So I watched the Avatar movie a couple days ago and couldn't get it out of my mind. For the the most part, I thought it was incredible, the world was so complete, so detailed (a rarity in movies these days) that I had to write something. (Also, if you're waiting for an update on WoK it's coming, I haven't forgotten and am working on it...I just needed to get this out of me first)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nor do I claim to own this.

Enjoy!

One Breath

I didn't know.

I didn't know that with one breath you would change everything.

You, a human.

That with one breath, as you taunted the Nantang with a gleam in your eye that rivaled even the greatest Na'vi warriors, that you would amount to anything more than a simple Dreamwalker.

In one breath, I cursed your stupidity, wondering why Ewya seemed to compel me to help you, to save you from yourself.

I presented you, against my better judgment to Eytukan, and again, in one breath you confirmed and challenged our suspicions. A warrior and yet a skxawng.

I quickly found you unlike any of the other Dreamwalkers. You were, in a breath, so free, so different. You did not possess any of their so-called "science." And at once this frustrated me, and yet intrigued me.

When you first communed with the Pa'li, I saw that the connection nearly took your breath away, and how, with a shout mingled with adrenaline and fear, you finally understood a bit of us—of what it was to be Na'vi.

Each night, when we lay down to sleep in our hammocks, high above the forest floor, I watched your last breath fade away. I watched and was reminded of how you were inseparably tied to two peoples. I wondered how—why—I was growing attached to you. I wondered who you would choose.

In a breath, you were amazing. Tsu'Tey took you and the other young warriors on the hardest, most rigorous route to the Ikran nesting grounds, and you were there all along. A bit out of breath, but there nonetheless.

When you chose your mount, a stubborn spitfire of a beast, you roared right back, thinking before acting for a change. I confess, when you were thrown off your beast, dangling miles above the surface of Pandora, you left me breathless. Somehow I knew you would do so again.

But when you finally persuaded the Ikran that you were indeed its rider and as you bonded with it on your first flight, I knew you felt as I did. You felt at home, riding on the breath of the wind.

When I told you that you were ready, that you could become one of us, you were silent. For the first time since I had met you, your thoughts, your breath had escaped you. But that moment passed quickly as a smile spread from canine to canine across your broad-nosed, blue lined face. In that moment, you were beautiful.

That evening, after hours of preparation and as I put the finishing touches on your ceremonial war paint, you walked out in front of the entire Omaticaya Clan. At first no one spoke, no dared breathe. Here was a Dreamwalker about to become one of us—a true Na'vi.

After the ceremony, you led me out into the forest, grinning widely, running through the flora and fauna as only a Na'vi would. You understood and Eywa was with you. And then, in perhaps a foolish gesture, I mentioned mating. I threw name after name at you, my breath catching in my throat each time you casually dismissed each and every match I suggested.

When you said you had already chosen a female, a woman, I couldn't look at you. I almost didn't want to know. You said you had chosen, but you wanted that female to choose you back, and I responded with far more confidence than I felt. It took my breath away to have that confidence rewarded, and in the grove that night you left me breathless for a second time.

The next morning I woke next to you, something I hoped to do for years to come, only to find you missing and a great human monstrosity bearing down on us. Gasping for air, I barely managed to pull your body from the mouth of the great machine as it mercilessly destroyed our forest. I looked to you for answers, but you had none.

Back at Hometree, it became clear that I was mistaken. I thought you were truly one of us, a Na'vi that understood our culture, our way of life. But no, you said you knew the humans were coming—that it was inevitable. In a fit of rage, I told you I never wanted to see you again, that you were not who you said you were. Tsu'Tey wanted to kill you and the entire tribe held their collective breaths, seeing what I would do. At the time, I was ashamed, but I could not stand there while my mate was killed—it was not part of the balance; Eywa would not allow it.

You came back, speaking without thinking once again—telling us to leave. When we bound you and your friend, you yelled yourself hoarse, not because you were angry at us but because you thought we were going to die.

And die we did.

The attack on Hometree was like nothing I had ever seen. If there ever was a time to doubt the balance Eywa spoke of, it was now. When the humans rained a fiery death upon us, it was easy to blame my mate and his species—and largely I did. I'm ashamed to admit that finding Father was perhaps even harder than watching the destruction of Hometree. His body, lying there broken, impaled by a piece of wood, a piece of the very world he revered, seemed like a blasphemy. And when your hand, the five familiar calloused fingers that I loved, fell onto my shoulder, I felt my anger burn in me. My breath came like fire, my words like barbs. As Father pressed his bow into my hands, I knew I could not see you again. So I ran.

In the days that came, I would be lying if I said that I didn't think of you. I did, many times. I thought of your silly jokes and your decidedly human ways, but it was simply that. I thought of you as Na'vi. A Na'vi with human characteristics, but a Na'vi nonetheless. But my people were mourning, my father was dead and it was now my duty as clan leader to help my people. So I mourned, my heart bitter, my breath often coming in short spurts, but no one saw, no one knew—except Mother.

With no home, we journeyed to the Tree of Souls—our refuge in times of need, and one of our closest connections to Eywa. My thoughts drifted to you as the tree's long branches floated down, brushing my shoulders, an involuntary shiver wracking my body. I blew out the breath I didn't know I was holding; hoping that for once no one had noticed. Mother met my eyes knowingly, her amber orbs flashing sadly, before I looked away.

It had been three days since I'd seen you, three days since you had betrayed the people you said you loved. And it was on this third day that you took my breath away once again. Our people had just gotten together and I had risen to speak, when a shadow crossed over us—a shadow I knew too well. The shrill cry of the adult toruk split the air, and mentally, I readied myself for an attack.

But no, you surprised me once again. You, the person I told could never be one of us, had come, riding the great toruk. You slipped off your mount, murmuring something in the great beast's ear. Some were whispering, others shouting, but the words were all the same: Toruk Makto. Your eyes never left mine once you left your mount; they conveyed your hurt, your worry, and, just as they always had, your defiance. In one moment, you had restored yourself in the eyes of the people and breathed life into a near hopeless situation.

I didn't know then, but with that one breath our rescue had come.

From that night forward, you worked tirelessly, demonstrating a spirit and resilience that even Tsu'Tey had come to grudgingly respect. I quickly found out that the old saying was true, that when Toruk Makto calls, the Na'vi answer. And answer we did, with one, long, loud roar, shaking the leaves atop the tallest trees and sending even the Nantangs running for their burrows. You spoke with conviction, with courage to the people, but when we were alone, when you stopped to catch your breath, you told of your doubts, of your anxiety.

This was war, after all, you said. And in war, not everyone comes back. Not even Toruk Makto.

And on that fateful day, with a rallying cry, you took to the sky. The vibrant orange of your majestic toruk dwarfed my ikran, its shadow seeming to block out even the sun. Clutching the rocks high above, I didn't dare breathe as the Sky People came closer, their war machines an abomination to nature, to Eywa.

You lifted your hand to your ear, listening as another one of your friends checked in. It was all part of the plan, you had said. Then, silently, you met my eyes with a look I knew you only saved for me. The vulnerability, the worry I saw within, was quickly replaced by the casual façade you didn't let most see past. And with a nod, you coaxed your toruk into a dive that I followed, riding the breath of the wind, screeching a war cry—a cry for our people, for Eywa…for my mate.

The battle that followed was one that would leave an indelible impression on our nation. For most of it, I was separated from you, the adrenaline trying, and failing, to strip the worry from my mind. I fought and killed, and then, when I thought I could fight no more, I drew my bow back once again. Twice I thought I would breathe no more, and twice I was, by Eywa's mercy, spared.

In the final struggle, when Eywa led a Thanator to me, I knew this was to be my final act. No Na'vi had ever ridden such a beast into battle, and, as our consciousness mingled, I knew why. Controlled fury was the best way to describe this creature as it ripped through the enemy troops, machines, and anything that stood in its way. When my Thanator finally did meet the scarred man, the one human whom you had said was responsible for the entire war, I availed upon my mount a sense of urgency, a desire to kill. But I failed, and with my Thanator laying across me, I knew I was going to die. But I was ready, ready to breathe my last with a snarl on my lips and my thoughts on my mate.

I didn't know you were going to come then, dropping from the canopy with a grace that was not wholly human or Na'vi, but entirely your own. You fought, fangs bared and claws scratching. I knew you fought for our people. I knew you fought for me. And as you dangled there, helplessly suspended with the man's blade to your neck, you were defiant to the last, a retort dying on your lips as my first arrow found its mark.

I do not respect the Sky People, and this man least of all, but to deny his skill, his toughness, would have been foolish. I knocked a second arrow and let fly, barely pausing to see the recognition of death in his eyes. I rushed over to you, your breath suddenly coming erratically. I feared the worst, that you had been injured in the battle, but I could find nothing.

Frantically, my mind raced, my eyes wide with fear. This couldn't be happening, not now, not after all we'd been through. In desperation, I latched onto the human dwelling that looked conspicuously out of place in the small clearing, and bounded through the broken window. In an instant, I knew that the body on the floor was you. When I rolled you over and cradled your suddenly small, almost fragile form in my arms, I half-expected to see your lopsided grin smiling back at me. But it wasn't. You weren't breathing.

Cursing my rudimentary knowledge of humans, I scanned the interior of the small dwelling, dust and debris strewn everywhere. In desperation, I grabbed one of the masks that I had seen your kind wear and jammed it onto your face. I didn't have time to be careful; I didn't care. After a few moments, I feared the worst, your head, your neck remained limp. Suddenly, by the grace of Eywa, you started moving. I don't think I've ever been so grateful to here you cough, to see your hands affix the mask to your face with far more grace than I could ever have managed.

When your breathing finally stabilized, your eyes met mine, and in them, I found understanding. Here you were, my mate, a human and yet a Na'vi. Your hand gently cupped my face, and I found my movements matching yours. The silent, I see you, that passed between us was almost unnecessary.

Two days later, with your frail human form lying beneath the Tree of Souls, I thought it ironic that you looked like death. Yesterday you were strong, letting your toruk fly free, saying the time of Toruk Makto was at an end. The time for violence, had ended. I told you that I loved you for who you were, that you didn't need to attempt the transformation, but you just smiled at me. I'm skxawng, you had laughed, if I had always listened to you, where would that have gotten me? I had managed a chuckle, not wanting him to see my fear. But he had, and as his breath gently tickled my ear, he had told me everything would be alright.

And so, with the entire tribe chanting and with Eywa watching, I bent over your unmoving form. With baited breath, I listened to Mother's incantations, her exhortations to Eywa. When you finally opened your eyes for the first time, your amber orbs meeting mine, only I could hear your first breath and see your heartfelt smile.

And I knew.

I knew that with one breath you had changed everything.

You, a Na'vi.

I hope that was interesting, I tried to include something in each mini paragraph relating to the word breath, so let me know what you thought and if it worked.

Thanks for reading, please please review!