Chapter 8

S'rrona breezed through the forest, careful to only step on the soft undergrowth. The sun wasn't up just yet, so the only light to be found were the lights of the stars and the brushes that glowed under the moonlight.

"S'rrona," A voice whispered through the air, and she shifted, tracking the light earthy scent of Peyral. "Careful, that grass looks loose."

She shifted her gaze to meet the forest floor; sure enough, the grass was wholly different from the ones she stepped on earlier. It was darker, with a dip in the middle as if it would cave in on itself. S'rrona sidestepped it and continued her way. She only hunted when there weren't enough people in the Hunting Party, and that usually happened when there was a large wave of illness over the clan or if some people took a day off. Today, it was because half the hunting party was gone with Vrrtep.

Her people lived in the shadows and caves with intricate tunnels stretching like their hometree's roots. They spent their days lingering in the darkness, so much so that they could become one with it, with their skin the color of midnight blue. S'rrona could only count on a few fingers the number of times she had seen the scorching sun in her 29 years of life, and it wasn't because she did not have the chance to, but she didn't want to; no one in the clan was restricted from going outside, save for the very young children, it was because they all disliked the sun. The stinging brightness made their eyes raw; the world's loudness was strange and sometimes disconcerting. S'rrona did not like the outside world when it was daytime, and she craved the moments when the brightness started to dim, and the world started to rest.

Light rustling in the forest came up behind her, and she ducked down, spinning on her toes to get a better aim at the beast in the bushes. She brought her slingshot to her cheek, breathing in short and stunted breaths. Watching.

Next to her, Peyral landed from the trees. She crouched beside her but stayed back enough from S'rrona to move as freely as she pleased.

"What do you hear?" Peyral asked, almost breathlessly.

"Something was in the brushes over there," S'rrona pointed. "Could be a tawtute, but…I don't know."

The two women stared at the bushes, silence between them, and just as S'rrona was going to stand and continue her way, she smelled the faint scent of damped earth. She glanced at Peyral, her eyes dancing with excitement, but Peyral smiled at her and jetted her chin out to the bush. Focus.

The bush shifted and emerged out of the darkness, a small tawtute. S'rrona's heart dropped, and she lowered the slingshot just before a strong arm latched onto her wrist. Peyral stared at her, her gaze stern and sharp, and she looked directly into her eyes. What are you doing, girl? S'rrona knew her own eyes were wide; she stared back at her friend, raising her eyebrows. I can't kill it. Peyral's eyes narrowed, her eyebrows coming together a little. What do you mean you can't kill it? It's right there! But S'rrona just stared at her, her face unchanging. It's a baby, Peyral. And it was as if something had come over her. Slowly, Peyral nodded and released her hand from S'rrona's wrist, but when she went to stand, Peyral snatched the slingshot from her and shot the tawtute in the middle of its forehead.

They watched as the creature staggered back a little, a small cry sounding off deep in the forest. The sound of agony and shock, followed by the fading sound of hooves on grass. Its mother was watching them the whole time. S'rrona looked at Peyral, whose face seemed to drop in realization too. They wouldn't have killed the creature if they knew the mother was watching. The little creature collapsed to the ground, and then Peyral hopped out of their hiding spot and ran over to it.

"Come," she said to S'rrona. "We must return it to the clan before the meat goes bad."

S'rrona followed behind Peyral, gathering the tiny fawn's back legs and carrying it to the main road. As they shuffled through the undergrowth, pairs of glowing eyes glanced at them from the shadows. The other members of the hunting party.

"You cannot still be thinking about the tawtute," Peyral sat in the corner of the room, remolding the head of her club. S'rrona sat silently near the raging fire in the middle of her nest, mounding flowers and herbs together until there was nothing but a grounded paste in the bowl. When she said nothing, Peyral looked up at her. "S'rrona… It is the way of life; you know this. The Great Mother gives, and the Great Mother takes—no matter how old the victim. You cannot do anything to stop it."

S'rrona looked up at her friend, a feeling of annoyance quickly washing over her. "We could have found another beast, Peyral. We aren't hurting for food." It was Peyral's turn not to say anything. "You know how I feel about killing the young."

