In the years that followed, Zha'nelle never again tried to ride a palulukan. In her heart of hearts, she knew that the predator that carried her to the schoolhouse clearing would most likely kill her – it had only been with the intervention of Eywa that the insane ride had been possible.

That realisation did not stop her from learning more about palulukan. She followed the palulukan at night, learning more of them than any Na'vi before. Zha'nelle only stopped her obsession when she fell pregnant, if only to keep Mìnkxetse happy. To keep herself busy, she tried to make songs of her knowledge of the palulukan, but found she had no talent for songmaking whatsoever. A friend of Ney'tiri's – Ninat – took Zha'nelle's knowledge and turned it into wonderful teaching songs.

Ninat also made another song called 'Palulukan Makto', but Zha'nelle did not like to hear it sung. It reminded her that she had been too late to save her friend Sylwanin from the guns of the tawtute, and made her both sad and angry. Whenever that song was sung, Zha'nelle would leave the gathering of the clan, and sit alone with her pain. After a while, the clan saw the distress it caused Zha'nelle and stopped singing the song. Many said it was a shame, for the song was wonderful – a combination of exciting, beautiful and sad.

After the birth of her daughter, Zha'nelle sought out her sister Kalinkey, and asked to be taught the way of the healer. She knew that she could no longer stalk palulukan – not if she was to be a good mother, unlike her own. She wanted to learn a skill that would keep her close to her daughter, yet still be useful to the clan. After a time Zha'nelle became proficient in the art of easing muscles and aligning bones, although she never mastered the other parts of the healing craft. Many sought her out in preference to Kalinkey, due to the skill and strength of her five-fingered hands, although none teased her for her origins – not even Tsu'tey, who Zha'nelle did not like, and who returned her disdain in equal part.

The entire clan knew that she had been touched by Eywa in that crazy ride to save the children from the tawtute. They respected her even more that she did not boast of that day.

Ney'tiri grew quickly, looking very like her dead sister. She too became taronyu, and the best archer in the clan, just like Sylwanin had been, even though Ney'tiri was being trained to be Tsahik after her mother. She also developed a temper as hot as that of Sylwanin, somewhat to the dismay of Mo'at, and spent much of the time alone in the forest, tracking and killing tawtute.

It disturbed Zha'nelle that Ney'tiri was to be mated to Tsu'tey, even though she knew it was traditional for the future olo'eyktan to mate with the future Tsahik. There was no affection between them, only respect - the respect of one warrior for another. It was not fertile ground for a good mating. She had thought of voicing her concerns to Mo'at, but decided against it. It seemed to Zha'nelle that Eywa would not permit such a mating to take place, no matter what the customs said.

She had not even voiced her concerns with Mìnkxetse, despite him being the centre of her life and the source of her joy – at least until her daughter was born, when he was abruptly displaced from his throne. He took his demotion philosophically, holding that now he possessed the two most beautiful females in the clan, instead of just the one. His brother Tsawlontu accused him of surrendering to the tyranny of women. Mìnkxetse laughed, and pointed out that Zha'nelle never threw pots at his head, so perhaps Tsawlontu still had much to learn about women.

Zha'nelle still hunted and flew her ikran, although not as much as before – her daughter kept her very busy. There was little time for introspection, and the memories that she had of once walking as a tawtute slowly dimmed, along with the display of her data tablet that remained untouched in her old tawtute kit bag that hung from her p'ah s'ivil chey.

Her life was mostly happy and sometimes sad, and so it remained until the uniltìranyu called Jake Sully came to the Omaticaya.

In all that time, Mo'at never told Zha'nelle of the words she spoke in the trance of Uniltaron. It fell to another to tell her.


Zha'nelle was kneeling by Sylwanin's grave, heavily pregnant with her child, tears running down her face. "Forgive me," she murmured, as she brushed dead leaves away from the grave, allowing the flowers blooming there to bask in the sunlight.

"What is there to forgive?" said a voice from behind her.

The voice sounded so much like Sylwanin that Zha'nelle almost rose up into the air in fright. She turned to see Ney'tiri standing there, leaning on her bow. It was not just her voice that reminded Zha'nelle strongly of Sylwanin, now she was fully grown."It is my fault your sister is dead," answered Zha'nelle. "I arrived too late to save her."

The sight of Zha'nelle grieving for Sylwanin touched Ney'tiri's hard heart. "It is not your fault, Zha'nelle. Eywa herself told us that." She moved to touch Zha'nelle reassuringly.

"What do you mean?" Zha'nelle was puzzled by Ney'tiri's words.

"Did not my mother tell you of the 'Ìnglìsì words you spoke in Uniltaron?" asked Ney'tiri. She looked surprised when Zha'nelle shook her head. "They were sent by Eywa herself. I have never forgotten them." She closed her eyes and began to recite.

