Avatar is the property of people who aren't me. This work of fiction is not authorized by those people.

On their long march up RDA's corporate ladder, the Schellers were required to host a number of dinner parties. Those early experiences taught them that seating arrangements could determine the outcome of the event more than the quality of the food.

There was the dinner where they had unknowingly seated the Assistant Director of Bioengineering next to her ex-boyfriend, the Chairman of the Independent Review Board for Genetic Projects. Like with Abe and Krysta, their office relationship had been a secret; but the public airing at the Schellers' dinner table of the grievances which led to their otherwise secret break-up remained a source of amusement for RDA's elite.

Their housewarming dinner had not gone much better when the then-chief of AMIS was seated across from the Director of Mineral Exploration and Harvesting. Unbeknownst to either Abe or Krysta, the AMIS chief had opened an investigation on the director. The chief, who in his final years had shed some of the discretion that had helped to propel him through his career, began to grill the director on his official and personal expenditures.

The Schellers hosted a second housewarming dinner some months later to make up for the resulting fiasco.

Even though the dinner tonight was far from a formal event, Abe and Krysta, in their habit, huddled over the kitchen's island. On the countertop they had laid out the names of all of the house's current occupants on makeshift place cards. In the adjacent living room, Abe's team was preoccupied with the television, scanning through the channel guide to learn the fates of their favorite programs and to deride the current state of programming.

"Obviously we know where we sit," Krysta said. "We should figure out who's the guest of honor."

"That should be easy," Natalie said as she took plates from the overhead cupboard. "It's Tseyo."

The parents looked at their daughter as though she had insulted them. "No, Natalie, Tseyo is not having dinner with us," Krysta replied.

"So you're just going to leave him downstairs while we all eat?" she asked incredulously. "Even Vertex is allowed on the same floor when we have dinner."

"Vertex is a dog," Abe said. "He's a member of the family, and Tseyo's not." He nodded at Norm, who had commandeered the Schellers' food processor in order to turn the fruits Tseyo had brought with him into pasted food rations, and added, "Besides, it's not like we're starving him."

Norm took the opportunity to stop his work, look over his shoulder, and said, "You're the one who wants everyone on the team to trust each other, Abe. Meals are a central part of Na'vi trust-building."

Abe took a deep breath and replied, "Thank you, Doctor Spellman, but this isn't your conversation."

"I'm in the room, and I'm the one trying to look after Tseyo's mental health. I think I should have a say."

"Then maybe you should go to the basement and tend to the alien," Krysta said, her every word dripping with contempt. "Natalie's right. He shouldn't be alone."

"You know I didn't mean it like that, Mom," Natalie said, her irritation plain. "Daddy, you brought him here for more than just to leave him locked in the basement. The least you could do is show him some decency and let him come up to eat with us."

"No," Abe said. "He's not coming up here, and that's final."

"Why?" she pressed. "Are you scared of him, or do you just not like him?"

"I'd kind of like to know that, too," Norm said with a wry grin. "I mean, what'd he ever do to you?"

Abe took a deep breath and bit his tongue. He had no intention of telling his wife and daughter about how close he came to being executed by the very alien he had brought into their house. Krysta would do her best to execute him for putting their lives in danger, and Natalie's life-long perceptions of the Na'vi – and his job – would be destroyed. The glare he gave Norm was enough to wipe the grin off his face, although Abe gave serious consideration to more physical means.

"Are you going to answer him?" Natalie asked.

Abe took a quick check of the house. The drapes were still drawn, and Vertex, despite his earlier statement, was being kept on the upper floor for the evening. He took another breath and said, "You know what? We should be asking Tseyo if he wants to eat with us. If he doesn't, that will put an end to this debate."

"And if he does?" Krysta asked.

"Then we'll make room," he said. Krysta clenched her teeth in response.

"I'll go talk to him," Norm said. He looked at Natalie and asked, "You want to take over here?"

"Sure," she said. "Once I finish setting the table."

In the brief moment that Natalie was out of earshot, Krysta sharply whispered to Abe, "What are you doing?"

"He won't accept the invitation," he replied. "I'm sure of it."

"If you're wrong, you get to sit next to him."

Abe chuckled and said, "Yeah, fine, but I don't see that happening."

