Alternatively, Everybody's Changing (And I Don't Feel the Same).

A cross-posting of a fic I put up on AO3 in June 2017.

Part 4 of the fanfic series, Where You Are.

"Get the rope!" Maui cried.

Lunging, Moana was able to pin down the end of the rope before it went overboard. She pulled it back slowly, hand over hand, fighting the wind with every tug to swing the sail and the boom back over the boat. She was definitely going to get blisters, but she didn't care. Meanwhile, the canoe was rocking more and more. With a swoop, the outrigger was dunked under the water.

Maui sputtered, coughing out water as he resurfaced. "Maybe I could try to teach the chicken."

"Well, your tattoo thinks I'm awesome and he's better-looking," Moana said, winking at Mini Maui. The little guy smiled smugly at Maui.

"Tattoos can be removed," Maui muttered darkly.

From The Story of Moana: A Tale of Courage and Adventure, by Kari Sutherland.

They arrive on Motunui with the evening tide, the wind at their backs and the sun beginning to retreat behind the familiar hills and mountains, streaking the clouds in reds and pinks. Even from this far off Moana can spot the beginnings of a crowd dispersing, visibly disappointed it's not anything more interesting than their future chief and her best friend returning from yet another adventure, and she barely contains a giggle as she adjusts the sail.

"Remember when they used to fill the beach just to see you arrive?"

Maui snorts from the prow. "Glad that's over," he says. "Don't get me wrong, I love your hospitality, but the formalities are always so … formal."

"We're still having the welcome, you know," she says. "You're still a guest."

She can't see it but the pout in his voice is almost palpable. "Aw, come on, I don't count as a local yet?"

"You? A local?" she says. "Remind me, how long were you away last time?"

He thinks about it, then he shrugs. "A month?"

"Try three."

"Really?" he says, and there's a note of genuine surprise in his voice despite her yelling that fact to him last time he landed. "And all this time I thought you just had some sort of freaky growth spurt."

Moana shakes her head and adjusts the course to avoid a familiar swell in the water that always dips down into a deceptive coral cluster. The newly repaired sail expands as it catches the wind, its hook and spiral glowing nearly orange in the setting sun, and the boat turns.

Maui doesn't even bother praising her for the call or the maneuvre, it's just that routine.

She smiles. Two years ago she wouldn't have been able to read the water topography, much less make that sharp a turn without capsizing. Now here she was, confidently delivering a demigod to her village while steering a type of vessel she herself reintroduced to her people. No one even thinks of any of it as a novelty anymore, it's just the way things are now. It's an odd time to reflect but she really had come a long way.

Her parents are waiting on the beach to greet them, just as they always are, and are visibly relieved when she steps onto the beach with no apparent injuries this time. The hongi with Maui are quick and polite, no kneeling afterwards per Maui's wishes but Dad compromises with a slightly bowed head, for propriety's sake. Maui holds up his end of the exchange by nodding in thanks. Mom catches him off-guard in a hug.

It's hard to hear them over the terns returning to shore, but once her parents turn their attentions to her the pride and worry in their voices come through well enough.

"So?" Dad says, breaking away from his hongi with Moana. "Is it finally clear in the east? Did you get them?"

She beams. "Got the last of the big ones in that area, and it brought its kids along with it," she says. "It'll be a while before we need to deliver anything back to Lalotai."

"Ha! Shoulda seen it, folks," Maui chimes in, a proud hand clapping onto her shoulder and the tattoos on his free arm already displaying their daring feats. "There I am, head injury, blood loss, the jaws of death about to rip me in half—"

Moana rolls her eyes, gently batting him away. "Maui," she says. "We can save it for dinner."

"But Mo, they'll like this one! You sing in it! There were babies involved!"

"Maui."

"Fine," he says, and then mumbles to her dad before he leaves to put the boat back in its usual shed, "But she really did sing."

Mother and daughter share a knowing smile as they shake their heads in mock disappointment.

The hongi with Mom is quicker and gentler, none of Dad's grip like he was afraid of her leaving again but it does take her an extra second to break away. "Welcome home, minnow," she says, and sweeps her into a hug as well. "It hasn't been the same without you."

Moana swallows the lump in her throat once her dad joins the hug, and nearly loses it completely when she finds Pua at her feet.

"So what'd I miss?" she says, as they finally break away. "Was it a good harvest?"

Mom's smile is pure joy and light. "Best we've had in years," she says. "Oh, Moana, the crops haven't been this size since your father and I were your age. I'd thought we just imagined how much bigger they used to be."

