Chapter 7

Miles sat on the steps of his nest, watching as the village came to life slowly. He noticed them watching him; he heard how their conversations became shorter, quieter, more clipped as they passed him, as if they thought he could understand them. As if they were talking about him—which he knew they were. He sat on those steps for hours, listening to their native tongue and the stream unseen in the cave shadows run.

He hadn't seen the pretty Na'vi woman who had dropped him off at his nest a few days before. He hadn't even seen the people she was with: Vrrtep, the protective but strangely gentle young man, and the vipercat Peyral. And it was a damn shame, too; he was hoping to thank her for allowing him to stay for…he didn't have a time period; he reckoned they would kick him out of the village when it was time. He just wanted something to do.

UGH! He couldn't keep doing this! He had spent the last three days in this hovel of a home, though well-plenished, with no communication from the outside world other than the guards that patrolled the village looking in on him every few hours. Miles pushed off the stony stairs and stretched his fingers, almost brushing the nest's roof.

"I have to do something," he muttered to himself.

And so he did; Miles walked off the steps of his nest and traveled down the short incline towards the rushing sound of the invisible stream. As he passed some locals, he would be stupid to think their stares were of wonder and awe by his presence and not of wary and borderline disgust. It was strange because he had never seen a group of Na'vi as beautiful as they were.

As the sound of rushing water got clearer, so did the sound of children laughing and the sound of splashing water. Beyond the rock structures that created a natural boundary, a narrow stream with sparkling fish and glowing currents flowed by. It was the only thing that glowed here without the need for fire. Miles stopped, bending down to touch the surface of the water; even the sound of the ripples was something of magic, sounding like the windchimes his Nana had on her back porch back in Kansas.

Miles placed one leg in the stream and then the other, engulfed by the warm and gentle flow. It was his first brush with fresh water in a long time. It must be the water supply for the locals here because everyone was extremely clean for living in an underground cave system.

A quick gasp made Miles spin around and come face-to-face with a group of kids. They couldn't be older than 12, perhaps 13, but they all stared at him with eyes so wide they could have been saucers. Their ears were plastered against their heads. They stared at each other, all of them afraid to move. Afraid of what the other would do.

Miles took a breath and smiled at the children, hoping to put them at ease, but all it did was make them scramble back like a small herd of fawns, tumbling over each other to get out of the stream. Miles watched as they snapped at each other, their feet pounding against the rocky floor as they ran away.

And again, he was all alone.

Miles crouched in the water, feeling the slight waves wash over his calves and his thighs, watching away the mud and the dirtiness of the previous days. Honestly, Miles felt that if he had stayed there any longer, he could wash away everything that happened on that boat.

Perhaps he could even wash away the death of that kid…

Someone's throat cleared. Miles opened his eyes to see her standing next to him. She did not glance his way, even though he couldn't stop staring at her. Minutes had gone by like this when he decided he would be the one to make the first move.

"Hello," he said gently. She turned to him, eyebrows raised in shock and confusion. She had no idea what he just said. Quickly, he placed his hand to his head and said, "Oel ngati kameie."

She smiled this time. She copied him. "Oel ngati kameie, MilesQuaritch," And even though she said his first and last name as one, he liked the way it rolled off her tongue. She then said something else, and it was his turn to give her a look of confusion. Her eyes roamed for something, and when they landed on him again, her face lit up. She pointed at her ear. Listening? Hearing? She then shook her head just a little from side to side. No? Didn't like? And finally, she made a small circling motion with her finger around her ear. Hearing? Listening?

What was she trying to tell him?

She did the gestures again. Listening, No Hearing? Listening, No Listening? Hearing no Listening? Hearing, no Hearing? This was pointless; there was a reason why Miles hated Charades growing up. S'rrona's smile tightened. She furrowed her brows. Confused. Didn't understand. She then tilted her head out of curiosity and grinned.

Friendly. She was very friendly.

I…hear you, but I don't understand…you…
I hear you, but I don't understand you. She's talking about his accent!

"My accent?" He pointed at his throat and made the talking motion with his hand. "You don't understand my accent?"

"Accent…" She drew the letters out. "Accent..."

They smiled at each other.