About the same time that Natalie had begun to transfer the fruit paste into the foodpacks that were necessary for consuming food while wearing an exopack, Norm emerged from the basement with Tseyo behind him. Norm grinned and said, "He graciously accepted your invitation, Abe."

Abe looked at Tseyo and, through his mask, did not see the expression of someone who seemed genuinely pleased to be up among them. They stared at each other briefly, until Tseyo's attention was diverted by the television.

He looked over his shoulder at Krysta, who had already found a blank place card. She did not bother to write Tseyo's name down. Krysta simply placed the blank card to the right of Abe's place. He smirked at her and said, "If he strangles me, I know you'll be sorry."

"Later, maybe," she replied. "Try to enjoy your dinner before that happens, though."

Norm had not had to do much to convince him to come up from the burrows. He had not slept very well, despite the exhaustion which overtook him once he settled into his hammock, and he had become too aware of the confined and lonely nature of his surroundings. It was not comparable to the place he had been forced to sleep on his journey to this world, but he was quickly beginning to miss the freedom of his native land.

The pack and mask he was required to wear were not helping settle his unease. He was too aware of the pack's bulk, and the place where the mask stuck to his face was beginning to itch; but each time he reached up to scratch at it, the mask felt as though it had tightened further.

He felt a bit better when he was on the main level, and a moment of tension he shared with T'ngyute passed when he noticed the living artwork the other Sky People were watching. Tseyo recognized the device as a much larger version of the living stones Norm had used to teach him about this world, but the content was even stranger to him.

Two dark-skinned Sky People were crouched over the body of a third, bloodied and sprawled on a street, cautiously examining it and talking amongst themselves. Every once in a while, the image would change to show a wound – and then seemingly jump inside the wound to show a chaotic array of objects.

Tseyo guessed that the others were using this display to hone their healing techniques.

He did not have much time to digest the images, however, as T'ngyute's mate called them all to eat. She took Norm aside and had a brief conversation with him. At the end of it, Norm looked at Tseyo and asked, "How do you feel about sitting next to T'ngyute?"

He shrugged. "If he doesn't hurt me, I won't hurt him."

Norm grinned and replied, "I feel the same way." He nodded at the long, elevated, wooden plank and said, "T'ngyute is going to sit at the far end of the table," dropping in his native word when his Na'vi failed. "You'll be on his right, and I'll be on his left."

Tseyo raised his brow and asked, "He won't sit by his mate?"

Norm looked like he was at a loss to explain the circumstances, so he just shrugged. "I know it's weird," he said, "so let me know if you start to feel uncomfortable."

"I will," he said with a nod.

Tseyo did not bother with the wooden constructions that Sky People used to seat themselves. This was less to do with how comfortable – or uncomfortable – he was being seated in that way, but because he would tower over the Sky People if he sat like them. Even if a large part of him wanted to exert the superiority of his people over them, meals were not the appropriate place to do that.

Instead, he placed the object in a corner of the eating space and sat on the floor with his legs crossed; although that meant, rather than towering over the table, he was almost seated too low. His action earned him a cross look from T'ngyute's mate. Tseyo could not tell whether or not she appreciated the courtesy he was showing her by coming down to be at approximate eye level with her, but he chose to not dwell on it.

He tried to keep his curiosity in check – he felt awkward enough without wanting to appear like a child in front of the others – but he could not help himself from at least rubbing the cloth that covered the table between his fingers. He was impressed by how well Sky People could weave such delicate fibers, far better than anything he knew his people could achieve with their looms.

He turned his attention to the polished and crafted stones in front of him. He easily recognized their respective purposes – a trident spear, a laughably dull knife, and a flattened ladle – and was again struck by the precision of the craftwork involved in their creation.

Max sat to his right, giving him a smile as he took his place. He said something in his own tongue that he did not understand; but Tseyo discerned from his tone that he was trying to be friendly, so he smiled and nodded in response.

T'ngyute's daughter approached the table and laid out the food for the meal. The food's alien, but not entirely unpleasant, smell came through his mask, but any eagerness to eat what was before him vanished when he recalled the first time he tried the packets of food Norm gave him in the course of his training. Whatever hopes remained of being freed from those packets were crushed when the daughter placed a packet in front of him.

