Threshold — Chapter XXVI

High Camp — Later That Evening

"Get off," Jake ordered.

Asher didn't need to be told twice. Between the fear of his groin having an uncomfortably close encounter with the animal's razor-sharp teeth (thanks to Jake's genius seating arrangement), and the sheer terror of smacking into the side of a mountain (because, for some inexplicable reason, they loved to fly close to them), he honestly couldn't wait. But, more importantly, he couldn't wait to get rid of this shirt smeared with Jake's dirty handprint.

Which, given the nature of who Jake was, what the hell that was even about? Some Na'vi thing? To make sure he was safe? No, it couldn't be. He'd like to think so since he was holding onto the same tendril-like whips coming out of the animal's head as Jake. But the reality was, he didn't know.

Also, why was the handprint… brown?

Assuming that Jake hated his guts enough not to touch him—a fact that was not openly admitted to anyone except the hunch Asher had—then there wasn't any reason to put his hand there. Not unless Jake had strangulation in mind; there was no logical explanation for it otherwise. Then again, maybe he did?

Back in the forest while they were waiting on their banshees, Jake started to accuse him of putting the Tipani's life in danger. Because in his mind, he thought Asher didn't do anything to help her. Although not an objective approach on Jake's part, Asher nonetheless tried to explain. He emphasized that he wasn't trying to 'hurt' her, as Jake put it, and tactfully reminded him of his former role as a combat medic. If there was anyone to be stuck with, with a broken leg, it had to be him.

For a moment, Jake seemed to believe him. That is, until Kxeyìn's scream of agony shattered his trust completely.

He returned to attacking Asher with one conjecture after another, pinning the blame for Kxeyìn's injury solely on him. Asher, on guard, calmly pointed out that he was disconnected from his avatar during the fall, making it impossible for him to harm her.

Right then and there, Asher clenched his teeth, grimacing at his words.

Because he knew too late that he unintentionally gave the needed reason for Jake to keep firing on him. The man threw more blue fingers of blame than Asher knew what to do with. Arguing that since Asher was UNE, he held more responsibility and liability for the lives of the Na'vi on Pandora than Jake himself. Which was some seriously stupid logic he was pulling out of his ass and one Asher was going to use to penetrate his paper tissue-thin walls of indignation to say that the Na'vi so far had treated him like crap to justify even protecting them. It wasn't a threat but Jake took it as such and just when Asher was getting to the good part, Jake went on a bizarre tangent about human responsibility on Pandora, before contradicting himself and declaring humans had no right to be there at all. According to Jake, Asher, like every other RDA member, was only there for "some blue ass."

That only angered Asher further, and before he could even launch a punch (with Jake prepared to endure the blow so he could use it against Asher when the time came to expel him), Neytiri intervened, and briefly, Asher foolishly harbored the illusion that she might side with him, only to dash his hopes as she launched into a torrent of scathing words on both of them, using terms Asher didn't remotely understand.

What was this 'scown' she spoke of and why was she pointing at him when she said it?

Fast forward to them landing at High Camp and Asher was swinging his legs over the banshee's head as he adjusted himself alongside the neck. He really wanted to get off before Jake decided to do something else with that hand, but to do that required some tricky work on his part. Taking a quick glance at the ground, he estimated the distance fell somewhere between 'risky' and 'you're going to break everything.'

Couldn't this beast lower its neck or something? It wasn't like he was sitting at the top of Mount Everest or anything but if he tried to leap off from this height he knew with the weight of the backpack that he'll end up twisting his ankle and with that kind of momentum, there was no way to stop himself from hitting the ground.

The mere thought alone nauseated him.

"Oh, that's..." Asher gulped, "far."

Jake leaned over, took a peek at Asher's boots and the ground, then steadily met Asher's gaze, his face twisting into a sardonic lull. "You've got to be joking. Just jump."

Jake's audacity to poke holes at Asher's observation made him want to say something nasty, to take him down a notch from his high horse (or well… dragon), but then he thought about what the others might say about him.

Did you see what that cruel Sky Person-or-People-whatever these Na'vi like to call humans, did to our grand old leader, Jake?