The smile is contagious, and Moana finds herself matching it. "That's amazing, Mom," she says, and the smile turns into a wicked grin, "because I'm starving. Maui kept eating all the provisions."

Mom chuckles. "Well you'll have plenty to eat at dinner tonight, believe me."

"Mom," Moana says, "we talked about this. We can't hold a feast every time Maui sails in, we'll starve."

"Oh, the feast's not tonight," Dad says, "and it's certainly not for Maui."

She raises an eyebrow. "Wait, there's actually a feast?" she says. "When? What for?"

He has that look on his face he gets whenever he makes her a new gift or finds a particularly sweet fruit he thinks she'd enjoy, and it's a look she finds mirrored on Mom as both parents exchange glances and silently agree on something.

He's quieter now, almost conspiratorial. She could swear there's maybe even a bit of Gramma Tala in his eyes. "Can you wait a little longer for dinner?"

And despite the aches in her muscles and the protests from her stomach, she grins and nods.

They arrive in the voyaging boat shipyard to find Maui in hawk form, perched on the main mast of the chief's canoe. He lets out a happy but piercing cry when he sees them approach, and then shifts back into human form and slides down the mast like it's his canoe to welcome them to.

"Took you guys long enough!" He lands on deck with a soft thump and makes his way down to the beach. "So how about these canoes, huh? Looks like they've been doing some work while we were away! I'd say the fleet's good to go!"

Mom giggles as Dad visibly tries not to glower at Maui. His smile is tired, but reluctantly fond. "Yes, thank you, Maui," he says. "She can see that."

Maui grins. "You're wel—ohh!" he says, and shrinks like when Pua knows he's done something wrong. "Oh, you were going to tell her, weren't you?"

Dad sighs. "Yes."

"Sorry, Chief."

"It's okay, Maui, it's … " Dad thinks about it for a second before he seems to just give up trying to find the rest of the sentence. He shrugs, hands over Maui's customary bowl of food as a welcome before the kava ceremony, and tries, weakly, to keep some element of the surprise. "Anyway," he says to Moana, "the lashings are all secure, you've just missed us putting up the last of the sails today, we've tested all the seals—"

"Wait, they're done?" Moana says. "They're actually, finally finished? Already?"

"The harvest was good to us, minnow," Mom says. "It was just easier to bring everything in. We had extra time to work on this."

Moana is scrambling up the chief's canoe and up the mast before even she can realise it, because she has to see. She has to see the entire fleet from …

Oh.

Oh, it's beautiful.

"Yep! That's your fleet, Chosen One!" Maui calls from the ground, his voice muffled by the pork. "Breathe it in! It smells like leadership!"

"Maui."

"Sorry, Sina."

Moana shakes her head and just lets herself take in the sea breeze and red sky. The sun's well behind Motunui's mountains now, and the light's about to go, and in the distance are fires beginning to dot various spots of the village. And there, all around her, her ancestors' canoes, restored to their former glory.

It was when they first started bringing out the boats from the Cave of the Ancestors that they first saw the true extent of the damage. They may have looked all right at first glance, but it didn't take long to see that the years had taken their toll. Torn and warped sails, masts and hulls giving way to rot or just general neglect, lashings so ancient they crumbled after the canoes came past the waterfall. It was a wonder Moana just happened to pick, not only the right size canoe for her mission to Te Fiti, but also a canoe that just happened to be seaworthy right from the get-go.

Maui had mentioned that before, that her boat had a completely different design from the boats of the first fleet. It had taken her a trip on his new canoe to see the difference and redo her own boat accordingly while repairs and restoration took place on the rest of the fleet.

And now here it was, whole, and new. She can just about see all these boats on the water, laden with people and supplies, cutting through the waters as they sail windward, by her command.

She shudders, equal parts sea breeze, equal parts excitement, and makes her way back onto the deck.

"So when do we set sail, Master Wayfinder?" her dad calls from the beach.

Moana looks at Maui, a question starting to form, when he shakes his head and defers to her.

"He asked you, not me, Chosen One," Maui says, and then pops another piece of pork in his mouth. "It's fine. You got this."

She beats down the warmth in her heart at his faith in her and forces herself to calm down and think.

"Maui and I could make the trip east right now," she says, "but I wouldn't recommend sending an entire fleet out in these conditions."

Mom nods. "So when will conditions be good?"

Another look at Maui, another quirked eyebrow and look of no, you got this.

He's right. She's ready, and he won't always be here. She will have to start making these sorts of calls on her own.