"I am sorry if it is not as good as before," she said in his language. Her accent was good, but the slow, deliberate pace with which she pronounced the words made it clear the difficulty she had with the tongue.

Still, he appreciated her effort, so he smiled and, more slowly than was natural for him, replied, "I am sure it will be fine."

Norm said, "It's a mix of the fruit you carried with you. It should still be fresh."

With the food laid out, the rest of the Sky People came to the table. T'ngyute was the last to take a place at the table. Even though his face was almost expressionless, Tseyo could tell from his body language that he was more uncomfortable than he was letting on – and that gave him cause to smile.

Tseyo still recalled vividly the day T'ngyute was brought before the clan to be held to account for his deceptions, and he assumed that day lingered on in him as well. The blade which had been intended for T'ngyute's neck that day was fastened to Tseyo's belt, and no small part of him hoped he would get an excuse to use it.

T'ngyute gave a cue for the others to begin eating, and a familiar ritual unfolded. Tseyo was used to sitting around a fire pit, passing freshly carved pieces of meat among his brothers and sisters, or sharing from leaves bearing a multitude of fruits; the Sky People were doing likewise around the table, but he was unaccustomed to the many clangs that the metals and stones made in the process. He would have much preferred the crackling of a fire – especially in this cold place.

He sighed, took the food packet that had been laid before him, and reached for the straw that was affixed to his mask. At that moment the skin about the seal around his mask began to itch again. The noises of the food being passed about the table, and the minimal conversation, were replaced by an acute awareness of the mechanical clicks coming from his breathing pack.

More than anything else, Tseyo felt most alien from the others because of this contraption. They were breathing and eating just fine, whereas he was burdened with his mask. Without any explanation, he had accepted that the air outside of this place was poisonous, and he knew that the air from his home was poisonous to Sky People; but if they were fine in this place, should he not also be fine.

He took a deep breath and set the food package back on the table. Norm looked at him and asked, "Is everything okay?"

"No," he replied, and then reached for the straps of his mask.

"Wait!" Norm cried, but he could see the determination in Tseyo's eyes. He looked at Max and said, "Get his hand."

"Way ahead of you," Max replied as he reached over and grabbed Tseyo's wrist. Norm had a sickening realization in that instant. Tseyo, near the peak of his physical condition, was easily four or five times as strong as any human athlete; Max, on the other hand, was never an athlete, and over a decade on Pandora had substantially weakened his body. If Tseyo were so inclined, he could throw Max through one of the home's walls without having to stand up.

Tseyo appeared irritated, but he restrained from physically resisting. Instead, he glared at Norm and demanded in his own language, "Tell me why I have to have this on."

"I've already told you," he replied in kind. "The air here is toxic to you."

"Is he getting tired of the exopack?" Matthew asked.

"It'd seem so," Norm replied.

Matthew nodded and said, "You know, we've never actually established that Earth's atmosphere would be poisonous to the Na'vi. We only know that we can't breathe their air."

"I don't want any medical experiments taking place at my dinner table," Krysta said. "Make him keep his mask on."

Matthew continued on as though she had not said anything. "We don't know that the same gases which are poisonous to us are vital to their survival, only that they can live with them. Those gases aside, Pandora's atmosphere isn't too dissimilar from Earth's. It has far less nitrogen, but about the same amount of oxygen – maybe a little less."

"And around four hundred times as much carbon dioxide," Norm added. "You can't just discount that."

He shrugged. "Prevailing theory is that contributes to their athleticism by making them more tolerant to anaerobic respiration than human bodies. You of all people should know that."

"When we did blood acidity tests on the avatar bodies," Max chimed in, "we found that the P-H levels were about what you'd see in a person who just ran a marathon."

"Somehow I think he's going to take it off whether we're here or not," Abe said. "Might as well have him do it with a couple of doctors in the room."

Norm and Max exchanged wary looks, and then Abe asked, "What're the worst possible side-effects? Short of death."

"Headaches, lightheadedness, nausea," Max offered. "It'd be like one of us in a high-oxygen environment." He paused and added, "Or so I guess."

Norm sighed and shook his head. "All right, fine. Let him get it out of his system."