Pride was one thing and it would've felt very good but becoming a walking example of every Na'vi assumption about humans was a price Asher couldn't pay. Not when Neytiri was on his tail about ignoring Kxeyìn's troubles and the Tipani itching to gut him like a fish.

No, he held back his tongue. No, he held his tongue. Besides, he knew that if he risked getting into any more trouble, he might be facing a firing squad—of Na'vi, he supposed. Or an arrow squad? Bow squad?

"So are you going to get off or do I have to push?" Jake inquired snidely.

Asher closed his eyes. He was really starting to hate this man. But he had no time to settle his bitterness over the banshee with a broken nose, broken ribs, and a broken pride. Swallowing the dryness in his throat, he adjusted the straps biting into his shoulder like accusing teeth, and with a quick, pained readjustment of his body, he pressed his stomach against the ikran's neck to calculate his descent.

Jake's impatient glare urged him to hurry.

It's like climbing down a big truck. A… very big truck with wings. The last time Asher had to psyche himself up was before storming a beach in the Pacific when they were under fire from artillery. It barely helped.

On second thought, no, it didn't.

Asher offered a weak smile in turn, hoping for some leeway with Jake while he contended with his ribs, which by this point, were screaming. But Jake wasn't helping in the slightest. He kept looking at him with a snide smugness that burned in Asher's heart. Or was that merely his own projection that he wanted in Jake? It didn't matter. There was no adrenaline rush to mask the agony, so he couldn't think clearly enough about it. He breathed slowly in of the air, steeling himself for the next step, and moved his boot for the lower side of the saddle.

"Okay…" he breathed again. He was making progress.

Jake rolled his eyes. "Would it kill a tree for you to hurry?"

Boot to the left, hand to the right and… great. Asher started to slide. This is not so bad, he thought at first, and it would've been fun if it were not for the pain in his ribs seizing around his lungs, making it hard for him to breathe.

That's not good.

He tried shifting to his left side, but the pain shot up into his throat, choking him. Crap! Crap! Crap! Asher flung his hand out, desperately searching for anything to ease the agony. His fingers managed to latch onto a hidden saddle horn, allowing him a precious gasp of air. But before the pain subsided, his chest tightened again and snaked around to his back, squeezing harder.

Ears rotating, eyes watering, Asher then started to feel the cramps building, threatening to convulse him into a seizure if he didn't find relief from the pain.

He needed to let go—now!

Kicking up his feet for balance, he thought he found some leverage, some platform, but that too was fleeting. His boot slipped on the unfamiliar surface, causing him to completely lose his balance.

The banshee must've sensed the pressure placed on its wings by Asher's footing because the next thing he knew, the world spun upside down, twisting his stomach and throwing his heart into his throat. He gasped but nothing came out of it as he instinctively kicked his boot right into the banshee's breathing vent. Next thing anyone heard was a tortured shriek tearing through the air as the banshee, now enraged, and utterly terrified, jerked upwards with a panicked beat of his powerful wings.

"Rayan! What the hell!" Jake shouted, not knowing what overcame Asher's senses as he tried to calm Bob down.

Asher felt he was still falling, but somehow, inexplicably, not plummeting towards the ground. What gives? He struggled to grasp his surroundings. Everything was upside down and wrong. Then there was Jake, shouting at him as usual, but upside down from his perspective. He ignored him for the time being and looked upwards from his awkward position to find what was holding him: the backpack straps. They had miraculously snagged on the ikran's saddle, keeping him suspended in the air like some toy in a claw machine.

Regaining his composure, Asher found enough presence of mind to point a trembling finger at the fraying strap. "Jake?" His tone was unusually calm.

Startled by Asher dangling precariously upside down, Jake launched into action, preparing to dismount and assist him. But before he could move, the fabric tore with a sharp rip, sending the diplomat plummeting towards the rocky surface below. Asher instinctively braced himself, ribs clenching as the ground rushed up to meet him.

But instead of the jarring impact he anticipated, Asher felt strong arms grab him and haul him upright. Disoriented and confused, he blinked, looking around to find Norm standing beside him. The scientist dusted himself off, a wry smile playing on his lips as he surveyed Asher's frazzled expression. "You do know you have a pair of feet you can use to get down, right?" Norm teased.

