Miles watched as some of the males from the tribe brought back kills from the latest hunt. He was waiting for S'rrona, but he found his eyes lingering on the lean and muscle-heavy bodies of the hunters. They carried elk and deer-like creatures on their shoulders, ducking when they entered the cave mouth, never breaking their conversations. Some of them nodded to Miles, and he nodded back, feeling a surge of energy in his chest.

"Ma'Miles?" A voice called from the incoming crowd, and Miles turned to see S'rrona walking toward him, a small pig-like creature on her broad shoulders. She smiled at him, her long fangs gleaming in the dying sunlight. Miles was educated enough in Na'vi to know that "ma" meant she was speaking directly to him. S'rrona stopped before him and looked around, eyes wide, then said something he couldn't understand.

"I came to see you," Miles said, feeling confident in his speech when he knew she couldn't understand him. Her body was starting to change in the weeks since she'd gone with the Hunting Party's remaining members for weekly hunting trips. Her shoulders broadened, her back straightened, and her legs were more toned. She was always a fit woman, but she looked…athletic now. Stronger. She could probably bench him if she tried hard enough…

That thought made the heat rise to his face.

Miles wondered what he may have looked like when he flushed because the smile on S'rrona's face dropped, and she reached out to take his hand in her hand. Her long fingers and broad palm almost seemed to swallow his hand. She looked at him, her head cocked to the side, almost like she was asking him a question. He smiled, hoping it would reach his eyes.

"I'm fine," he said softly. S'rrona looked him up and down, suspicion clouding her gaze, but she let him go. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, and her fangs were hidden. "I brought you this…"

Miles pulled out a small cup. Crudely made with one side being higher than the other, he even tried to color it with berries the school children had left over after their lessons. He took them home, made a brush of sticks and fallen leaves, and carefully dotted the cup in shades of blue, greens, and browns—the sky, the earth, and the soil. He was mighty proud of himself; for someone not too artsy, he liked how it came out.

S'rrona looked at the cup, tracing her fingers over the shades and hues, the visible brushstrokes against the clay. Her eyebrows came together as she turned it around and around in her hands. Miles bit the bottom of his lip, chewing on it softly. It was a gift for her, for being so kind to him. He also wanted to show that he could prove he was helpful to the tribe; therefore, he could live with them just a little longer. Just until he could get on his feet.

"Ma'Miles…" S'rrona said softly. Miles felt his face drop. S'rrona glanced at him and grinned, placing the cup close to her chest. "S'ank you."

She was learning his language like he was learning hers. "S'ank you" meant "thank you," but she couldn't put together the "TH."

"You are welcome," he said in English.

S'rrona's ear perked. "What mean?" What does that mean?

Miles didn't have the words to say in Na'vi. He touched his heart, then moved his arm out to her, careful not to touch her. He did the action again. Heartful. S'rrona copied him, her eyes studying his movements like a hawk, but he wasn't sure if she understood. If he could speak Na'vi, then he would tell her that it meant they were happy the person liked what was given, or they were pleased.

But he didn't have the words.

"Ayfo," she said. Come. She pulled Miles by the hand, and they followed the parade of hunters. The village people cheered at the meat brought. They cheered that none of their sons and daughters, their fathers and mothers, were killed or injured. When Miles looked at S'rrona, he saw nothing but bliss on her face; she beamed at her people, touching their shoulders and hands, bringing her forehead to theirs.

When they entered S'rrona's nest, Miles found himself buzzing with excitement. She had let go of his hand, heading to the hearth in the middle of the main room to start a fire. Sweat dotted her forehead.

"S'rrona," he called, and she pivoted swiftly, giving him all her attention. He moved his arms around, gesturing to the outside world and then making a big movement with his hands. What is happening? Why is everyone so excited?

She watched him with those beautiful eyes, carefully trying to place what he was saying to what word. She held out an empty bowl to him, then set it on the ground. She then lined up several other bowls. Many plates. A feast? She then stood, putting her hand at her knee to indicate something short or someone short. She then shot back up and pulled back her arms like a bow and arrow. A small person's bow and arrow? Miles thought he knew what she meant, but he couldn't help but watch as she continued her charades.

S'rrona released the arrow and placed her hands around her neck. She pretended to squeeze and choke, tilting on one leg. Miles laughed, the feeling hearty and warm in his chest. S'rrona looked at him, her face confused at first, then she laughed, and the sound was like music. She put her other foot down but stepped onto one of the bowls she laid out.