Dawn chuckled from the other end of the table and asked, "Your parents let you play with light sockets, didn't they?" Norm snorted and shook his head.

Reluctantly, Max loosened his grip on Tseyo's wrist, although Tseyo was able to shake him off without much trouble. As everyone watched with nervous anticipation, he removed the exopack mask. He took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before he exhaled. He then took a second breath, but this time clutched his throat and began to gasp.

Norm and Abe quickly stood while Max reached for the discarded mask; but as they gathered around Tseyo, he began to chuckle. He looked at Norm, removed his hands, and said with a beaming grin, "I'm fine."

He clenched his teeth and shook his head. "That wasn't funny."

Tseyo, still smiling, replied, "Yes it was. You'll see when you calm down."

Norm shook his head again and said to the others, "It's all right. He was just joking."

The three returned to their seats while the others, except for Abe and Krysta, laughed a little less than earnestly. When he was seated again, Abe said, "I want him to keep the mask on when he's sleeping, just in case any problems do develop."

Norm relayed the message to Tseyo, who frowned but said he would comply with the request. Afterwards, he removed the straw from the mask and inserted it in the food package. He did not appear to have any objections.

Norm, on the other hand, looked at the meal in front of him and was not very enthusiastic. Although he assumed the Schellers could afford actual meat, it certainly was not of a high grade. The vegetables were more than likely genetically altered and grown in an enclosed incubator "farm" with a concoction of chemicals that the Food and Drug Administration had been paid to sign off on. The mashed potatoes probably were not real, but then Norm was not sure he had ever seen, much less eaten, genuine mashed potatoes that he could feel like he was missing out.

He put together a mix of the ingredients on his fork and, after a silent wish for the best, took a bite. The taste was everything he expected – bland and followed by a medicine-like aftertaste. He reached for his glass of water in order to try to wash away the bitterness, but just as the water passed his lips, he could smell a hint of chlorine coming from the glass; and his mouth felt dry after consuming the water.

Norm looked at Max and Luke, his colleagues on Pandora, to gauge their reactions, and neither of them appeared too impressed.

"Who made this?" Amy asked.

"I did," Natalie replied. "I haven't made it for this many people before, though, so I hope I scaled it up right."

"I think you did," Amy said with a smile. "What do you think, Norm?"

If Natalie were cooking with ingredients last available in common markets over a century ago, he was sure the meal would have been great comfort food. However, unable to bring himself to lie boldly nor insult the daughter of the man sitting next to him, he said, "It's a good way to come back to Earth. Thank you, Natalie."

Max and Luke nodded, but did not offer any commentary of their own.

"You're welcome," Natalie replied before going back to her meal. Norm noticed Tseyo eyeing the dish containing a potential helping of shepherd's pie; and when Tseyo took notice of him, Norm very slightly shook his head. To his relief, Tseyo did not ask for clarification.

Within a few minutes of Tseyo's dramatic start to the party, people had entered into separate conversations based on their seating. Her mother was digging into Colonel Hall's military career, Dawn and Luke had found a mutual interest in aeronautics, and Doctors Patel and Cook were talking genetics. She wanted to talk to Norm, but he was sitting too far away and seemed to be trying – awkwardly – to avoid engaging with her father.

Natalie also strongly entertained the idea of talking to Tseyo, but she was worried about being rebuked.

Fortunately, he took the lead. "You speak the language of my people well," he said.

She let out a short laugh and said, "Thank you. I have not spoken Na'vi in a long time."

He smiled back at her. "How did you learn?"

She had to take a moment to recall the right words, and then she replied, "When I was very young, and I was very sick, my father taught me about your people in order to distract me from the illness. Because your people brought me peace of mind, I wanted to become closer to you."

Tseyo nodded slowly, and then smiled. "You learned well, but you need to let your words flow, as though a river of thought, or a song. Your tongue is like—," he sighed and looked as if he were searching for the right word. He settled for saying, "It's very rigid."

"It's how I learned it," she said in a half apology. "Maybe you could teach me to speak it better."

"Maybe," he replied, his smile fading somewhat. "There are other things that will happen first."

At first, Natalie could only nod in response, and then she thought to ask, "Can you speak English?"

