At the communal fire pit, Na'vi, young and old, filled their leaf plates with the day's success. Neteyam and his friends were victorious over a sturmbeest, and it was shared with the clan. Mo'at led her dancers about the village to rejoice and honour both the hunters and the hunted, as was their custom when a talioang graced their fire. Added to the banquet were the giant fruits that Kiri helped harvest. Jake led a hunt song, which gave thanks to Eywa, then sat down to join his family for dinner, which was enjoyed in silence until the father could no longer delay the duty his wife had pressed upon him.
"So, Kiri… uh, Max was telling me he found you and Spider sleeping by Grace's tank again."
She lifted her eyes to acknowledge him before continuing with her food.
"Don't you think you're getting a little old for that?"
Kiri cocked her head, not understanding his meaning.
"Well, uh…" Jake fumbled his words. He wasn't sure how to explain. "You're older now, and Spider is… Well, Spider's a boy."
She diverted her hands to sign, "Yes. He is a boy." Kiri knew her father could be clueless at times but didn't think he'd forget something that obvious.
Neytiri could only smile at her mate as he struggled to explain matters of propriety to their ignorant daughter. Despite the Omatikaya being one of the more scantily dressed clans, they still acted with decorum. "You are an adult now, Kiri, not a nantang cub who sleeps in a heap," Neytiri teased, tweaking her daughter's ear.
"I feel better when I sleep with Spider," she replied with such unabashed innocence.
Jake sighed; this was worse than the time he had to explain to the little Adamists why they could no longer go skinny-dipping in the watering hole.
"Princesses must sleep in their own tents," her mother insisted, and Kiri knew from the firmness in her tone that that was the end of it. She bowed her head in submission but wasn't happy about the decision.
"Are you and Spider going to Hell's Gate soon?" Neteyam asked his father.
"Yes. We'll be sleeping there for two nights before returning. You'll have to maintain the camp while I'm gone. Borrow a bow from one of the elders."
"Borrow? He has his own bow."
"Mine broke during the hunt," Neteyam admitted to his mother with some embarrassment. "You want scouts sent to the northern border?" he reconvened.
"No, save your energies to sweep the area of sector four all the way to Bridgehead."
Neytiri grabbed Jake's wrist with alarm. "So close?"
"We have to stay on top of any slash-cutters they send out."
"They have not dared since we destroyed the others two years ago," Neytiri boasted.
"They've been growing. Bridgehead's biding its time. Any day now, they could make a grab for Hell's Gate."
"But to send Neteyam so close to the ci-tee—" Neytiri struggled to say the word 'city,' as it was foreign to her in both pronunciation and concept.
"I'll be careful, Mother. I'm a more skilled flyer than you."
She nudged the shoulder of her waggish son. "So say you."
"Actually, Mother, I was hoping we could both fly out with Father and escort him for half the way."
The family looked at Neteyam curiously, and the young man's eyes fell to his food. "I-I want to stop by Hometree."
Neytiri went still. "Why do you wish to go there?"
His fingers glossed over the veins on his leaf plate before he rallied the courage to speak. "I want to make a new bow from its wood," he blurted.
Neither parent knew what to make of the request, but one of them had to answer. "It's been over a decade," Jake dismissed, getting back to his food. "The wood remains, but there's no strength left in it."
"But there is! Father, I know greatness still lies in Hometree. It cries to be of use once more."
"It is of no use to us," Neytiri hushed. "It returns to Eywa. We do not go back."
However, the passion in his words had their effect on Jake. "Hold on, Neytiri. He's a warrior from a new generation. He did not witness its destruction. No memories hold him from going."
She stared back at her husband with mouth agape until Neteyam called her attention. "At least let me try, Mother."
Neytiri sighed. She had not returned to her ancestral home since its destruction—the site where her father, the olo'eyktan, was killed alongside so many others. She had found him fallen on a bed of ash where a sliver of their tree had pierced his torso. With his last remaining strength, Eytukan raised his bow and instructed his beloved daughter to protect the people.
She squinted in pain as the mournful wails of the past echoed in her mind. "I will not go with you, but I will not stop you."
Neteyam bowed his head in thanks.
