off her flawless cerulean skin and warming my face. Her lean, shapely form is bending over me. Her tail twitches once. Neytiri is already dressed and in her war garb. Her face is painted in alternating stripes of color, bringing out the brilliant yellow and green in her eyes. She is more beautiful than I have ever seen her, but she is painful to look at.

I know that this may be the last day that she breathes, and I also know that her beauty is no longer mine. Leftover anger floods me briefly, thinking that Jakesully was given the honor of having her as a mate, the honor of touching her, and bonding with her. This right was once mine, but he stole it from me, right before my very eyes, like he had most everything else.

But rather than staying with me, the rage dissipates, receding from my body in a quick wave and leaving me cold. I am tired, bone-tired. No matter what people tell you, there is no good day for war. There is no joy in fighting. I suddenly feel old and exhausted. Used up, like my energy is coming to an end. Does this foreshadow my death? I know not.

I wish for Eytukan. I know I'm not capable of handling position as Olo'eyktan. I'm ignorant, like the dreamwalker when he first came to us. I have no clue how to lead thousands of people. I came to position as Olo'eyktan at a time in which I would have to guide not only the Omaticaya, but many other tribes of Na'vi, as well. How do I deal with that, having only days of experience? Again, I do not know.

How do you tell your kin that they are going to die? How do you look the people that you've loved, grown up with, fought with, and trusted, that it is likely you will never see them again till you both walk with Eywa? How? There is no good way.

I rise from my bed, my braids falling in a trail down my bare back. It is a hot day, and the village is already bustling with life. Children cry, water sloshes, and birds call to each other. I see Ninhat smearing war paint on her mate's face. Their love for each other shines bright in their eyes, and I am envious.

I am certain I could face this day with no fear, certain that I could tell my people what they need to hear, if I only had someone to support me. And that someone, that special, beautiful someone stares me right in the face. But there is no love in her proud expression. No warmth. Her face lights only for Jakesully. Never for me.

Nevertheless, she extends her hand to me, gently tapping the inside of my arm. I twitch at her touch alone. It sends waves of heat through my body. Lust, such a hateful feeling, surges in me, and jealousy. She could be mine. I could face death with her at my side. With her behind me, I could win in a fight against the impossible. She gives me courage like no one ever has before, and I fight for her.

She will never be mine.

"Tsu'tey," she says again, her voice soft.

Is that pity? I'm angry once more. I despise pity. I will not allow anyone to feel sorrow on my account, especially not her. She made the decision, to take him over me. She has no right to act remorseful or guilty now. The deed has been done. I jerk away from her.

She seems genuinely hurt, and her voice even trembles when she says, "Don't."

I have never seen her like this. Neytiri is a proud woman, and will not tolerate being pushed around.

"I came to wish you luck," she murmurs, pushing her braids back from her face. Her father's bow is slung over her back and I think I recognize Mo'at's blade strapped near her shoulder. She carries her family with her, but not me.

"There is no luck in war," I reply bitterly. "Skill alone will determine our survival."

She shakes her head sadly. "I have been praying for you."

"Is that so?" I turn and begin to prepare myself. I cannot look at her. Will not.

She doesn't accept this. She's touching me again, this time firmly, her palm on my shoulder. "Yes. When we come home, you will find happiness."

"We?" I snort, lashing my tail and pinning my ears to the side of my head. "I wasn't aware there was a 'we.'"

Her eyes flash and her soft mouth makes an odd movement. She is not frowning, but she looks distinctly annoyed.

"There has always been a 'we,' Tsu'tey. My Jake or no, you are Olo'eyktan, and one day, I will be Tsahik. We are bonded, you and I, just not in the way that was originally planned. We are all connected, in Eywa's eyes. You are my brother."

My throat constricts, making my long neck go tense. I throw back my shoulders, sending her hand away. I turn to face her. She is tall for a woman, but not my size. She looks up at me through wide, fierce eyes.

"I was destined to be your mate."

She is quiet for many heartbeats, her gaze unwavering and strong. I am tempted to look away, but I will not show her how much she has truly hurt me.

"If that were so, Tsu'tey, I would have made tsahaylu with you long ago. Jake is my mate now, and even upon my death or his, that will not change."

Now it is my turn to be silent. I was whipped once with vines as a boy, for pulling a prank on one of the elder warrior's Pal'i. It was painful, and her words are reminiscent to it, only these cut my heart rather than my skin. I can think of few words to say, and I don't mean say them, but they leap from my mouth like a pack of Nantang. Uncontrollable.

"But I love you."