He shook his head. "Norm taught me some things, but I can't speak it like some others in my tribe. I was too young to go to the school they built – when there was a school." Natalie wanted to inquire further, but Tseyo quickly changed the subject. "They have not told me your name."

"Natalie."

"Natalie," he repeated, although his accent caused him to put more stress on the vowels than there ought to have been. He repeated it a few times quietly, and then said with a smile. "I like it."

"You do?"

He nodded. "It sounds like 'atan' – and the more light I might have right now, the better I may feel."

Natalie smiled in response, but thought better of asking more probative questions. She tried to prod him about topics that she thought might be light-hearted – his childhood, what the jungles around his home were like – but while he politely responded to her questions, his answers were short, and he asked few of his own.

It did not take long before everyone had their fill. Noting the empty plates, her father was quick to say, "Well, thank you for a lovely meal, Natalie. It was a great way to be welcomed home."

Everyone held up their glasses – regardless of whether they were full – to give her a Cheers! Tseyo was confused and, lacking a glass, did not participate. Instead, he simply dipped his head and touched his fingers to his brow. She smiled and returned the gesture – ignoring the glare from her mother.

"I know we all just got some sleep," her father continued, "but we start work again tomorrow. Relax for a bit, but try to get some more sleep if you can."

"We have pills to help, if you need them," her mother said as she stood up.

Natalie frowned at the unceremonious way the dinner was ending, but she hoped that it might offer an opportunity to talk with her dad alone. Her hopes were raised when he came over to her as everyone left the table and gave her a hug. "Thanks again for dinner, Sweetie," he said, giving her a kiss on her forehead.

"You're welcome," she said, holding him tightly. "Do you want to have a beer on the couch? Chat for a bit?"

Her dad laughed. "It sounds incredibly weird to have you offer me a beer," he said, eliciting a laugh from her in return. But his smiled faded. "I would, Sweetie, really, but I still have a lot to do before tomorrow."

Natalie felt her heart sink. "Oh."

He rubbed her back. "I promise to make time to catch up, okay? It's just a bit crazy right now."

"Crazy's a good word for it," she said. "Fucked up is a bit better."

"Natalie!" her mother called from the kitchen.

Her dad just laughed again. "That was about as weird as you offering me a beer." He paused. "Actually, no, I think you were two when you first said, 'Shit.'"

"Abe!"

Natalie snorted and took a step back. "What?!"

"Yeah, you overhead me on a call, and for weeks you punctuated everything with, 'Shit!'"

"Abe, that's enough," her mother said. Natalie heard some of the others chuckling. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norm and Tseyo head back into the basement; but not before Tseyo turned and met her gaze. He gave her a slight nod, and then slipped past the threshold.

Her dad broke her concentration with another kiss on her forehead. "I promise," he reiterated. "We'll catch up soon."

She sighed and gave him a smile. "Okay, Daddy," she replied. "Go figure out how to save the world."

"Worlds," he said. "I'm trying to save two."

The dinner party, such as it was, had gone better than expected. Except for the heart attack Tseyo nearly gave him at the beginning, everyone seemed to get along well enough that he started to feel like they could become a functional team.

After resettling Tseyo in the basement, Norm and the others had tried to relax with beers and television; however, despite having already slept, as if on cue everyone started to complain of drowsiness. Norm could not remember if the same waves of exhaustion had happened when he arrived on Pandora, or if this was just a result of their peculiar situation.

Norm kicked off his pants before getting into bed and pulling the covers up. "I was only asleep a few hours ago," he said. "Seems crazy."

"Enjoy the excess sleep while you've got it," Amy replied as she followed him into bed. "These next couple of days are going to be rough. I doubt we'll be getting much sleep at all once the plan kicks off."

He placed a hand on her thigh and grinned. "Well, I know one trick that could help get me to sleep."

She chuckled and casually removed his hand. "I'm not quite there, yet."

Norm sighed and dared to ask, "Are you ever going to be?"

"I think I'm better now than I was a month ago – actually, I guess that ought to be five years ago – but a lot of those feelings are still raw."

"So talk to me," he replied. "What's still raw? What can I do?"

Amy was quiet for a while, and then she asked, "What would you have done if you were too late?"

"What?"

"You know what I mean," she said. "What if when you showed up that day, my throat had already been cut. What would you have done?"

