"Fucking shit piece of kit!" yelled Zharr'n, sucking her bleeding thumb and glaring at the stone scraper she had been using to shape the rail of her next surfboard. Somehow, swearing in 'Ìnglìsì was much more satisfying than Na'vi. She reached for a scrap of cloth she had used for wiping excess lacquer away and twisted it around the offending digit to stop the flow of blood.

The only problem with cursing in 'Ìnglìsì was that the younger members of the clan intending to go study with the Uniltìranyu would hover outside her work place in the hope of hearing her cut loose. When she managed to pin one of them down as to why she did it, the little bitch had replied that she wanted to understand how to speak 'Ìnglìsì naturally, like the Tsahik did and not one of the Uniltìranyu scientists, who all sounded as though they had a spear rammed up their collective asses. The slit had told her that the rhythm of the Tsahik's 'Ìnglìsì was almost lyrical, very like the phrasing of many Na'vi songs.

Zharr'n had hardly known what to say to that little sally.

"What is the fuss about?" asked a familiar voice, the 'Ìnglìsì flavoured with a strong German accent.

"Kaltxì, Tsa'peen," replied Zharr'n, whipping her injured hand behind her back.

The healer's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "You've cut yourself again," she stated. "Let me have a look."

Reluctantly, Zharr'n produced her right hand, feeling the waves of disapproval emanate from her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng. Tsa'peen clucked as she removed the dirty rag, and examined the cut closely. "How many times have I told you to wash any cut straight away, instead of grabbing any putrid scrap of cloth as a bandage?" she scolded. "Are you trying to lose the use of your hand?"

"I was going to..." Zharr'n's voice trailed away. There was no winning against Tsa'peen over matters of healing.

Tsa'peen rummaged in her shoulder bag, removing a small pottery crock that she used in treating the minor injuries of the clan's children. She slipped off the wax top, dipped one finger into it and spread the white lotion over Zharr'n's offending thumb.

"Ow!" complained Zharr'n, as the cold astringent burned into the ragged cut. "That stings."

"Softy," smiled Tsa'peen. She held the cut together while the lotion hardened and closed the wound.

Zharr'n asked, "Why are you here? I thought you were going to be collecting some berries or something, and you would be away all afternoon."

"I finished early," advised the healer calmly. "I thought I would remind you that tonight our tsumuke'awsiteng will be celebrating Uniluke, and you need to allow enough time to get ready before we leave. You know how you lose track of time when you are shaping a new board."

"I know, I know," grumped the Tsahik of the Ikranaru. This had been a frequent topic of conversation over the last five years. Unfortunately, her sister was one hundred and ten percent correct, and both of them knew it.

Strangely, Tsa'peen hesitated slightly. "There is something else," she said. "You have visitors, two of the Uniltìranyu who arrived on the White Star."

Zharr'n's whole demeanour went cold. It had been six months since superluminal communications from the Earth had fallen silent, the incessant demands and threats of the RDA finally ceasing. That same night, she had dreamt the terrible end of the tawtute, and knew it to be a true dreaming. Zharr'n did not wish to be reminded of her part in the end of her birth world, and had actively avoided meeting any of the newcomers, although she visited the Special Forces weenies from time to time. It was fun to run a simulation or two in the playhouse too, if only for old time's sake.

It wasn't like they had to assault any more of the starships again. The threat of the Valkyrie shuttles armed with Thor's Hammers had been sufficient to get them to surrender – at least after the first starship arrived. The antimatter containment vessel blowing up rivalled the sun in the sky, if only for thirty seconds.

At least there would be no more coming, not after the White Star. It was the very last human starship. It was bad enough that she could look up in the night sky and see them in orbit.

Ren'zhore was welcome to them.

Tsa'peen interrupted her train of thought, "I know what you are thinking, but trust me. You really want to meet with them."

Like all new-landed Uniltìranyu, the two – male and female – that entered her work space were young, barely come into adulthood.

Zharr'n looked first at the woman. She was very beautiful, even more so than the famed mate of the Toruk Makto, Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite – despite her possession of the large hands and feet of a dreamwalker. Zharr'n had become used to seeing true-born Na'vi – there were only a few uniltìranyu amongst the Ikranaru, so the five-digited hands and feet of a uniltìranyu looked a little odd to her, despite her own possession of them.

It was also clear that this woman was newly mated, and by the way she stood close to the male next to her, she had accepted this one's suit. Zharr'n automatically made the gesture of greeting, but without words. She was too focused on Seeing these people than speaking her thoughts.

Her attention switched to the male. His face looked familiar, as though Zharr'n had seen it before, which was impossible. He was a newly arrived uniltìranyu, so there was no possible way they could have previously met – not on Pandora. Suddenly she realised that she saw the feminine version of his features every time she looked into a still forest pool.

"You!" snarled Zharr'n, her fingers flexing as though she would like to feel his unprotected throat beneath them. Somehow, she suppressed an overwhelming urge to leap upon this male and beat the living shit out of him.

"Granddaughter," acknowledged Zhong calmly. "You look well."

"How?" she demanded harshly, when she realised it was a stupid question. This was Zhong standing before her – the puppet master himself. "Ignore that. It is bloody obvious how. More to the point, why the fuck are you here?"

Then something happened that she could never have predicted. Zhong's faced darkened slightly, the delicate wash of colour accompanied by an expression of embarrassment. "Ah," he said reluctantly. How could he be embarrassed? This was Zhong, her conniving, manipulative son-of-a-bitch grandfather. "Um."