Asher's cheeks, already sporting flaring dots from the fall, burned much more intensely from the embarrassment. He was better than this. A former soldier who led men into battle was somehow embarrassed by the fact some gangly scientist saved him. He really needed a drink. Unfortunate that they didn't have a bear nearby, so instead, he crouched down to steady his world. "Right," he mumbled, a shaky laugh escaping him. "Those. Feet. Very useful things, feet. Could've used them." He then looked up to meet Norm's gaze, the adrenaline buzzing in his ears. "Thanks," he whispered, the genuine gratitude shining through his awkwardness. "For uh. Saving me."

Norm's amusement softened into a dry chuckle then quickly hardened into a serious look. "Saving you? Have you been hit on the head recently? I thought you were playing around with the banshee back there but uh..." He trailed off, eyes scanning Asher for hidden injuries. Other than the obvious indication of a broken nose, scratches here and there, the avatar didn't look anymore worse for wear. "…Guess you're just diagnosed with stupid."

"Astute," Asher smiled weakly. "But I'm okay."

Despite the playful jab, Norm wasn't convinced. To be sure, he asked again. "Are you sure?"

The diplomat tried nodding, hoping it would send the message that Norm should drop the subject.

"Okay," Norm said, the single word dripping with unspoken skepticism. "Don't cry to me if you feel it later on."

Asher grimaced through a smile. "Noted."

Over by Bob, Jake's hand scratched the sweet spot behind his elongated head, eliciting a contented rumble from the ikran as he nudged his head into Jake's chest, wanting more. "That's right, Bob," Jake murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Bad man isn't going to hurt you anymore."

Norm, curious about what to do with Asher, ambled over towards Jake. But first, he needed to ask, "is everything good?"

Jake offered Bob a final pat, his gaze flickering to Asher who was still trying to gather his wits before settling on Norm. "Yeah, Kxeyìn has a broken leg but she's going to be fine. What about our diplomat?"

Norm glanced over his shoulder to find Asher still crouched down, his hand over his chest, his breathing somewhat rattled but overall, he looked fine to Norm. "Good I guess. But you said broken? How serious? We're talking about partial or complete?"

"I don't know. I'm guessing complete."

Norm let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders weighing him down. He then started to look around for her. "Then what the hell are we standing around here for? Let's go get her!"

Jake raised his hand against Norm's shoulder. "The Tipani have it covered."

"How sure are you about that?"

"Sure enough."

"I could get Sam and Ilram. They can have a look at her."

"Norm. They got it."

Norm shook his head but he had to trust Jake on this one. "Whatever you say."

An awkward silence soon settled between them as the frustrated rustling of Asher's torn backpack filled the air. Wondering what the hell the noise was, they both looked back. The man was poking his fingers through the holes in the pack, followed by a sharp expletive when Asher realized the strap was severely torn, rendering it useless. "Great. Just great," he muttered, turning to kick a rock. "Piece of—"

"So. About our guest," Norm side-eyed Asher with mild suspicion.

Rubbing his temples, Jake wasn't interested in delving into those details.

"That bad huh?"

"His tail and hair kept hitting me in the face."

Norm was silent for moment, then he broke into a hearty laughter. "Don't tell me you had him sit in the front?"

Jake didn't say anything and was keen on looking away to avoid answering.

"Oh. You did, didn't you?" Norm's grin was getting more mischievous at the imagery he pictured in his head.

"What else was I supposed to do?"

"Could've left him there."

Jake chuckled. "Yeah. Okay. The man was sitting so close to me that he might as well have sat on my lap for all the good it did."

Norm laughed again. "Baby's first ride. How cute."

"You can be a real evil dick, you know that?"

"That's what I'm here for!"

Asher barely registered the exchange, his focus laser-focused on the worn backpack rather than caring what was being said about him. If they wanted to talk to him as though he wasn't present, that was their prerogative. For now, his attention grazed over the holes he found, knowing he'd need a replacement soon if he planned on continuing to lug the network device around.

Speaking of which…

Unzipping the first main pocket, he examined the extent of the damage inflicted on the device. As he'd observed previously, there were dents and a hairline crack meandering across the metal casing housing the device. The power LCD screen read twenty-five percent. Nothing a little recharge wouldn't do but he was concerned that the dents might have an impact on the latency with his avatar. To test the theory out, he brought up his hand to his face and flexed each finger to see if there were any issues. To his surprise, there wasn't any. But that didn't mean it was functioning as intended. He needed to return to Ticonderoga and see what the others had to say about it.

"Listen, Norm," Jake's voice dipped low as he turned his back on Asher for a moment of privacy. "I really hate to ask you but can you take Rayan to the avatar tent? I'm going to see my kids first."

Norm's gaze softened. Although he didn't have any kids of his own, he knew what it was like to take care of orphan kids who called him 'daddy'. Sadly, those days were long gone. Replaced were the grouchy teenage Na'vi kids who were far more interested in hunting than trying to learn the finer points of botany or remembering categories of stars. Maybe that was for the best. "Oh yeah, no problem. They're asleep I think." He wasn't going to say what else had happened while Jake and Neytiri were gone. Figured it was best for the parents to find that out on their own.

"Thanks Norm." Jake clapped him on the shoulder and then faced Asher. "Rayan. Go with Norm. He's going to take you to the avatar tent but don't disconnect yet. We still need to talk about your little vacation with the RDA."

"Hey, wait, are you serious? I need to go back. My human body—"

"—is fine," Jake interjected. "Just go with Norm and wait for me there."

Asher bristled. "I'm not going to be your prisoner, sir. I am a representative of the UNE, remember? Diplomatic immunity. Try anything and the RDA will have a reason to come to this place and blow it straight to hell." He puffed up, ready to launch into a tirade, perhaps even a fistfight if they tried to detain him.

Jake, upon hearing Asher speak in a way that suggested anything but the obvious reality, started to laugh. Not in a way to mock the poor guy. No. He admired the defiance in Asher because he would've said the same thing if he was standing in his place. Perhaps less awkwardly and more seriously with a gun in hand to back up his words. "Settle down, bloodhound. I didn't say you were a POW." Jake's concern was what happened with Kxeyìn. What happened when the RDA took them. But to come out and say his true intentions might give Asher time to formulate an excuse to weasel his way out of the truth. "I just need to talk to you and then you can go back."

"Then let's talk, I'm ready."

Jake shook his head. "No," then he glanced to Norm who stood nearby with his arms crossed. "Please."

Norm walked over and tapped Asher on the shoulder. "Let's go before you get into real trouble with the boss."

"Sir—Jake!" Asher protested, frustration creeping back into his voice. "I need to go back!"

"Trust me. You'll be fine." Jake asserted, dismissing him with a wave as he walked over to Neytiri.

"Jake!"

"Hey, quiet down. There's people sleeping," Norm warned.

Asher turned to Norm. "You gotta let me go back or I'll do it."

Norm stopped and looked back with a quizzical expression. "Do what?"

"Disconnect on my own."

Norm grinned. "Not gonna happen. If you try, I'll shoot you up with adrenaline. Then you'll be in your avatar for a lot longer. And you don't want that, trust me. Now come on before the entire camp wants to cut your heart out."

"Is that a threat?"

"Relax Rayan. I'm just kidding. But… like Jake said, you're not a prisoner."

"Then let me go back."

Norm had grown a little more agitated by this incessant need to push back. "Why the hell are you in such a rush, dude? You got ants in your pants or something?"

"I've been in this avatar for too long and I need to check in with my team concerning the network device." Asher gestured to his backpack he cradled in his arms.

Norm was quiet for a cool second, then said: "Listen. I've been in my avatar for two days straight. Your body slows down on metabolism. It goes into this hibernating state. Everything about the body kinda just goes on pause. Hell, you don't even need to piss. Well… if you didn't drink a bunch of water prior to jumping into your avatar. Uh-did you?"

"I don't remember. But the network device. I need it checked."

Norm understood. "Alright. But do me a favor."

Asher licked his lips and shook his head. "I don't do favors."

"You can make an exception. Can you? I'm sure diplomat school taught you something about making exceptions."

There was a reason UNE diplomats like Asher didn't do favors. It placed them in a position where a party could influence their decision later. Though in Norm's case, he suspected the favor had less to do with the Na'vi or RDA and more to do with Jake. So he tugged on the bait—if it was bait at all—to see if his intuition was right.