"It happens every day," Peyral sniped. "Even our own don't survive." The silence in the nest was thick enough to cut through. S'rrona watched as Peyral's usually proud, perked ears faltered a bit. She sat her club down and reached for her friend. "That was not supposed to be a dig at your ability to lead. It wasn't—"

A knock at the nest entrance way and both women turned to see Miles standing at the door, his ears back. Peyral's ears were alert, but S'rrona rushed to her feet and greeted him. In his hand was the same bowl of food she gave him the night before, now washed and dried.

He smiled at her. "Thank you," S'rrona remembered that word from the night before. "Mawkrra."

He handed her the bowl and she grinned, showing how sharp and large her fangs were. The smile on Miles' face faltered a little, but he seemed to have caught himself. "Food." S'rrona said, mimicking the motion to eat with her hand. "Food?"

"Food," Miles smiled.

She nodded. "Suté," she translated. "Food."

"Suté," he repeated.

They stared at each other for a bit, their hands both clutching the bowl. It was when Peyral cleared her throat that they broke eye contact. To S'rrona, Miles was strange to look at. She'd never seen a Na'vi with five fingers and was lighter than the starry night sky. She wanted to ask what those white spots on his face and arms were, why his pxe'ne so sharp and long, covering him like shadows as sunlight filtered through the forest. But she wanted to know why he had five fingers and toes. Was it not cumbersome to walk and grab things with them?

Miles said something and then pointed behind him. It was frustrating not knowing what he was saying. How could she help him settle with her people if she could not talk to him? She smiled up at him; that was all she could do because seeing the look of admitted dejection in his eyes and understanding he was genuinely isolated from them was hard to bear. She hated that.

"You are too nice to him," Peyral said from the other side of the nest. "You're too kind in general. That will get you and the rest of us caught up."

Peyral did not wait to see her expression. Instead, she grabbed her club and swung it over her shoulder. She left the nest without a glance, heading to the Guard's Tent. S'rrona looked back at Markus, hoping her open expression made him feel at ease. She touched his hand, and for a moment, she thought he would jerk it away, when he didn't, she rubbed the rough skin on his hand. Her hands were almost the same size. How strange.

"Come with me," she said, even though she knew he had no idea what she was saying. "I will find you something to do in the village." With his hands still in her hands, she led him off the porch of her nest and through the crowds of her People.

'Retrum," S'rrona called. "Retrum—Oh!"

The older woman stood in front of her, her arms crossed. She was a schoolteacher and one not to mess around with. However, she always had a soft spot for S'rrona, so she knew that if she brought Miles to Retrum, she would consider what she would ask.

"This is MilesQuaritch," S'rrona said to the woman. "He is new."

Retrum's mouth moved into a fine line, her eyes looking Miles up and down before changing her attention to S'rrona. S'rrona flashed her a pearly grin, fangs on display, and batted her eyelashes.

"What does The Strange One want?"

"I want him to learn," When Retrum scoffed and attempted to turn around, S'rrona grabbed her by the arm. "Please. He is new."

"What can this man learn?" Retrum said a little loudly; the schoolchildren turned to face them, whispering when they noticed Miles standing over everyone. "He is not one of us."

"Teach him the language," S'rrona insisted. "Teach him how to be one of us."

Retrum looked S'rrona up and down, then darted her attention to Miles. S'rrona saw something in her eyes warm when she saw him; then she looked back at S'rrona. "All right," she said. "Bring him," she quickly pointed at S'rrona in the face. "But he must sit in the back and say nothing. Understand?"

"I understand," S'rrona smiled. "Thank you, Retrum."

Retrum grunted but turned around to head back to her class. S'rrona looked up at Miles only to see he was staring at her already. Her face warmed a little at the intensity of his stare. She stepped away, placing her hands behind her back and rocking on her toes.

"You will go with Retrum," when he cocked his head to the side, S'rrona hissed in annoyance from her forgetfulness. She pushed Miles towards the children and pulled him to the ground. She crouched, getting close enough to ensure they made unbreakable eye contact. S'rrona put two fingers to her eyes and motioned between her and Miles. Quickly, she moved out of the way to reveal Retrum in front of the class and all the little children staring at him. Miles' face warmed, but S'rrona made the same two-finger motion between his eyes and Retrum. She pulled at his eyes in a way that told him to "listen" and touched her mouth. It took a moment, but Miles' eyes widened when it seemed he realized what she had told him.

Stay quiet and listen to her.

He nodded.

S'rrona stood and placed a hand on her chest and bowed to Retrum in thanks before walking away.