"...For ride, ride she must, yet too late to save..."

Ney'tiri stopped the English words, and smiled at the grieving woman. "You see. Sylwanin's death was foretold by Eywa. There was nothing that you could do to save her. But you did save the children of the Omaticaya."

"Irayo," smiled Zha'nelle bitterly. "You are kind to tell me of this, but still will I grieve for my sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng, and believe there was something more that I could have done."

Now it was Ney'tiri's turn to be surprised. "I am sorry, Zha'nelle. I knew that you were friends with my sister, but not that you joined with her in the circle. She did not talk to me of such matters." Ney'tiri smiled in remembrance. "I was her annoying little sister."

"After I mated with Mìnkxetse," said Zha'nelle quietly, "Sylwanin and Kalinkey asked a stranger to the Omaticaya to join their circle." She held up one five-fingered hand. "They did not care that I was different, and I loved them both dearly, just as I still love Kalinkey." She fell silent for a short while, and then asked, "I wish to name my daughter Sylwanin, if you do not object."

"Are you sure you bear a girl?" asked Ney'tiri. Sometimes Eywa told a woman what sex her child would be, but this was rare.

"Yes," answered Zha'nelle, her voice firm.

Tears sprang to Ney'tiri's eyes at the thought of this woman loving her sister so much and wanting to honour her memory with the naming of her first-born. "I would be honoured by your name choice," said Ney'tiri. She drew Zha'nelle to her feet and kissed her on the cheek. "Come," she said. "I wish to ask my mother why you have been allowed to grieve, without the knowledge of your own words."


"Ma sa'nok," said Ney'tiri, addressing her mother. "I wish to ask a question."

Mo'at looked with slight distaste at the pregnant Zha'nelle, wondering why she was here in the alcove of the Tsahik. The woman only ever brought trouble. "Of course, Ney'tiri," she answered, smiling at her daughter. "Ask, although I cannot promise an answer."

"Why have you never told Zha'nelle of the words she spoke at Uniltaron?" asked Ney'tiri. "She deserves to hear them."

The smile on the face of the Tsahik disappeared instantly. "No," snapped Mo'at. "She does not."

"Why not?" pushed Ney'tiri. "Zha'nelle mourns my sister, believing it her fault that Sylwanin died."

"It is her fault," snarled Mo'at, her normally calm face twisted with hatred and fury. Zha'nelle began to see from where both Sylwanin and Ney'tiri inherited their tempers. "She consorted with the evil ones, the palulukan, and joined with one, even choosing one as her totem animal. Zhan'nelle was corrupted by them, allowing Sylwanin to die. I wish she had never come here. She is evil!"

Ney'tiri's eyes flared with the light of battle, and she drew breath to disagree, but Zha'nelle spoke first. "I am sorry, Mo'at," she said quietly. "I did not choose this life, though I was thankful that the Omaticaya gave me a home when no others would. If you wish it, I will leave now."

"I do so wish it," grated Mo'at.

"No!" shouted Ney'tiri, clenching her fists and her ears lying back, spoiling for a fight.

Zha'nelle placed a restraining hand on the young woman's arm. "No, Ney'tiri," she said. "I will not be the cause of division between mother and daughter. I will not..." Zha'nelle's voice trailed off, mother and daughter turning in surprise to her, to see her eyes vacant, staring off into the distance.

Broken enemies, one yang, other yin,
People will reject, then claim as true kin.

"...allow it," Zha'nelle finished, totally unaware that she had recited words in 'Ìnglìsì in a strange voice, sounding more like a tawtute than a Na'vi. Mother and daughter had heard that voice once before. "Eywa ngahu," she said sadly, and turned to leave.

"Wait," commanded Mo'at. "You spoke of broken enemies, in 'Ìnglìsì – not one, but two. What means this?"

"I said no tawtute words," replied Zha'nelle, turning back to gaze in puzzlement at the desperate look in the Tsahik's eyes.

There was an awed expression on Ney'tiri's face. "Zha'nelle bears the gift of prophecy," she whispered.

Zha'nelle barked in ironic laughter. "I hope not," she said. "In all the songs prophets come to a poor end."

"You may stay," said Mo'at reluctantly. Zha'nelle could tell that saying those words was like pulling her own teeth.

"Irayo," said Zha'nelle abruptly, and left the alcove. She knew when she was not wanted.

Ney'tiri glared at her mother. "You are cruel to one who does not deserve it," she said. "I will tell Zha'nelle of the words, if you will not."

Mo'at sighed. It was clear that Ney'tiri had become even more difficult than her late sister had ever been.