What happens next is something I never would have expected. Neytiri falls forward, onto me, and I am glad to be strong. Had I been weak, I would not have expected this and fallen, but as it was, I catch her in my arms. She wraps herself around me in a tight embrace and we stand like that for many minutes. No one notices us, and it's as though we have become one in a different world. She smells like the forest, and like home. I want to stroke her hair and kiss her fear away, but it is not my place to do so.

When she finally breaks away, I feel as though a part of me goes with her. She smiles weakly, showing off her dazzling teeth. Despite my agony, I still treasure this moment. Neytiri's smiles were hard to come by and it gave me some comfort to know that I could produce one in her.

"You remind me of something," she says.

I do not reply, but instead make direct eye contact. I'm breathing heavily, though I don't know why. The sound seems to fill the empty air.

"You are Palulukan."

I think of the great beast. I can almost laugh, knowing that the "great" Jakesully was almost torn to shreds by one of them, but I dare not.

"You are strong," Neytiri whispers, her delicate fingers flying up to fiddle with her necklace. "Fast. Feared. Mysterious. There are few like you."

Her compliment should have comforted me, but it did not. What Neytiri fails to mention is that Palulukan is one of the few beasts that the Na'vi do not sing of. Palulukan is not celebrated. I look down before replying. My voice finally emerges, cold and apathetic.

"Palulukan walks alone."

Neytiri's smile, which I see out of my peripheral vision, is small this time. Her teeth do not show. She does this because she is trying to be strong. I have hurt her feelings, but I feel little guilt. I look at her face once more. Her necklace is off now, the green beads glinting in the light. She looks at my neck for a split second, shakes her head once, and takes my wrist in her hand. Quick as the wind, she fastens it to me. It feels hot on my skin.

I take my time examining it, not wanting to look at her again, and she just stands there. She opens her mouth once or twice, like she wants to say something but the words won't come.

Her sudden action surprises me once more. She takes a step forward and tips my chin up with her soft fingers. I look straight at her, into her. Her dark hair frames her angular face, her pointed ears pricked up. The black in her earring sparks darkly. Her face is glowing and her lips are parted; I can feel her exhale gently. Her electrifying yellow eyes are rimmed with dark eyelashes, and I long to plunge into them, open the gateway to her soul.

Her words are so quiet and she's breathless; I have to wonder if she even said it. "Oel ngati kameie."

She leans in, closes her eyes, and touches her lips to my own. She doesn't move at all. Neytiri makes no contact with me but for this simple touch. It is not a romantic kiss. There is no passion. It is a kiss of apology, of lackluster destiny, of what was never meant to be. She does not linger.

Without saying another word, without so much as looking at me, she turns and walks away. Her hips swing proudly in rhythm with her braids, and she does not glance over her shoulder.

I realized then that I would not return home alive.

--

The trees are very near now, and I realize I have been falling for a long time, minutes, perhaps, as I was taught at Grace Augustine's school. The boughs welcome me into their spiny, rough arms. I am reminded of Neytiri, but then again, everything seems to remind me of her. I crash through the foliage at a great speed, the limbs around me snapping bone after bone.

I am lost in memories and do not feel the pain.

As the ground grows nearer and nearer, I see them. I wonder if I am dreaming, for I have never heard of this being done before, but somehow, I know I am not. Crashing through the undergrowth at breakneck speed, far off but not so far that I cannot see, is a Palulukan. And atop that very beast is a feminine blue blur. It is Neytiri, riding the carnivore as though it were and ikran or Pal'i.

I think of her words. "We are bonded, you and I, just not in the way that was originally planned. You are Palulukan."

Like always, she is right.

My death beckons to me now. I will hit the soil of Pandora in moments. I will meet my ancestors. I will meet Eywa.

And somehow, I find hope. I find hope that Jake and Neytiri--the Omaticaya--the Na'vi--will survive. That these sky demons will be driven forever from our beautiful home, and my people may live in peace for eternity. I hope that I played a small part in this. I hope that I was a good leader, in the short time that I served. I hope that I will no longer be alone.

I hope that, after today, the first songs of the Palulukan will be sung.

I feel my body impact with the earth. Soil and plants are flung into the air as my neck snaps and my body finds its resting place in the ferns.

As my breath deserts my body for the final time, I can hear voices. Eytukan, Mo'at, Jake, Neytiri, my mother and father, thousands of voices, with a deep but feminine voice that I know to be Eywa rising above all of them. They speak to me, saying the war cry that I left my people with so many times.

"Tsu'tey te Rongloa Ateyitan, son of Ateyo. Have no fear."

--

Thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reviews and CC are greatly appreciated.

~MushroomT

Glossary:

Tingay--Na'vi word for truth.

Palulukan--thanator

Nantang--Viperwolf

Oel ngati kameie--"I see you."

Actually, that's all I expect anyone to have trouble on, if that. If you have any questions, leave it in a review and I'll get back to you. (: