Mo'at sighed as she watched Sylwanin take the former dreamwalker to her new quarters. Her elder daughter was hot-headed and impulsive, and she hoped that being given the task of mentoring Zha'nelle in the ways of the Na'vi would provide a steadying influence. The Tsahik suspected that under her apparent fragility, Zha'nelle had the strength and courage of a warrior of old. Any person who stalked palulukan for apparent pleasure and enjoyment, no matter how insane, possessed hidden qualities, including those of caution and patience, otherwise she would be truly dead. Perhaps Sylwanin would learn something from Zha'nelle, but Mo'at suspected that hers was a forlorn hope.
If only Sylwanin could be more like her younger sister. Mo'at had known for many years that it would be Ney'tiri that would become Tsahik after her, not Sylwanin. She hoped that this would not cause resentment on the part of her elder daughter – perhaps it would work out for the best, with time. At least the two sisters loved each other dearly, for now.
However, Mo'at had divined that Zha'nelle carried many messages, and she had already delivered one of them. She had no doubt that this particular message was from Eywa, and not from the People of the Cree, despite what she had told Zha'nelle.
Only one thing puzzled Mo'at. Why did Eywa think it was so important for the Na'vi to know it was possible to take the spirit from a tawtute and tie it permanently to their dreamwalker body?
She sighed again. No doubt Mo'at would understand the will of Eywa when it was time. She should be used to feeling like this after holding the honour of Tsahik for so many years, but still Mo'at found it hard to accept.
"How were you injured?" asked Sylwanin, pointing to Janelle's side
Mo'at's daughter looked very like a more mature version of her younger sister, although Janelle suspected that when Ney'tiri developed Sylwanin would be out-shone in the beauty stakes. She didn't know why, she just had a feeling.
By her gear, Janelle guessed that Sylwanin was a fully-fledged hunter – she was wearing the visor of an ikran rider pushed back from her forehead, so she must have bonded with an ikran. Grace had mentioned only taronyu that had gone through Iknimaya were permitted to wear a visor in public. No doubt Sylwanin considered herself a full adult, even though she still retained a few signs of late adolescence. Janelle wondered if Na'vi parents had many problems with their adolescent children, and if Mo'at had assigned her to Sylwanin with an ulterior motive in mind.
In reply to Sylwanin's question, Janelle made a face. "I was hunting, and was careless and over-eager," replied Janelle. "It was only luck that allowed me to survive."
"What animal were you hunting?" probed Sylwanin.
Janelle tried to evade the question by answering, "I would rather not say. It is too embarrassing." She did not want to set herself for a case of hero-worship, which she suspected might be the case – or alternatively a total loss of credibility.
Sylwanin pouted, saying, "I thought we were to be friends, and now you won't tell me things." The young women snorted and huffed. If she had been any younger, Janelle suspected she might have thrown a tantrum.
"Very well," said Janelle. "I was stalking palulukan."
"You're lying," accused Sylwanin, not believing her, and pulling slightly away.
Janelle shrugged, making her wince from the gesture pulling at her wounds, and smiled. "You believe dreamwalkers are crazy, even Grace?" Sylwanin nodded, looking suspiciously back at her. Janelle pulled out her data tablet, and brought up the image scan she took of the palulukan nest, with the two unconscious adults being worried by their offspring.
"You killed two palulukan?" exclaimed Sylwanin with horrid fascination, leaning over to examine the image on the data tablet despite herself. It appeared that she had seen other tablets, and was familiar with their ability to 'take pictures'.
"No," answered Janelle, still trying to head off a bad case of hero-worship. "I did not kill them. I sent them to sleep, so I could examine them for illness, and other things." She smiled ruefully, adding, "I did not know the male was there, and only managed to dart him with luck. I was too excited at finding the nest, and did not take enough care to check behind me. Not long after I took this picture, they woke up – I only just managed to escape."
Sylwanin dragged her eyes away from the image on the tablet and told Janelle, "You not crazy...you insane." All Na'vi knew that an angered palulukan could not be stopped, and left well enough alone. This dreamwalker was, well, she had already said it.
Nodding, Janelle agreed with her, and put her data tablet away.
Suddenly, Sylwanin grinned. "Mìnkxetse too is crazy brave. He will like you very much."
"Tsawlontu's brother?" asked Janelle. It seemed that one of the prime amusements of young Na'vi was fixing up their friends with life-mates.
"Ah, you already know him," said Sylwanin, a little disappointed.
"His brother told me of him," replied Janelle, "But I have not met Mìnkxetse, as yet."
"In that case," teased Sylwanin, "I will make sure that you are introduced properly. But first, I will show you where the essential things are – where one sleeps, eats, washes and, um..."
"Does the necessary?" asked Janelle. Na'vi was not big on circumlocutions for shit and piss, being more like Elizabethan English in its robustness than the modern global tongue.
"I have never heard it put like that," admitted Sylwanin admiringly. "It conveys exactly what one wants to say, without being vulgar like a man and saying it. Women will cough, or if they are silly young girls, giggle when they talk of such things. Is it a tawtute thing to speak thus?"
"Hasn't Grace taught the words for those bodily functions in English lessons?" asked Janelle curiously. "There are many ways to say such things, most of them crude and vulgar, but some of them are quite funny."
Sylwanin said, "Grace has only taught us the words 'excrete' and 'urinate'." She looked furtively around to see if anyone was listening, and whispered, "Tell me some of those words, Zha'nelle. I wish to ask Grace what they mean when I next go to learn 'Ìnglìsì."
Janelle chuckled, and rattled off about thirty slang terms for each of the words. Sylwanin made her repeat the list three times, so that she could fix each vulgarity in her memory. It would serve Grace right for not teaching the Na'vi colloquial English, thought Janelle. For a woman who had a reputation for swearing like a stevedore, Grace could be entirely too precious about some things. A little embarrassment would be good for her.
"Why do the tawtute have so many ways to say such things?" asked Sylwanin, after she had the list down pat. "It is strange, and silly."
Janelle shook her head. "I have no idea why they do that," she said, not realising what she had just done for the first time – refer to humans as 'they', as though she was not born a member of homo sapiens. "It is just one of those things that come of being born tawtute, like not being blue, and growing no higher than this." She held her hand about waist height.
Sylwanin took her by the hand and said quietly, "Zha'nelle, Tsawlontu told us your tawtute body died."
"Srane," confirmed Janelle. She wondered where this was going, and was not sure wanted to go that way.
"Does that mean you are now Na'vi?" asked Sylwanin.
"I suppose it does," replied Janelle. She added uncertainly, "It feels strange and unsettling, knowing that I cannot go back." She smiled sadly, "I have nowhere else to go."
Impulsively, Sylwanin hugged her. "You will have to become Omaticaya, like me," she said firmly. "Come, I will tell you how to live as one of the Omaticaya, and you can tell me what it was like to be tawtute, and we can become friends."
"I would like that," said Janelle.