She looks out at the positions of the stars already starting to come out, notes where they are at this time of year, and takes stock of the direction of the wind.

It's about knowing where you're going in your mind, Maui had said, by knowing where you've been.

She thinks back to the route, both on the way out, and on the way back.

"We wait for the westerlies," she says. "They'll be here in a few weeks. That'll also give us enough time to prepare supplies and review our wayfinding lessons."

She tries not to sigh in relief when Maui thinks about it, then nods in approval. And if her dad's trying to stay neutral and chiefly as he replies, he's not doing a good job of it.

"If that's what our Master Wayfinder recommends," he says, and he's beaming while Mom shakes her head.

"All right, minnow, time to head back before the mosquitos get you," Mom says. "We still need to do the welcome."

Moana nods, climbs off back onto shore, and steals a piece of Maui's pork before she races him and Pua back to the guest fale.

Her cousin Lolo is the one to do the honours, as she tends to be whenever Moana herself is one of the people welcomed back to the village. There's nothing really noteworthy about the welcome. Lolo makes a good kava, no one breaches any protocols, and it's all uneventful and pleasant enough.

Though that might be what strikes her about the whole thing.

Two years ago Maui struggled valiantly and adorably to even get his head around what to do with the cup given to him. Now he's holding the cup and saying the blessings and going through all the motions like it's nothing. No one even so much as nods appreciatively at him doing it right, it's just that routine. He's not around as often as she'd like but he really wasn't kidding when he said he considered himself a local.

He doesn't need her to show him how to behave at the welcome anymore. Just like she doesn't need him to tell her when to send her fleet out.

And now, provided he doesn't go off on demigod business and return before the fleet launches, this will be the last time she'll be welcoming him as a resident of Motunui.

It's all been leading up to this. And despite all the work, all the preparation, all she's grown and all she's built, there's still that sense of surprise that yes, this is all happening.

Everything's going to change.

A nudge wrenches her back to the present, and the first thing she notices is the gap in Maui's teeth as he laughs like she's the most precious thing he's ever seen. "I said, you're already thinking about the launch, aren't you, Curly?"

She arches an eyebrow nice and high. "I don't remember mind reading being one of your powers."

"Don't need powers to read your mind, Chosen One," he says, winking.

And she fights back a smile.

It's aggravating just how much she wants to smack him upside the head in front of everyone and call him a giant dork.

You could hear an acacia leaf fall in the silence of the grand fale, it's that quiet.

The midday sun bears down on the roof and the heat seeps in through the fronds as the crowd, full-bellied and freshly cleaned, collectively holds its breath, all eyes on Maui. Even the attendants cleaning up the remains of the daytime feast, who've seen everything at this point and know how to look like they can't hear a thing, cast the occasional look in his direction as he weaves his tale.

And he's just soaking it up for all it's worth, drawing out the natural break in the story as long as they can stand it.

In the end it's Lolo of all people who breaks.

"Then?"

Maui lets out a little huff of amusement. "Patience, princess, I'm building atmosphere."

"Not a princess," she calls from the crowd.

He continues like she hadn't said a thing.

"So there I am," Maui breathes, taking a moment to revel in the tension, "head injury—"

Soft gasps from all around him.

He smirks.

"Blood loss—"

Winces and sympathetic hisses of pain.

"The jaws of death about to rip me in half!"

Somewhere in the audience, at least two children burst into tears.

He's trying, Moana notices, he's really trying to stay in character and not just bask in their reactions.

"When Moana realises—"

"Moana," Mom murmurs from beside her.

"Yeah, Mom?" she says.

"Can we talk outside?"

Just about the whole village is there, rapt in the legend of Moana and Maui and the last creature of Lalotai in that part of the east—too busy to notice if, say, the chief's family were to slip out for a private talk. If there was any time to be safe from Motunui's infamous gossip problem, it would probably be now.

Moana winces. It's going to be this talk again, isn't it.

"Sure, Mom," she says. "We can talk."

Mom nods, and soon enough Moana is back home with her parents, rolling out the mats so they're not sitting on bare rock.

Not that she wouldn't prefer letting the cold of sitting on bare shaded stone just consume her before they ever have to have this talk again.

Her parents sit before her, doing that spooky mind reading thing again where they communicate what looks like entire conversations without so much as a word. It's a small eternity before they turn their attention back to her, smiling politely like it's just another day running the village and she's a farmer asking for permission to start a new field.