The scenario had not occurred to him – not because he did not ever think it was impossible, but because it had been too terrible for him to think about. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment to think about his response, but after a while he could only shake his head and say, "I don't know."

Her eyes widened. "You don't know?" she asked, shocked. "You seriously don't know?"

"I seriously don't know," he replied. "But I can tell you how I was before it happened. I was furious that Jake had forced me to give you up. I was angry that my friends wouldn't see how wrong he was, that they didn't care about what could happen. I was terrified about what could happen because, even then, I just didn't know what I would have done next."

She was quiet for a while, and he knew her well enough to know that she was trying to find any hint of insincerity in his answer. The silence seemed like it would linger on indefinitely until she asked, "What did you do after Trudy died?"

Norm had not discussed Trudy with her but a handful of times, and he had tended to be vague. Almost two decades on, that wound remained raw for him. He hesitated to answer, but he took a deep breath and said, "I looked for her. I took satellite pictures of the battlefield every day looking for any evidence that she was alive. I did it for a couple of weeks until Max found out, and he pretty much laid out for me that she was gone."

He shook his head and continued, "It didn't seem right, you know? In the movies, the good guys always get the girls at the end. But while everybody else got to build up relationships, I was kind of left alone. It didn't seem like there was any chance to move on."

"If you're wanting me to be her, Norm…"

"No," he interrupted. "No, I want you to be you. That's who I want to be with. But if I screwed up so badly with you that we can't be together, then I need you to tell me. I can't not move on a second time."

Amy was quiet for a while, and then she said, "I still think we can be together, but what I haven't gotten over is that you thought I wasn't being honest with you when I said I didn't want to hurt the Na'vi, much less turn a blind eye to the murder of an innocent girl."

"I remembered your reaction when I showed you the video from the attack on their home," he replied. "It just struck me as kind of cold."

"That's because I didn't have anything to do with that attack," she said. "Because I've seen worse in my career, and because I still believe the Na'vi could have made better choices themselves. But honestly, if I were there, I probably would have been shoulder-to-shoulder with Trudy in refusing to fire. It was wrong, but I can't apologize for it."

Norm could only sigh in response. Amy kissed his hand and said, "Let's make it through this mission before we talk more about us, okay? We have enough to worry about as it is."

Natalie came out of the shower to the faint sound of singing on the other side of her bedroom door. She waited a while to see if it was her imagination, but the noise continued. She was certain Tseyo had been asleep when she came downstairs – at the least, he hadn't stirred at the sound of her footsteps – but recalling what Doctor Patel had said about the possible side-effects of his taking off his exopack, she wanted to be sure he was not in trouble.

She got out of bed and opened her door to the main basement room. Tseyo was sitting on the floor, his back turned to her, quietly singing. What struck her most, however, was how starkly the glowing freckles on his body made him stand out against the otherwise pitch dark of the basement. She could also discern, although only just, that the lights were changing colors, transitioning from a pale violet to a more pure white. Natalie wondered if that was a natural reaction to the singing, or if it were something he was controlling.

Natalie watched and listened to him for a few more minutes, as much to make sure he was not in any physical distress as to try and learn the songs he was singing. However, as time went on, she realized she was neither experienced enough in Na'vi physiology to know if he was in distress or not, nor was she able to pick up on more than a few words at a time. She decided to go upstairs and wake Norm in order to get his opinion.

Natalie had not taken more than a few steps towards the stairwell when Tseyo abruptly stopped singing and looked at her. She bit her lower lip and then said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you."

"Were you asleep?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I was just bathing," she said. "Your songs sound very sad. Are you feeling unwell?"

"I think I'm better now," he said with a faint smile. "The songs help me focus my energy when I can't commune with my ancestors."

What few books Natalie had read – and only because there were so few available – about Na'vi culture had made her aware of the importance the Na'vi placed on maintaining their balance with Eywa and the world around them, but there were few details about how the Na'vi maintained personal balance. Although Natalie knew she ought to either wake Norm or wish Tseyo well and to bed, she did not want to pass on a learning opportunity. "What made your energy unfocused?" she asked. "Can I help?"

Tseyo hesitated before he replied. "I would appreciate being able to talk to someone."

"Do you want me to wake Norm?"