It was then that the woman with him laughed, the ripple of her good humour like that of a forest stream. "We have come seeking your approval and blessing for our mating, Tsahik," she said, her eyes dancing with merriment. "Li did not wish to join with me in tsahaylu until he had asked his granddaughter for permission, but I could not wait any longer." She reached for Zhong's hand and gently squeezed it.

Zharr'n could not help herself. She laughed.

The master manipulator had been out-manipulated.

After the laughter died away, Zhong said, "There is something else I wish to ask of you, granddaughter."

Zharr'n ignored him. "You have not told me your name, or how you met my grandfather."

Zhong's mate replied, "My name is Amanita." She glanced at her partner and added, "I met Li when he hired me to kill him."

Zharr'n's eyebrows shot skyward, arching like the stone over Vitraya Ramunong.

Amanita shrugged. "I was an assassin. It was a very lucrative business."

"Not just any assassin," interrupted Zhong. "You were the best on Earth – you never missed a target. And you are discreet. That was why I hired you."

Now it was Amanita who blushed. "Thank you for saying so, Li." She leant over and kissed him on the cheek. "It was a pleasure killing you. Your plan was beautiful in its simplicity. Many of my clients required very complex arrangements to be prepared and enacted before they were satisfied."

"What?" demanded Zharr'n.

"Amanita put a bullet in my brain immediately after my personality transfer to this body," said Zhong. "I was a little surprised at the price, though."

His mate shrugged. "I was tired of my occupation, and there was nothing holding me on Earth," she said. "It was getting dirtier and unhappier every year." A wicked gleam entered her eyes as she added, "Besides, you are the most interesting man I ever met."

Zharr'n cocked her head at the strange pair. "It seems that you are well suited," she said. "It would be churlish to withhold my blessing."

Zhong looked relieved. "There was something else I wish to do, Sharon." The tawtute way of pronouncing her name grated a little on Zharr'n's ears. "I wish to apologise to you."

"Apologise?" queried Zharr'n. This was Zhong – he never apologised for anything.

"Apologise," he confirmed, "For not telling you the truth. As my granddaughter, you deserved it more than anyone."

"So what is the truth?" asked Zharr'n curiously.

"You carry the blood of true seeing," he stated. "Your mother drove me away, forbade me to tell you of the gift you bear, after I saw the signs. She refused to let me train you in the old ways, rejecting your gift as superstitious rubbish."

Zharr'n's eyes opened wide.

Zhong continued, "This is why your youth was troubled, why you could not sleep at night, why your art was so disturbing. You see the truth of things, without realising what you see." He drew in a deep breath, adding, "That is why you can interpret the will of Eywa, just as I have, ever since I first came to this world as Administrator."

There was an extended silence, the only sounds the quiet of the place of the Ikranaru, and the distant ever-present rumble of surf pounding at the cliffs.

"Well," said Zharr'n slowly, "That fucking explains an awful lot." Such as why she always knew where to shoot, and what was happening in battle around her. It mightn't have been particularly fair, but it had been useful. She chuckled to herself. Fuck fair.

If you weren't cheating, you weren't trying hard enough.

"You don't look that surprised," said Amanita.

"I have been Tsahik of the Ikran People for more than five years," replied Sharon. "It sort of provides you with a different perspective." She grinned suddenly. "I, too, have an apology to make."

Now Zhong looked surprised.

Zharr'n bent down to pick up a small shape wrapped in a blanket – it was autumn now, and the winds were cool – and cradled it in her arms. "I should not have delayed introducing you to your great-grandson, Li." Zharr'n peeled back the blanket shading her son's face and smiled at him, before she held him out for her grandfather to take.

Tears pricked at his eyes – this, the cold-blooded Zhong – as he took his six month old great-grandson, who stirred and lifted a tiny four-fingered hand towards Zhong's face.

"He is a handsome child," murmured Zhong, as his mate slid an arm around his waist and joined him in admiring the baby. "And very quiet."

"Li is very well-behaved," agreed Zharr'n, and sighed. "I just wish his sister Tulnìwin was as biddable."

"Sister?" asked Amanita and Zhong in chorus.

There was a loud crash of breaking pottery, followed by the sound of angry adult voices yelling, "Tulnìwin!"

Zharr'n flinched and confirmed, "Sister."

THE END

Author's Note

For those of you who like long Avatar fanfic story cycles, I have written a series of tales regarding four extraordinary dreamwalker women. The first of these concern the story of Na'diakhudoshin, and should be read in the following order:

- New Steps
- En Pointe
- Oversway
- Last of the Uniltìranyu

Then there is the story of Zha'nelle te Manitowabi Eywa'ite, who much to her surprise was permanently transfered into her Avatar body by accident - or was she? Her stories are:

- Overload
- Harmless

Then there is the story of Sara te Pesuholpxaype Lissa'ite, who was the first human to become an Avatar.

- By The Numbers

In Sara's story we also find out how Na'diakhudoshin came to Pandora, so BTN overlaps with 'New Steps', 'En Pointe' and 'Overload'. We also encounter Colonel Zhong Li, and begin to learn of his part in the clash between Na'vi and tawtute.

And finally there is the tale of Sharon the incredibly foul-mouthed Avatar that you have (hopefully) just read.

- Sharing The Spirit

Chronologically, it comes after 'By The Numbers', and is parallel to 'Oversway'. It too includes Na'diakhudoshin and Colonel Zhong Li.

So now the entire story cycle is complete, and I can rest on my laurels.

Enjoy!