"Moana," Mom says, and Moana, through what she guesses is probably muscle memory or something, straightens her back and lowers her gaze in preparation for a reprimand.

Mom takes a second to string together the right words.

"Moana, you're nearly nineteen," she says.

Here we go.

"And your father and I aren't getting any younger."

Yep.

"We know how busy you've been, petal," Dad says, softly as he can, like she's six and still crying over not being able to go to the water. "That's why we've been patient, because you've had to be free to run around and do all this work."

Moana curls and uncurls her toes, picking gently at the edges of her hibiscus skirt exposed through the slit in her outer skirt.

"And it's paid off," Dad continues. "The fleet is ready, the way east is safe from monsters, we've begun to trade again, and you and Maui have brought wayfinding back to our island. Our people are ready to voyage again, thanks to you."

But … ?

"But," Mom says, "you can't put this off forever. As a woman, as the daughter of our highest chief, but most importantly, as the next chief of our people, this is something you need to do."

There is a softness and a pride in her voice when she adds, "You've earned it, Moana. You've been ready for this for years. It's time."

Moana sighs. They've never been this insistent before. They really mean it this time. It's going to happen. And they're right. This time she really does have no excuse.

"We made the arrangements during your last trip," Dad says. "And you'll have your cousins and some of the other girls joining you for their turn. Younger, I might add."

Moana winces again. "When?"

"Tomorrow," Mom says.

Tomorrow? That's so soon, she's barely even had time to know about it, let alone let it sink in that—

Moana starts when she realises Mom has moved from her mat to kneeling in front of Moana, gently cupping her face to bid her to look back up. "My silly little minnow," she says, and all the sternness and strength is gone for now, replaced by a fond, indulgent smile, "I'll never understand how you can run off on all these adventures, but still be scared of getting a few tattoos."

Not for the first time that week, Moana wakes up exhausted.

Of course, in the weeks before this, it was because she and Maui were at sea and taking turns at the controls, occasionally ignoring sleep to literally fight for their lives. This time, though, she's not sluggish, mumbling a plea for five more minutes before she's inevitably picked up and dragged towards the controls. Nor is she terrified, jolted awake by nightmares and desperately trying to stem the flow of tears as Maui holds her close and strokes her hair until it passes.

It's nothing anywhere near as dramatic. She just couldn't sleep last night, and now she's awake and can't go back to sleep. And that counts for something. Probably.

She's not even entirely sure it's even morning yet, going by the sounds of the night birds and the lack of chickens stirring. So it's … How long did she even sleep?

Pua in his creeping old age can't do as much as he used to. He's a little slower and a little more likely to nap instead of play, but he still wakes up just as soon as she does. In the soft light of the stars and moon and the distant flames of the village torches, she can see him blinking up at her, his head tilted with a question he can't ask.

She strokes him in reply even though they both know that doesn't really answer anything, packs up her bedroll, and heads out.

It rained while she slept, her feet and skin tell her, and the air has these pockets of air or breeze that just cuts right through her to settle in her bones. Pua doesn't complain at the mud, but she pats him on the head all the same and reassures him they'll be there soon. Not that he even needs to be told where there is.

Sure enough it's sooner than they think to reach the fale with the newer, fancier tapa screens, its outside posts decorated in coconut fronds and the scent of oranges strongest near the eaves. She smiles in relief to hear Maui nearby and still awake, laughing harder than he should at some anecdote only he can hear.

"No," he says. "No. A shark, really? Why would you even get that close? Was it a really good fish, or—?"

Silence.

"Frigates. Go figure. I've been one and I still don't really get them."

More silence.

"You got that right."

Moana shakes her head, and approaches, Pua in tow. It doesn't take long at all for Maui to notice her.

"Uh-oh," he says, and then turns to the bright pink owl perched on his hook. "All right, Lulu, you know what this means. We're gonna have to call it a night."

She narrows her eyes.

"What'd we agree?" he says. "I turn you pink, you leave me alone when I say you leave me alone."

She screeches, and he holds up his hook towards the forest.

"Want me to bring this up to Tāne-matua?"

And she settles down, shrinking in on herself.

"All right, all right, look, calm down, I'm sorry. Didn't wanna actually freak you out," he says. "I still got a couple forest rats by the entrance. Go get 'em if you want."

So she does, and she screeches something like a goodbye or a thank you or both as she flies off into the night.

Maui can't bring himself to stay mad at her, and there's a fondness in his voice he can't completely mask. "See you, too, buddy," he says. "Tell the kids Uncle Maui says hi!"