Miles thought she was trying not to crush the bowl under her thick foot, and because of that, she overcorrected herself and tipped toward the blazing fire. He didn't have time to think before he moved, stumbling over the fire to catch her by the shoulder and arm. The fire singed, burning the tail end of her shawl. Miles stepped on it, putting the fire out before it could start.

Slowly, he stood S'rrona up right, fixing her shawl like she had it, halfway off one shoulder. She stared at him, her eyes never leaving his face. He didn't know she had freckles, little dark dots all over her face and shoulders. They were charming. S'rrona's full lips curved into a small smile and a grin as she giggled at the chaos. The sound surprised him, and the look on his face made her howl. It was hearty and rich, that of someone who truly loved to laugh. Miles couldn't help but join in. Their laughter intertwined with each other until it seemed almost to harmonize. Music. They laughed so much that neither of them noticed when the nest flapped open, and someone came in…until it was too late.

S'rrona's eyes widened; she peeled away from Miles, her ears flat on her head, her chin bowed. Miles spun around, his hand flying to a gun that wasn't there, and saw Peyral standing there. Miles backed away from her, but he did not move his eyes away. Peyral said nothing at first; she just looked Miles up and down, the corner of her mouth lifting in disgust, then her gaze shifted to S'rrona, and something hot flashed in Miles' chest at the way she stared at her.

"She was going to fall," Miles said, even though he knew she couldn't understand him. "It's not her fault; I was helping her up."

Peyral shot him a look before reaching for S'rrona, her large hand wrapping around her thin arm tightly, pulling her away from him. Miles reached out to steady her, but before he could graze her skin, Peyral hissed, low and deep. A silent threat.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. You got it."

Miles put his hands up and backed further away from the woman, his back brushing against the wall behind him. He knew better than to test Peyral when it came to S'rrona; she was her friend and Tsahik and Miles…was only here because S'rrona wanted him to be. He held no value to anyone else in this tribe.

This must have been what Spider felt his entire life and the hot flash that burned through his chest turned wet and heavy and sunk to the pit of his stomach, settling there at the bottom of his sorrows. The boy wasn't even his son; he didn't know why he cared so much about a random human boy…

A random human boy...

His boy…

Was he his son? Was Miles…himself? Who was he before he became himself? Who is Miles now? What is Miles now?

The low and fast-talking of the two women caught Miles' attention. Peyral still held S'rrona's arm firm, but Miles didn't realize that Peyral would probably be considered a very tall human…she couldn't have been more than seven feet and two inches, making all that anger in her body like a shaken bottle with a cap on. Bound to explode. But in comparison, S'rrona looked almost massive in height, even though she was at least a foot and some change shorter than Miles. Maybe 8 feet and 10 inches at most.

S'rrona stared at Peyral with large puppy eyes, listening to what she was being told. Miles didn't like how tightly she held her arm and stepped forward. Both women looked at him, and he froze.

"What?" Peyral demanded her first English word. This took Miles by surprise; had she been learning his language as well? Was S'rrona teaching her in private? "What you want?" She was better at pronunciation than S'rrona; perhaps because she was a warrior-huntress, maybe she had to interact with other tribes.

"You're holding her very tightly," Miles pointed at her hand, hoping the message came across.

Peyral looked down, her face unchanging, and released S'rrona's arm. S'rrona flexed, smiling at Miles gratefully. Peyral saw the smile and closed her eyes, rubbing the space between her eyes in annoyance. She pointed at S'rrona, telling her someone in sharp words, then stormed out of the nest. S'rrona looked at Miles again, shrugging her shoulders before following Peyral out of the nest.

Miles watched as they walked down the cave walkway. He was alone now, even if there were people that surrounded him. Some village people nodded to him; others placed their hands to their foreheads and smiled before continuing on their way, but most just stared. However, this time their stares were not of fear or distrust but of curiosity and familiarity. They still didn't trust him, but at least they were used to him.

Miles spent the rest of his day in his nest, taking chunks of clay and forming misshapen plates and lopsided bowls to fill his house. Tomorrow, when the objects were completely dry, he would paint various colors. The hours ticked by slowly; he could almost hear them going by. When the sun had finally set, darkness filled the cave, he watched as all the people from the village gathered at the largest part of the cave he had seen thus far and stood around.

Miles didn't join them; he never joined them for dinner. Not because he didn't want to, but because no one asked. He didn't know if he was allowed to join these people for their sacred time. He didn't know what to do when S'rrona stood and started talking or preaching or whatever a Tsahik did. It was also so confusing and for no reason. But he did watch as best as he could from the view he had. He had seen as S'rrona gave her little sermon, her voice loud and projecting. He had seen the people from the clan hold each other shoulder by shoulder and sway back and forth, humming. And he did watch as they all sat together to feed, laughing and singing and talking, their voice carrying on the wind and the smoke and to Miles' ears.