"What is it?" Asher asked.

"I can help you out with the device but you need to wait for Jake. I promise he won't be gone for long. Ten minutes tops."

Of course.

"Why not now?"

"Kids. Dude. The guy has kids."

Asher clenched his jaw, scratched his ear, and chewed on the deliberation. It appeared to him that everything revolved around Jake.

What made this guy, a human, so important that everyone allowed him to call the shots with the Na'vi?

Well, that's what Asher was here to find out. Finally, he exhaled. "Okay. Okay. Fine. But I'm holding you to those ten minutes. If he doesn't come back by then, I'm gone."

"You got it." Norm said as he slowly turned away with an almost comical look of apprehension crossing his features. Jake's going to kill me, he thought as they left for the avatar tent.

Minutes ago—the winds around the mountains roared to life. Low pressure from the south clashed with the cool streams, whipping up a hellish maelstrom that buffeted, battered, and kicked their ikrans about. Jake wrestled himself free before the gale could snatch him into its vortex. He landed Bob with a thud on the jagged peak of the rookery, his eyes and attention instantly glued to Asher. He expected Neytiri to land her own mount beside him any second.

Except she didn't.

Tossed around like leaves in a plasma storm and threatening to slam them into the cliff face if Neytiri wasn't able to gain control, she cried out, "mawey!" But the ikran couldn't comprehend what her thoughts were saying; a screeching cacophony of too many commands for him to pick and choose. Leaving Neytiri to face the tempest alone, and as she did, Kxeyìn, cradled in her arms, howled with each violent jerk, the fracture in her leg screaming louder than the winds. It was agony.

The young woman stole a glance at Neytiri, her eyes pleading through tears to stop this. Neytiri understood and craved nothing more than to comfort her, but they were on the brink of disaster.

Taking a hold of his neural whips and clenching her jaw for concentration, Neytiri attempted another, more clear command, this time telling him that he needed to settle down or else he was going to hurt them. And like before, her ikran couldn't understand the danger he was placing them in. In response to the turbulence and the lack of guidance from his rider, he started to beat his wings more frantically, desperate to stay aloft.

Except this was bringing them closer to hitting the cave wall. Sensing the imminent collision, Neytiri commanded him to veer away. But the adrenaline fueling his movements turned his wings into clumsy, unresponsive limbs, fixated on trying to reach the ledge. It is too far! Neytiri conveyed.

It was too late.

Panic surged through him and in the next instant, a sickening scrape resonated in her mind as his wings grazed the rough granite. The jolt of agonizing pain, sharp as a thousand needles, lanced through Neytiri's mind and she instinctively recoiled, clutching her face in a silent scream. He echoed her cry, a guttural lament for the injury he'd inflicted on his rider. He didn't mean to. He knew he had failed her and jeopardized both their lives in the process that he whimpered and chirped to apologize, but there was no time for recriminations.

The cursed wind wanted them dead.

Shaken but determined, Neytiri gradually regained her focus enough to cast her gaze upwards. She calculated that the precipice wasn't insurmountable for her ikran. If he could just gain a few precious feet of altitude, perhaps his talons could snag a hold of something and offer them a brief reprieve from the winds before regaining his strength to leap onto the ledge of the rookery. It was risky, however: the wind was bucking them about mercilessly, and his wings, already strained to their limit, faltered in their attempts to stay open. He couldn't keep this up any longer.

It was now or never.

Unfortunately, he was still buzzing from the accident, too panicked to think clearly. If they had any hope, she needed to calm him, and seeing as she had no other alternative left, she chose the one most likely to work, yet also the most dangerous.

Squeezing her eyelids shut, the world faded to blackness. She commanded everything else that wasn't important to recede as she focused on finding his voice, diving deeper into the bond that linked them. She knew the dangers of doing this—a rider going this deep risked being overwhelmed in a flood of emotions, possibly even tangling their thoughts with that of their mount, impossible to truly separate later in life. But as she sank deeper, the expected turmoil never materialized. Instead, tranquility enveloped her. A boundless space where wind, panic, and everything she feared to touch, softened into a gentle sigh, barely noticeable on the vast plateau of his mind.

And there, at the very heart of this mindscape, she found her ikran. Not just a mount, but a companion, a friend. Someone she trusted with her life and someone she dearly needed now. But he was trembling, whimpering, lost, and suffocating in an ocean of terror. He didn't know what to do, or how to escape it, only that his end was near. Neytiri frowned. The terror that choked him, the cold dread that threatened to consume him, she felt it too. It reminded her of when death sought her out and fear gripped her. She froze, standing still, watching as those around her died. But within that shared abyss, she also found a flicker of courage, the same courage she found in herself was there, all along, sitting beside him. All she needed to do was tap into it.

Taking one more step, she knelt beside him, closer than she had been in days, even weeks. She had neglected her friend, but no more. Her hand reached out, hesitant at first, and as he turned his mouth away from her, allowing her access to his most sensitive spot underneath his jawline, Neytiri cupped it. A tremor, like a sigh, escaped him as her fingers, surprisingly strong and sure, stroked the rough features.

It was the slightest of things, a mere brush of fingers, that told him he wasn't alone.

Once she had his attention, her voice soft and soothing, said: I need you, ma friend. Stay with me and we will make it home. Together.

The embers in his eyes sparked with sudden defiance. He felt the weight of her words, the unwavering belief in his strength, seep into his very core. Like a new ikran, he redoubled his efforts, his powerful wings beating against the unforgiving air. One look at the ledge told him it was impossible. He had to do something daring, something crazy.

Dive. He needed to dive.

He flashed the idea to his rider, and Neytiri's eyes flew wide open. The plan, never anticipated, was outlandish. But if she was able to have him trust her again, surely she could extend the same trust in return?

She was about to find out.

"Hold onto me, Kxeyìn!" Neytiri cried. Kxeyìn did as she was told and held on tight. Her heart pounding in her throat, unsure what was about to happen. At the same time, her ikran swept upwards, allowing the air currents to guide him back towards the mountain, a sliver of hope, fragile yet tenacious, rumbled in his chest.

He—They were going to make it.

Folding back his wings, he shot through the crevasse. Turbulent forces buffeted him, attempting to slam him against the wall, but the immense speed he carried negated their strength. A quick spin bled off the momentum, followed by a wide-winged landing atop the rookery. It wasn't graceful, but a triumphant chirp escaped his lips. He had survived.

Neytiri jerked her head up from Kxeyìn's shoulder, her vision swimming with disbelief. How did he know to do that? She thought, dumbfounded. There is no time for that now. Standing atop her mount, her dark silhouette a stark contrast against the otherworldly heliotrope glow oozing into the crevasse like spilled ectoplasm, she looked ahead toward the camps and yelled out: "I need a healer! Kxeyìn's leg is broken!"

News of their return was already weaving its way through High Camp, carried down by word of mouth and the keen eyes of scouts who'd spotted their ikrans earlier on the distant horizon. Consequently, both the Tipani and Omatikaya were already on their way to her aid.

Meanwhile, on the Tipani side of the camp, a pair of runners, their faces flushed with exertion and tails flailing behind them, ran through the camps, threading between the tents that were big, small, thin and wide until they arrived to the one marui they needed to be. It was the Olo'eykte's. Modest and lowkey, they knew it belong to the Olo'eykte since it was the only one guarded by two warriors, each holding a spear in hand. They themselves had seen the runners coming from across the way and believing it had to be a report of Kxeyìn, made room for the runners to practically burst through the woven curtains guarding Amanti's family's marui.

Upon entering, a hush fell over the gathering. Their apologies tumbled out in a breathless torrent, words tripping over each other as they fought to regain their composure. The air hung heavy with anticipation, punctuated only by the gentle hum of a lullaby emanating from Fmilam meant to keep everyone's minds off of Kxeyìn.

At the heart of it all sat Amanti, the chieftainess of the Tipani. Propped up by soft furs and pillows, her regal bearing remained unbroken despite the pallor that had replaced her usual vibrancy. The sight tugged at Srìlo's heart, and his own deep voice carried a low melody that harmonized with Fmilam's moments earlier before the runners' interruption.