Kiri listened to this family conversation without interjection, as per usual. She looked to Neteyam to offer her support; but, being unnoticed, she went back to her meal in silence. Spider soon came running up, stopping just a few feet from where they ate, and Kiri immediately perked up. She looked at her father and waved her excited fingers all around her hopeful face—the gesture for "Please, can I go?" Jake, of course, knew what it meant, having seen it a hundred times before. He didn't get the chance to finish his nod before the two were skipping off together.
"May I leave too?"
"Where to?"
"Uncle said I could visit him after dinner to read some of his books."
"Alright, but don't test his patience by lingering longer than you have to. You know how cranky he gets."
Neteyam agreed and took off, grinning, to visit Norman.
|"How did our kids grow up so fast?"|
Neytiri was already returning the leftover food to the communal fire pit. |"You speak in Na'vi to coax me, no doubt,"| she replied haughtily.
|"Are you still mad at me?"|
|"You acted foolishly. Getting drunk for all to see. You are Toruk Makto. To be acting so stupid…"|
|"Toruk maktos have to be stupid to fly those things,"| he joked.
She looked away so his dumb grin wouldn't have an effect on her. From her point of view, she had every right to be offended and wasn't about to be wheedled out of it. She flicked her braided hair aside and proceeded towards their tent; Jake naturally followed.
The rich orange tepee was embellished with intricate beaded designs, all hand-stitched by his mate. The interior, being suffused with her pleasant aroma, motivated Jake to sniff the air, wanting to take it all in.
|"You and Norman set a bad example for Neteyam,"| she argued as Jake slyly tied the tent flaps behind him.
|"Okay."| He hummed. |"I'm sorry."|
Neytiri read the look of desire in his smiling eyes. She raised her chin high and turned to profile with a huff; it was getting increasingly harder for her to stay annoyed with him. |"Don't look at me like that,"| she grumbled.
He stepped towards her till his mouth was but an inch from her lashes. "How else can I look at you?" he whispered, and Neytiri knew it was a lost cause when he started wooing her in English. She tried to press him away, but the moment Jake felt her supple palms on his chest, he retaliated by clasping his weathered hands around her waist. The noblewoman was pulled to her bed of silken blankets made from plant fibres, worked to the softness of a lamb's ear—as she heard Jake once describe it. Neytiri didn't know what a lamb was or a Sheila or any of those strange words her mate used to address her, but she loved how they sounded when he breathed them into her ear.
"Are you still mad at me?" he continued to whisper, the full of his weight now atop her, and their bodies so tightly pressed that he exhaled as she inhaled, and she inhaled as he exhaled.
"Ma Jake," she tried to growl, but it turned into giggles. "Yes. I am very mad. You test my patience!"
His ears pivoted to pick up all the sounds of her joy. Jake found that not even the acute Na'vi senses were enough to take in her person. Her taste, her scent, her sound—capped by the limitations of his body, Jake had to be with her in another way. His braid fell over his naked shoulder, and they linked queues. All at once, Neytiri poured into him. Her sensations were his sensations; his sensations were hers. Thoughts of excitement pounded in Jake's head as his own throbbed in Neytiri's. This was the tsaheylu: the mental link. Riders use it to speak to their mounts; mothers use it to reassure their babies; and worshippers use it to hear the will of Eywa, but there, on their marriage bed, was its full purpose realized.
Spider clung to Kiri's back as they flew over the dark blue canopies atop her male ikran. He was called Palm-Palm, and his wings were the colour of sapphire, peaked with sharp yellow. When little, Kiri was presented a tuft from a burnfiber plant from her father, who told her it looked like a pom-pom, and she loved the way it sounded. Two interchanging taps on her palm and that became her ikran's name.
She tamed it at the age of five—the youngest any Na'vi ever acquired an ikran. Kiri stood before the dangerous creature when it was busy taking up water, and without any coaxing, he came over to nuzzle. Jake couldn't understand why she had such a knack for animals. He first discovered this talent when his hunting party was ambushed by a stampeding sturmbeest, and there, atop its muscular neck, was his giggling toddler. It took them a good hour to lure the baby down, all the while trying not to get crushed underfoot.