"Tsnganay," was all she said, gesturing to her face. "Tsnganay."

She turned around to walk back the way he had come.

"Wait, what does that mean?" He asked, quickly stepping out of the water. "Wait!"

He followed her through the village like a lost puppy on her heels, and he was sure she knew about him being there. But she didn't seem to mind. When he walked with her, people stared at him less, almost like she acted as a shield for him. They walked until they reached a large nest in the middle of the sleeping quarters, easy access to anyone who needed to see their Tsahik. He knew it was her nest because she silently passed through the flaps. He followed her, bending to get in.

A fire burned in the middle of the room, and mounds of unmodeled clay sat on the floor. A bucket of water was there too. She gestured to the floor, a command for him to sit down, and he did without hesitation. Miles watched S'rrona circle the fire and sit across from him. She grabbed a handful of clay, dipped her hand in the water, and fingered it until it was in the shape of a bowl. She placed it over the fire, the sparks popping off and hitting her hands, but she didn't seem to mind, or if she did, she didn't show it.

When the pale clay was hard and dark, she placed the bowl on the ground and grabbed another mound of clay. This time she stopped, eyed Miles, looked at the clay, and then back at Miles. Quickly, he grabbed a handful of clay and copied the deft movements of the Tsahik. When he was done, the sides of his hands were raw from heat, but he looked at the little bowl in his hand, and something warm came over him.

And it was like this for hours, molding bowls, plates, and cups. Miles tried to speak to her, but even though she looked at him as if he was the most interesting person in the world, he knew she didn't understand a word he was saying. So, eventually, they settled back into silence, the light popping of the fire being the only sound between them.

The flaps to the nest swung open, and from the corner of his eye, Miles saw Peyral walk in. She stopped briefly when she saw him but continued inside, brushing past him as if he wasn't there. Peyral went to the small kitchen area and pulled out a ball of what looked like pebbles, but he watched as she ate them one by one, the crunch of the rock grating on his nerves.

S'rrona flipped her head back to say something to Peyral, which got the response of an eye roll and her turning her back. S'rrona laughed at that, and the sound was like music. She said something again, and this time Peyral moved her head back and forth mockingly, bringing out another set of laughter from S'rrona.

She turned to Miles, her eyes dancing. She leaned in, talking as if she was letting him in on a joke that she shouldn't have been. Miles didn't understand anything she said, but Peyral did not miss this. She must have known that it was Miles S'rrona was talking to and turned around just in time to see him stumble over his words, none of which were actual words. S'rrona's smile faded, and she leaned back, continuing to mold the items.

Peyral said something, gesturing to him. S'rrona's head shot in her direction, her voice firm when she spoke, but Peyral did not even look at her. Instead, she rounded the small counter and stood next to Miles. She repeated the phrase, slower this time, then stared him directly in his eyes. He looked at her back, stumped. From the corner of his eyes, he could see S'rrona staring intensely at him.

Only after a few seconds had passed, Peyral shifted over to S'rrona, saying something to her. S'rrona stopped her molding yet again and stared at her friend, her mouth pressed in a firm, unimpressed line as she spoke in a deadpanned voice.

Peyral snarled in frustration and stood, walking away from the two of them and back to the kitchen area. S'rrona glanced at Miles, smiling slightly before telling Peyral something.

The food that was cooked at the group dinner was brought to his doorstep by an unnamed person and S'rrona. It was fish and leafy greens, but it smelled of salt and spices he had never tasted back on Earth. It was S'rrona who made a fire in the main room and placed the food in a pot and stirred it. It was late, and the shadows of the outside world made their way inside the cave, covering everyone and everything in a thick blanket of black. The only lights were those of the torches that stood outside most doors. Even in the comfort of his own house, the blazing fire was not enough to cast out those shadows.

S'rrona served the food to Miles and smiled before heading to the door. "mawkrra," he called. Swiftly, she turned her head and cocked it to the side, her eyes wide, dancing excitedly. Thank you, Spider… Miles lifted the bowl to show her. "For the food."

She blinked for a few seconds before dipping her head once. "Food," she tried out the word. "Food." She grinned at him before turning around and disappearing out the door, leaving Miles with his thoughts and feelings.