Tsmupxa heard the commotion of the runners before they ever came through. He was standing opposite his mother, his broad shoulders hunched over a spear, his preparedness a habit taught by his father. Even though he lived among allies, he never was too sure what to think of the Omatikaya employing the use of Sky People among their ranks. His brow furrowed at the entrance, waiting to see what it was when the runners appeared before them. His tail flicked. He was prepared for this to be good news or bad.

Fmilam, Amanti's most trusted healer, was knelt by her Olo'eykte's side when the runners came, her weathered hands from years of experience guided her hands as she replaced the blood-stained bandage on Amanti's head. Whenever the Olo'eykte hissed from pain, Fmilam was there to apologize. She tried to offset her pain earlier with an offering of fruit Fmilam collected at the top of the mountain. It had this pungent aroma that made everyone else think someone had vomited, but that was part of the analgesic properties meant to soothe the pain. One of its other known side effects that could not be helped was the potent drowsiness that would set in after being eaten. It was battling for dominance on Amanti's face when she too heard the runners come through the marui.

After the runners, both panting heavily, took one ragged gulp of air, they finally stumbled out their news. Their voices was hoarse and laced with panic, each word washing over Amanti in a confusing jumble that she couldn't pick out. Words like "Dreamwalker," "Jake," "Neytiri," and "injured" were the only ones that managed to pierce the fog of her exhaustion. But when they mentioned Kxeyìn's condition, a deep crease formed between Amanti's brows.

"Stop," she commander and held up her hand held to signal them to pause. "Tell me again. Slowly. How is my daughter?"

The taller of the two runners, his face streaked with sweat, stepped forward. He met Amanti's gaze directly, his own eyes filled with worry, his mind running a mile a second, hoping to piece together the words right before they came out of his mouth.

"She is badly hurt, Olo'eykte. Tsakarem Neytiri believes she might have a broken leg." His ears folded, his lips stiff. Was that it? Broken leg? Yes, yes it was. Straightening up, he kept his focus on Amanti, ready to face the consequence of delivering this report to her.

This news wasn't entirely unexpected. Ninat had mentioned Kxeyìn falling from the kunsìp to Tsmupxa, but how much she was hurt was a mystery. Still, Amanti needed to digest his words slowly, repeating them over and over in her mind until she was able to fathom that her own daughter might have a broken leg. A broken leg that meant she might not be able to climb, run, or… trying to grasp its meaning only exacerbated her fatigue. She shook her head dismissing the thought and began to stand up.

"I must see her," Amanti declared.

"This is not the time," Fmilam countered, rising to stand with her friend before placing a calming hand on the Olo'eykte's shoulder to stop her ascent. "I will go and see her."

Amanti flung Fmilam's hand away with a dismissive gesture. "Nonsense! I am her mother, and a mother must tend to her child."

"Your mind disappeared from us when you tried to walk outside the marui. Do you remember, Olo'eykte?" Fmilam stepped in front of her, her eyes finding Amanti's, her tone growing increasingly serious. "I fear that you will not make it if you try to walk it to the rookery."

Suddenly, Srìlo's voice broke the tense silence. "Mother, I will help you."

Tsmupxa stepped forward and interlinked his arms with hers. "As will I. She is safe with us, Fmilam."

Fmilam took a step back. She felt embarrassed to think she could stop Amanti. This was her daughter she was concerned about and to even step up to Amanti and stop her? What was she thinking. Though her face showed concern, there was relief in knowing that her sons would be with her.

She then dipped her head in a gesture of respect and apology, silently vowing to offer her unwavering support.

Amanti's gaze flickered to Fmilam and lingered only a moment before she averted it. Continuing with the debate was useless but it nevertheless hung heavy between them, unspoken but undeniably present. Under a restless sigh, she softened her voice to a murmur, the tension easing from her posture.

"Srìlo," she called, "please retrieve my necklace for me." She gestured her hand towards the corner of the tent and his gaze followed the movement to look at the vibrant display of necklaces that adorned the makeshift rack on the wall.