Moana sidles up next to him, casually as she can. Nah, she's not bothered by anything, she just happens to be up in the middle of the night wandering around near his fale for no reason at all. "Since when does Lulu get dirt on the frigates?"

"Lulu hears about everyone, Mo," Maui says. "Motunui's gossip problem doesn't just apply to the people."

It could be just because Maui mentioned it, it could be just because her eyes by now have adjusted to the light, or lack thereof. But she definitely notices more birds around them than she probably should, snatching up insects, devouring the odd fruit, or calling out into the night.

And a few of them, watching.

"I wouldn't be surprised," she says.

"So I'm guessing you didn't come here to talk about the noddy that got separated from the flock for the fifth time this week," he says, and gestures to his fale. "Another nightmare?"

Moana shakes her head as they head towards the steps. "Surprisingly," she says, "no."

"Stomach bug?"

"Not that."

He pauses. "Well you finished your monthlies on the way back, so it's not cramps … "

"Maui."

"Just running through my options, kid, you're not giving me a lot to go on."

She sits at the top of the steps, followed closely by Maui sitting beside her and Pua curling up at her feet, and lets her gaze drift towards the fires of the torches nearby.

This is beyond ridiculous. Mom was right, it doesn't make any sense for her to be this riled up over something that wouldn't hurt nearly as much as some of her actual injuries over the years. Seriously, tattoos? Tattoos? After Lalotai, after kakamora, after taniwha and gods and elementals and giant lizards and the occasional spirit? Nightmares, bleeding, burns, scarring, the odd broken bone, and she's scared of a few pokes from a little thorn in her very safe village?

"Mo," Maui says, "you're pouting."

She loosens her mouth from its obvious pout. "You're pouting."

Maui chuckles and shuffles closer to her, his hook set to one side and his huge shoulder ready if she needs to lean on something.

"Remember the first time you came here for one of these talks?" he says. "You stared out at that torch, I think, like there was something about it that just made everything better. Wouldn't even look at me until stuff got really heavy."

He sighs, and from her peripheral vision she can see him beginning to follow her gaze.

"Can't say I blame you," he says. "Fire, right? It can really hurt, and it can kill you if it dies too early, but you treat it right and appreciate it and … "

He stops.

"Listen to me," he says. "Rambling when something's bringing you here in the middle of the night." His worry starts to burrow into his words, and there's that familiar feeling of his concern beginning to bore right through her. "So what's eating you, kid?"

Moana winces, drags a hand down her face.

"It's stupid."

"Need I remind you, Lulu asked me for a year to turn her pink," he says. "Try me."

"You're gonna laugh."

"Oh," he says, and he turns to face her better and settles into a cross-legged position as he leans forward. "Oh, this is about Lasalo the fisherman getting married while we were away, isn't it?"

… What.

"What?" she says.

"I've seen you eyeing him, Mo, I don't blame you, he's cute," Maui says. "What I'm concerned about is that you choose now when it's too late to tell me, your best bud? I could've helped. I've been trying to help. But you're so bad at making any moves or picking up on hints it's no wonder he went with—"

"Maui."

"—Though, like, could you still be wife number two eventually? Or is that not a thing for lady chiefs?" he says. "I was out of it for a thousand years. I'm a bit rusty on the—"

"Maui," she says.

And he stops. "Not the cute fisherman?"

"You've been talking with the gossips too much."

"I told you," he shrugs, "I'm local now."

She tries to summon some annoyance with him.

She can't.

"So what is it, then?" he says. "Something to do with why you left me hanging just before I needed you to sing that song?"

She smirks. "So much for mind reading."

"Hey."

Mini Maui adds another point to the scoreboard, just to mess with him, and he growls in response.

Moana yawns, draws herself up as well, and leans against him, his arm giving way to let her into her usual position of using his lap as a huge pillow while she talks.

"Maui," she says, a glance up at Mini Maui back in his usual position of lifting the sky, "how did it feel to get your tattoos?"

He blinks, frowns, and once it sinks in she can just about hear the squeal building up in his chest and leaking out of him. "Moana of Motunui!" he says. "Is this what all the fuss was about? Are you getting tattooed tomorrow?"

She sighs. "Yes," she says. "Me and a bunch of other eligible girls."

He bites his lip, which somehow just causes more of the squeal to escape. "My little voyager!" he says. "Off to get her malu at last. Soon you'll be all grown up and discovering the world, setting up all these new villages, and—"

She sighs again, and lets her eyes slip shut for a moment to just take it in, the feel of Maui's lap under his lavalava, the coldness of the stone floor beneath them, still a bit damp from the rain, Pua's soft snoring nearby, the scent of the oranges hanging from the rafters.