"No," he said. "Norm is a good teacher and friend, but I don't need him right now." He nodded towards the floor in front of him and said, "Would you mind speaking with me for a while?"

She smiled and shook her head, and then proceeded to sit cross-legged in front of him. Natalie felt both excited and awkward being this close to him – excited for the opportunity to be able to finally spend time alone with him, and awkward because, though he was also sitting, she felt that she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye.

He must have picked up on her awkwardness, because he went from his sitting position to lie on his stomach, propping his upper body on his elbows to be at eye level. "Maybe you can help me understand something," he said.

"I'll try," she replied with a bit of trepidation.

"Is it normal among your people to always be alone in nooks like this when sharing your home?"

Natalie could not help herself from smiling. It had never occurred to her that their behavior so far would be seen as atypical. "Yes," she replied. "My people like–," her voice drifted as it occurred to her that there was no word in Na'vi for 'privacy.' "My people like being alone to think. A lot."

"Why?"

"Don't your people like to be alone sometimes?"

Tseyo shook his head. "We are always surrounded by our kin," he said. "It keeps us bonded as a people. Seeking loneliness so often is strange."

"What about when you bathe?" Natalie asked with a grin.

Tseyo reciprocated. "We bathe in the river," he said. "People come and go from the river all the time."

"What about sleep?"

"Among our brothers and sisters. We keep each other warm after the fires go out."

"What about to think?"

Tseyo paused. "Maybe at times of grief," he said, "but you would never really be alone at home. And it can be dangerous to stray too far into the jungle if you aren't paying attention. So eventually someone would come by, and it would be a deep insult to turn them away if they tried to give you counsel."

Natalie smiled. "It sounds very nice. I can understand why our world would feel very different."

He nodded and then changed subjects. "You said earlier that your father told you stories about my people." She nodded. "What stories did he tell you?"

"Nothing specific," she replied. "He only described your people, and your world, broadly. What I remember most are the pictures, and–," she stopped short as she felt herself beginning to blush.

Tseyo's brow arched in curiosity, and he seemed to sense her sudden unease. He grinned and pressed, "What about the pictures?"

Natalie sighed, laughed nervously, and then continued, "…and I remember thinking to myself how great their tails were." She knew her cheeks had to be bright red, and she found it difficult to maintain eye contact.

As she looked away, Tseyo chuckled and said, "You have good perception. Often a person's tail will say more about that person's mood or intentions than their face or their words."

That was not entirely what she was getting at, but she nodded her head, took a deep breath, and said, "Yeah, I really liked them."

Natalie managed to look at him again, and his grin had become more wry. He looked over his shoulder and asked, "Do you like my tail?"

Natalie was not about to say that, as she grew older, there were other features of a male's lower anatomy that she would rather cast her eyes on. However, as her brief glance at the end of his tail, which was curled up and idly wagged, like the tail of a curious cat, became a longer gaze about the base of his tail, she felt as though she had already given herself away. She had a horrible thought that perhaps she had come too close to a colloquialism that had not made its way into her Na'vi lesson books. She felt herself become flush again, though not her cheeks; and when she looked back at Tseyo, his wry grin seemed even more telling that it had been a moment earlier.

Natalie closed her eyes tightly, buried her face in her hands, and began to laugh, hoping it might help break her embarrassment – or maybe, in lieu of having a paper bag, that she would prevent herself from slipping into a panic attack. Tseyo, however, was relentless and pressed, "Well?"

"It's very nice," she said from behind her hands. "Can we not talk about tails anymore?"

Tseyo laughed, and eventually she had the courage to look at him again. He smiled and said, confirming Natalie's suspicions, "I'm sorry, Natalie. It was mean for me to tease you." He chuckled and added, "But it was very funny."

"For you!"

"I'm sorry," he said, although he was still smiling. "So, did learning about my people cure your sickness?"

She shook her head slightly. "No, I'm still sick. I little while ago, I thought I was cured, but that turned out to be false hope."

Tseyo's smile faded and he asked, "How are you sick?"

She struggled for a moment. "I don't know the right words to describe it. It's something on – in – my neck that's growing, or wants to grow, and there is no medicine to stop it." Natalie moved closer to him and leaned forward, pulling back the collar of her pajama top, and said, "You can feel it, though."