Wondering which one to choose since each piece carried with them a story, or a reason, or a type of emotional resonance; Srìlo couldn't simply pick anyone that he liked. He needed to know what his mother needed and unlike songcords of the Omatikaya where the stories of one's life was told in beads. Tipani necklaces were deeply personal on another level that could only be understood between the wearer and the maker. Making it that much harder for him to choose.

Curiosity lowering his ears, Srìlo finally asked, "Which one?"

To which Amanti replied, "the one with the smooth stones." Her gaze drifted towards the two Tipani warriors guarding the entrance. "Kxeyìn made them for me." A barely-there smile languidly formed on her lips. "I want her to see me wear it when I visit."

Srìlo's gaze immediately darted to the necklace she described. It wasn't the most ostentatious or meticulously crafted piece, like many Tipani adornments. Rather, its beauty lay in its quiet simplicity, radiating an undeniable charm if you looked at it the right way. But more importantly, these unassuming stones held a certain significance you couldn't find anywhere else: they were Kxeyìn's first necklace, a tradition steeped in ritual, often gifted to parents to signify their love for the parent from a child. Srìlo had made one as did Tsmupxa. Amanti always wore them when she delegated authority with the clan. Showing to everyone her own love to her children.

The stones themselves were deliberately left unpolished since Kxeyìn plucked them from the riverbed. But they were smooth and cool against his touch. Each one telling a story of a young Kxeyìn, brimming with burgeoning creativity and boundless love for her mother. He imagined this love was unbreakable. Incorruptible. He needed to respect it and with a reverence bordering on awe, Srìlo lifted the necklace and held them for a while. His fingers gently brushed over the mismatched beads—a seashell here, a hardened flower petal there, each chosen with the innocent, unadulterated love of a child's heart. He held it close, feeling the weight of its significance not just in his hands, but in his soul. He really missed her. And if the story was true, that she only had a broken leg, then he needed to be with her, now more than ever.

Fmilam stood hunched, a defeated warrior in the aftermath of battle. She kept herself composed, however, by showing she was with Amanti, yet it was evident by her posture that she was nothing more than a yerik on its last legs. Amanti attempted to straightened her back, having gone without a day's worth of exercise was turning out to be a terrible idea and one she wouldn't repeat again. The ache pinched her lower back and her shoulders felt as though they could fall off at any moment. She then looked ahead towards the marui entrance and said, "do not hide in my shadow, Fmilam."

Shame immediately swallowed Fmilam, prompting her to bow her head even lower in order to seek refuge in the comforting embrace of darkness. But then, a soft chuckle, like the tinkling of beads on a staff, broke the unusually tense stalemate. It was Amanti with her playful glint in her eye and a mischievous smile that Srìlo adopted, dancing on her lips as she finished her thought. "After all, who will heal my daughter? Kusati? The girl does not know her left from her right without anger biting her tongue."

Fmilam peeked up from beneath the arched canopy of her brow, a sliver of surprise flickering across her face. "Y-yes, ma Olo'eykte. I will."

Srìlo held out the necklace, the simple string of stones glinting faintly in the firelight for Amanti to see. "Kxeyìn's necklace."

"Irayo, ma son," Amanti murmured, her voice carrying a rare vulnerability as she accepted the necklace. Letting them sit in her hands, Amanti ran them with her fingers, feeling the familiar roughness of each bead, each touch a memory. It was as if she could still feel the midday sun warming her skin, the scent of syekalin filling her nostrils, and the laughter bubbling up in her chest as Kxeyìn presented the gift with a shy grin and two front teeth peeking out from beneath her lip. She was a child then, carefree and full of hope, the light of the world sparkling in her eyes and her father's smile, wide and warm, molding her lips.

But now? The vibrant girl had blossomed into a woman, strong and resilient, and yet, this news had cracked a piece of Amanti's heart, leaving a gaping wound that no salve could heal. To hear that her daughter, her precious Kxeyìn, had returned 'broken' was a truth a mother could never fully reconcile.

Placing the necklace around her neck, Amanti adjusted it and signaled to Tsmupxa to fetch the clan's staff. He retrieved it from the wall and handed it to her, the weight of their heritage palpable in his hands. She rotated it until the beads representing the clan's spirit faced away from her. She was ready.

"That's good, Tsmupxa. Guide me," Amanti instructed, gently nudging his arm.