"Yeah," she says, and opens her eyes again to see that concern back on his face.

"Thought you'd be more excited about this, kid," he says. "C'mon, you earned this years ago!"

"I'd thought so too." She frowns. "Though you did probably figure out my problem."

"I did?"

She sits back up. "I think I've been nervous because … because the tattoos are the first step before all these other big changes," she says. The tiredness is gone for now, and it's like she's figuring out a monster's weak spot or spotting a riptide before anyone else does. "I'll be leaving Motunui. I'll be setting up whole new villages. I'll be accepting suitors, settling down, raising an heir, you'll be busy doing demigod stuff, and I—"

"Woah, woah, woah, Chosen One," Maui says. "Getting kind of ahead of yourself there, don't you think?"

She stops. "Yeah," she says. "I guess I am. But that doesn't mean it's not all gonna happen. I'm excited, but it's scary, you know?"

He shuffles a bit closer, and ruffles her hair. "You goofball," he says, unfazed by her attempts to bat him away. "You'll be fine, just have to take it one step at a time. How old you turning this year, anyway, twelve, thirteen? Plenty of time to sort things out."

She snorts as she fixes it back into place. "Maui," she says. "I'm turning nineteen. And I was sixteen when we met."

The smile wavers, and there's that look of surprise again—the same one, come to think of it, whenever she informs him he's been away longer than he thinks. "I knew that."

She leans against him, and his arm takes a second before it settles into its familiar way of lazily draping around her. A tattoo comes into view, one from his forearm, of creatures that might be dogs with what looks like people inside.

She gives his arm another look, lets her gaze wander up the arm into the motifs that aren't found on the tattoos of her island, and then across onto the other arm, onto more shapes and symbols that don't show up in Motunui, and finally the edges of the little panel of his tattoo of an eight-eyed bat.

"Looking for design ideas, Chosen One?" he says.

"More like looking for a story," she says, and then clarifies, "I'm nervous, okay! It's gonna be a whole day of pain tomorrow. I need to remember my tattoos are gonna come with some cool stories to make up for it."

He scoffs. "Curly, we've known each other for … some number of years. I wanna say two."

"Nearly three."

"Close enough," he says. "What could I possibly tell you that I haven't already?"

She squints, scanning over him even though she could probably draw his tattoos from memory if she wanted to. They were voyaging buddies, often sharing a small boat together for weeks at a time. They'd probably seen every inch of each other by now.

And yet …

The scent of oranges wafts in through a breeze passing through his fale's open screens, and she does remember that night now, the first time she found herself here with him at some unreasonable hour, needing someone to talk to.

He sang to her that night, indulging some barely-awake request for something, anything to help her sleep without the nightmares. And he'd said something just as she was nodding off, something about the last time he had to sing that lullaby.

She gets to her feet, and Maui tilts his head as she surveys what she can of him in what little light there is.

"Um," he says, as she pauses at his back, "pretty sure I already told you about my parents."

"No, not—" She shakes her head, and continues to look.

On Motunui, tattoos come with meaning, and each tattoo is unique to the owner. That's why the idea of copying someone's tattoos exactly wasn't that far off from saying you wanted to wear their skin. Especially if you were a man and had the tattoos on your shoulder and on the lower half of your body, put the right patterns in the right combinations and you'd be telling the world your history, your occupation, what you hold valuable, and any number of other things. Your tattoos were personal, and it wouldn't be unusual to see tattoos representing lovers, spouses, children, just about anyone you held close. True, Maui's tattoos did tend to lean more on the literal side, nowhere near as abstract as her village's aesthetic, but that probably made this even more confusing.

"Kid?" he says, and he twists around a little to at least try to see her. "You okay back there?"

"Yeah, just … "

"What?"

She looks again, circles back around, and goes back to sitting in front of him. There's a quick scan of the tattoos on his front again, and … no. Not there either.

How did she never notice before?

"Can't find any new ones, huh?" he says. "I told you, you might've seen them all."

She shakes her head again. "No," she says. "No, that's not it."

He frowns. "What's not it?"

She thinks back again, back to that night, as she drifted in and out of consciousness, yawning against his huge soft shoulder. He did say. He said he'd talk about it. She remembers, she was too tired to ask him later, and then life just got in the way and she forgot.

"Moana?"

Until now.

"Maui," she says, "didn't you say you had kids?"