The food always smelled terrific and thanks to various people of the village, probably sent to him by S'rrona, he got to taste what they had. It was always amazing. Herbs and roots, legumes and berries. Spices that hid the back of his throat and made him sweat but want more.

He stood by the door, watching a dark figure walk up the slight hill towards him. S'rrona had given her blessings, the tribe had hummed, and now they were sitting and feasting. A young man sat at the front of the group, and it seemed as though all conversations were somehow surrounding him. An older woman sat beside him, and an older man sat beside her. They may have been his parents.

The dark figure drew closer to him, and Miles stepped off the porch of his nest to greet them. When the figure came into view, he saw it was S'rrona, she wore a heavy red shawl as russet as a potato over her body. Her face was painted in brown and white lines under her eyes and over her nose, and she stopped to greet Miles.

"Oel ngati kameie," she said, gesturing.

Miles copied her, then looked around. She carried no bowls, plates, or even a cup of water. "Food?" He asked in English.

"Suté," she pointed to the crowd of people behind her. "Ayfo."

Miles stared beyond her. His heart thudded in his chest. She was inviting him to eat with them. After almost seven weeks with them, she asked him to join her people for dinner. His hands sweated, and he wiped them on his loin cloth. He shook his head.

"No, thank you," he said softly. "I'm fine."

S'rrona hissed and grabbed his hand, yanking him closer to her. It was the first time she had done something like that…ever, that he'd seen. "No! Ayfo!" A command, not a request.

"S'rrona…"

"Ayfo!" She said through clenched teeth.

Miles looked her in the eyes, like pools of melted gold. When he said nothing else, S'rrona smiled and led him to the gathering. No one noticed them…at first. They continued their chattering and laughing, but when they stepped into the fire's glow, one of the clan members glanced up and gasped. Every head turned in their direction, and Miles faltered, but S'rrona kept pooling him forward.

It was quiet, the only sound of the fire popping making any noise. Every eye followed their walk, some glancing at each other and then back at him, but most never stopped looking. Miles' eyes flew over the group and over to Peyral, who sat on the other end of the herd. She was the only one who dared to show any emotion on her face: pissed.

S'rrona sat between the young man being celebrated and another random Na'vi. She patted the ground next to her for Miles to join. Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor, feeling the cold stone send shivers up his back. The boy's parents looked confused and a little annoyed as they exchanged glances with each other, then with S'rrona and Miles. The boy's mother took him by the arm and moved him closer to her.

S'rrona said something to her people, loud and clear, and every ear perked up. She touched Miles' arm and said, "MilesQuaritch." His name was like butter on her tongue. She looked around the group, ensuring every eye focused on her. Her voice was strong, commanding like a leader. Like what he would think a Tsahik would sound like when addressing her people. "MilesQuaritch."

The People looked at each other, uncertain, but slowly they all said, "MilesQuaritch." All but Peyral.

S'rrona noticed this, and she turned to her friend. The tribe turned to Peyral too. "Peyral?"

Peyral didn't say anything; her eyes bore into S'rrona. The women stared at each other, and Miles noticed S'rrona's tail stand up straight, waving just a little.

"Ke," She said. No.

S'rrona hissed, but Peyral snarled under her breath. S'rrona's ears laid flat on her head, and she backed up, taking a breath. She stood, reached the large meat pot, and picked up a bowl. She poured stew into the bowl and carefully brought it over to Miles. He took it from her, taking in the rich herbs and spices from it. Another Na'vi rushed over to S'rrona with a bowl of stew, holding it out to Miles.

"What?" he asked.

Her eyes drifted down to his bowl and then back to her bowl. Pick it up. Miles copied her and held the bowl in front of him. The tribe stared at them as S'rrona clinked her bowl with his, a smile plastered on her face, then brought the bowl to her lips and sipped from it. The heat didn't seem to bother her too much. When she was done, she looked at the tribe.

They whispered to each other, their eyes darting between each other and the two of them.

"Tsahik!" The crowd looked down the line to see a heavily pregnant woman pick up her bowl. She bowed her head to S'rrona, then turned her attention to Miles. "Kaltxì, MilesQuaritch. Oel ngati kameie." She smiled and took a sip from her bowl, the man sitting close beside her doing the same thing. One by one, the people of the tribe raised their bowls to Miles and took a sip.

Fringed talking at the corners of the group, spreading until the volume returned to what it once was. Miles smiled, turning to S'rrona, expecting her to be smiling too. Instead, she saw her chasing after Peyral, her bowl next to him unfinished.