The inseparable pair dove over the glimmery jungle. Pandoran days were beautiful, but it wasn't till night that the last incantation of her enchantment was spoken. Thousands of shimmering plants sent up their challenge, and the heavens answered with their fleet of stars. Kiri showed them all up with her magnificent shine of freckles, now coruscating from the exhilaration. The maiden couldn't speak, but she could still laugh, and the happiest of sounds rang from her mouth as she performed her aerial dance under the vault of heaven. The lights above and below zipped around as blurs in Spider's vision; he lost all sense of direction. It was as if Heaven and Earth were one again since their separation on that Second Day.
Clinging fast to her, Spider laughed riotously with Kiri, and their glee echoed over the landscape. It rolled across the rivers into the ears of the sleeping hexapedes. It bounced off floating mountains into the caves where stingbats dwelled. So lively was their mirth that none could escape the song of these two happy innocents flying about without a care in the world.
Palm-Palm glided gently into a clearing, and the two jumped off, rolling onto the tickling grass, still giggling from their adventure. Spider tagged her and took off, bolting into the jungle with Kiri fast on his heels. They dove over logs and leapt through bushes, crashing through leaves and stirring up pollen. He hid under an octoshroom and secretly watched Kiri as she skipped into view. He gazed in delight at her woven anklet bouncing with each step. The delicate touch of her toes aroused the earth, and its glinting organisms swelled with vibrancy. Spider couldn't make the world light up like the touch of her skin could. He noticed her scintillating footfalls left a glow that would linger well after the impression was made—far longer than other Na'vi.
She stood by the octoshroom, trying to smell him out. He suppressed his giggling as he snuck around its stalk to come up behind her. She felt the tugging at her tail and whipped about to playfully hiss at her impetuous human. Their game started up anew, and they rolled freely once more.
After a tumble threw Spider a good way, Kiri laughed herself silly until she noticed him doubled over on the ground, choking for air. Looking down, she discovered his EXO pack, which had been accidentally knocked off. She took the mask and rushed to his side, plucking up her unconscious human and placing the visor back on his face.
The filters hissed, the fogged plastic turned clear, and Spider burst back into the land of the living. His chest heaved as he looked at his Na'vi with a relieved smile.
"Are you okay?"
He signed their word for 'yes,' and Kiri breathed easy again.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He snorted. "These things happen. Try not to take my breath away. Okay, Kiri?"
"Deal." She grinned back.
They sat there in the cool grass doing nothing except enjoying the other's presence. A gentle breeze kissed her face, and he watched the bangs of her wild hair dance in the wind. Spider ruminated on whether or not to speak up.
"Kiri?"
She looked at him, and Spider inhaled deeply. "Since you went on your vision quest, are you going to commemorate it on your songcord?"
Her eyes brightened. She hadn't given any thought towards recording the event. She reached for her waytelem (songcord) tied around her waist. It was a rope decorated with beads and other tokens. Traditionally, an Omatikaya would thumb this special cord in their hands while singing a song of their own creation, with each token personifying a note. Kiri couldn't sing, not vocally, but she could still pantomime. Using her right hand to perform the words, she strummed her songcord with her left. Spider never knew anything more beautiful than the sight of her singing.
He reached for his pouch, where he drew out a small object clenched in his fist. "I was saving this for when you completed your vision quest." He took up her hand, which felt dainty despite being twice the size of his, and plopped it on her open palm. Kiri eyed the seed with wonder as it rolled around. She instantly recognized it as a kelutral seed.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
She shook her head vigorously. She knew Spider had no way of knowing what her vision was and wasn't sure if she was allowed to be offended by the sneakiness of Eywa for giving him the idea. She picked up the little brown seed and studied its grooves. The Na'vi understood that kelutrals couldn't grow anymore, at least not to the size of their giant ancestors. Only the ones that sprouted before the Time of the First Songs became large enough for The People to dwell in. A legend arose that it was due to how small the seeds had become—that the ones which sprouted giants were equally enormous.
She thanked Spider and proceeded to weave it into her songcord.
"What note will you give it?"
She thought for a moment, then signed Spider's name, but she could only say half of it as her other hand was occupied by her cord.