A very large part of her hoped that Tseyo would politely – or even rudely – decline, but shortly after her invitation, she heard him shift his weight and bring a hand to her neck. His fingers felt tough and callused, the result of a lifetime of working with wood and rawhide, but he had the delicate touch of someone who was used to treating others' wounds.

He first touched the nape of her neck, just above where the malady lay. Rather than correct him, she closed her eyes and let his fingers move over her neck. It did not last long, however, as he said, "I can't find anything."

Natalie put one of her hands over his and guided him to the spot. Having lived with it her whole life, she knew right away when his fingers were over the tumor. "There," she said. "Do you feel it?"

A moment later, he withdrew his hand and sighed. "I know that sickness," he said. She looked up at him with her eyebrows raised, and he continued, "Sometimes, just before our world passes into the darkness of the Great Moon, there will be streams of light in the sky – day and night – and the plants will glow more brilliantly. When we come out of that darkness, there is always someone who discovers these lumps under their skin." She allowed herself to hope for a moment that he might say that their people had a cure, but she saw the sorrow in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

She took a deep breath and replied, "Don't feel sorry for me. I've lived this long, and I intend to live much longer."

Tseyo smiled. "You have a warrior's heart. That is very good."

"It's my life," she said. "I will fight for it." Tseyo just nodded. She took a breath and asked, "How do your people react when they find these lumps?"

"Most will ask Eywa for guidance, but all will eventually find peace in their own way."

"Is that what you were doing in your songs? Asking Eywa for guidance for yourself?"

He shook his head. "The songs were given to us by Eywa, but we do not seek guidance through them." Tseyo reached behind him and took hold of his queue, brining it around to show her. "Tsahik will take us to the tree at Eywa's heart, and we will make the bond there." As he spoke, as though it were anticipating such a bond, the braided sheath at the end of the queue opened to reveal a mass of undulating, neural tendrils.

Fixed on the display of alien anatomy and even more distant concept of a physical bond to nature, she asked, "What is like?"

"If your energy is in harmony," he said in a low tone, as though he were speaking of something deeply profound, "you will hear all the ancestors speaking. Above those voices, the greatest tsahiks and people will hear Eywa."

"Have you heard Eywa?"

He shook his head. "Few people do," he said. "Only the ones in perfect balance can."

"Do they say what she sounds like?"

"Like the most beautiful song – like when your mother sang to you as a baby."

They were silent for a while after that, lost in their own contemplations. Eventually, the queue's tendrils returned to their sheath, and he returned the queue to his back. He took a deep breath and said, "The songs I was singing were about that bond, about keeping my energy pure so I can achieve it." He looked around and continued, "I'm afraid that I won't be able to do that here."

Natalie frowned and looked down at her hands, as though she would be able to find an appropriate answer sitting in front of her. Something else occurred to her, however, and she stood up. "I'll be right back."

She returned to her room and found her touch-screen music player and two pairs of remote ear buds. Returning to Tseyo, she set the player between them and scrolled through her extensive collection of music, every once in a while looking up to see Tseyo's eyes darting along with her finger, as though he were trying to keep up with the album images which flashed across the screen.

When she found the aria she was looking for, she inserted her ear buds and instructed Tseyo to do likewise with the second pair. He appeared skeptical, but complied. When they were in, she started the composition.

The string section was first, but the soprano made her entrance a few seconds later. Like the orchestra backing her, she started at the low end of her range, making a humble plea to her goddess to unveil her beauty unto the world. Her zeal increased as the prayer continued. A chorus joined her plea, while she, in crescendo, asked her goddess to bring peace with her beauty.

When the aria ended, Natalie held her breath while she looked at Tseyo for his reaction. He appeared frozen in place, his eyes looking not at her, but past her. A moment later he took a breath and said, "If this is not what the tsahiks describe of Eywa's voice, then the beauty they hear truly goes beyond words." His focus came back to her, and he asked, "You should have been the envoy of your people. If you had come to us with these songs, I think much sorrow could have been avoided."

She smiled at him, trying to look past a sadness which appeared to flash across him. "I'm happy to play you some more songs if you think it would be helpful."

Tseyo smiled. "I would like that very much."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his tail flick.