Chapter Text
Afternoon sun rays pour in through the marui’s opening. The yellow beads in Neytiri’s long fingers glowing with the light as the chatter of the people, the gentle sounds of the forest swirl around her. It holds a certain contentment in her heart. She begins to hum under her breath, the clatter of beads sliding together on the string the only sound to fill her ears.
At least, it was the only sound, until her nantang pup ran in, panting as if he’d run a race with a pa’li and somehow won. His eyes dart to Neytiri, beads in his hair rattling as he spends what seems to be the last of his energy running over to her. Lo’ak, her storm of a child. Always reckless, always tumbling, always moving. Just like Jake. The thought springs a smile to her lips.
One step ahead of Lo’ak, she quickly moves her weaving project forward with her hands, allowing just enough space for him to slide in under her arms, clambering across her legs, until he sits in her lap. His arms curl around her stomach like a baby, resting his hands on her back as his arms wrap around her waist. The hotness of his cheek pressing against her chest from his playing made her smile. Certainly he’d been running around with Jake and the rest of their nantang pups, until finally, he’d grown too tired to continue on and came to seek her out.
Neytiri is always happy to spend time with her youngest son. With the newest addition to the family, Tuk, Lo’ak hadn’t been as clingy as he had been when he was younger. She misses those moments, how could she not?
She smoothes a hand over the top of his hair, before continuing to weave a new loincloth for Kiri. The marui was almost silent, just the sounds of Lo’ak’s heavy breathes echoing, and the soft humming from Neytiri.
But of course, with Lo’ak, silence did not last long. He squirms in her lap, making soft mimicry noises resembling that of an ikran. Of course, he sounds much less like an ikran than he thinks, but Neytiri isn't about to tell him that. How can I crush the heart of my fierce ikran son? She thinks with fond amusement.
It is only when he starts to beat his elbows against her ribs, as though he is trying to fly, that she says something.
“Ma Lo’ak,” she murmurs, trying her hardest not to smile. “You are as restless as an ikran fledgling. Sit still.”
Lo’ak giggles, tipping his head so far back that his braids brush against her arms. “But I am an ikran. See?” He flaps again, little elbows whacking harder against her.
Neytiri smirks despite herself. He is her wild one. “Ikran fly high above the forest, not in their sa’nok’s lap.”
“But I’m tired,” Lo’ak complains, only now giving up on his act. His small voice becomes muffled as he leans back into her chest, soft breaths tickling the skin there. Resting his ear against the gentle thuds of her heartbeat. “I wanna be an ikran here.”
Her arms soften around him, pausing in her weaving. “Then stay here, my little nantang pup.”
“Ikran, sa’nok!” He whines.
She feels the curve of his smile against her skin despite his protest.
They stay like that for a while, huddled together, Neytiri’s low humming a soothing lullaby. The sun slowly fading, inching back out of the marui. It wasn’t dark enough yet for her to worry, and she wants to soak in this moment for as long as she can. Neytiri never minded how clingy Lo’ak was compared to his siblings when he was younger. Not even when he was a baby, and would cry for her constantly, his little four fingers constantly seeking her out. And as he got older, to watch it slowly fade away…to need his sa’nok less.
To have him seek her out again– it melts every part of her heart.
After a few minutes, his voice stirs again. “Sa’nok?”
“Yes, ma ’itan?”
“What is it like?” His fingers fiddle with the edges of her necklace. “Having an ikran.”
Neytiri’s hands slow, and she brings one to his back, stilling there. Were her children so grown now that they had begun to dream of their own Iknimaya? Their own ikran? It feels like only days ago they were still small enough to settle into her lap comfortably.
She looks down, his wide gold eyes staring back up at her, so serious on his small face. “Having an ikran…” she begins slowly, “it is like finding the other half of your spirit. When you tsheylu, your song and their song become one. Woven together. They are your wings, freedom, your strength. And you are theirs.”
Lo’ak’s gaze widens. “Like…like a best friend?”
Neytiri smiles. “More than that. Like part of your soul you didn’t know was missing.”
He falls quiet, mulling over her answer, thinking hard. And then his brow furrows. “But…”
“But what?” Neytiri tilts her head.
“Neyetam’s gonna get one first. He’ll be a real na’vi. What if I never find mine?” His voice trails off. “What…what if I’m not good enough?”
The words pierce her like an arrow. Her fierce, brilliant, bright child, already shadowed by doubt, fear. Neytiri cups his cheek, looking down at him seriously. She turns his face to meet hers. “Lo’ak. Do not compare your path to your brother’s. Neteyam will have his moment, yes. But so will you. You are as real a Na’vi as Neteyam. Eywa will call you to find your ikran when the time is right.”
He bites his lip. “But what if she doesn’t call me at all?” His eyes drop to his fingers. One more finger than other Na’vi. What if I’m not enough? What if she doesn’t want my demon-blood? Remains unsaid.
Her heart aches. She lowers her forehead to his, closing her eyes, breathing with him until his small shaking breathes steady against her skin. “Ma yawntu, listen. You are just as Na’vi as Neteyam. As Tuk. Kiri, your sempu– they are Na’vi, just as you. Do you hear me, Lo’ak?” She says fiercely, desperate for him to understand. “You are perfect.”
He nods, though his eyes still shimmer with insecurity. “Srane.”
Silence lingers for a moment. Neytiri is going to have to bring this up with Jake. They tried their best to shield Lo’ak and Kiri from the words of many, but sometimes others were cruel, pointing out differences. And sometimes, those words stuck in the back of one’s mind, no matter how much good outweighs them.
To lighten the heaviness, Neytiri shifts. “Here, I will tell you about my ikran…my Seyzey.”
Lo’ak perks up instantly, his ears flicking with delight. He loves stories, especially those of the past. Neytiri remembers the nights where Lo’ak would beg Jake to tell him how he tamed Toruk, the last shadow, before it was time to rest. She’s sure with how many times it has been told, Jake started to embellish what happened. With tall tales of leaping off his ikran onto its back, wrestling it to the ground like some kind of palukan and mentions of fist fighting it.
“Seyzey?” Lo’ak looks up at her with big eyes.
“Yes.” She whispers, drawn from her thoughts. Her voice softens, tinged with grief. “She was strong, faster than the wind. Beautiful, too. Her wings carried me through many battles. When we first met–” she took a deep breath. “She tried to throw me from the cliff, three times.”
Her son let out a soft gasp.
A faint smile touched her lips. “But I hung on,” a tiny breath of relief, “and at last she accepted me when we tsheylu’d. I could see who she was, and she could see me. Together, we flew so high we were above the clouds. It is like nothing can touch you there. There is only the wind.” Sometimes when she closes her eyes, she can still remember her first flight.
Lo’ak’s mouth hangs open in awe, his ears perked forward as his tail curls around her arm as if he could hardly imagine it. At least he is not slamming his elbows into my ribs anymore, she thought with a fond smile, her fingers gently running down his braids. “What happened to her?” He asks, voice full only with curiosity.
Neytiri’s eyes cloud, gaze drifting to the wall of the marui. Her ears lower. “The Sky People. In the Great War, their machines struck her from the air. She fell…and Ewya took her into her care.” She says softly. She doesn’t mention how she could feel the moment Seyzey was struck by the metal, how her pain had shot through the bond. How she fell too, hitting the ground, crawling to reach Seyzey, just to see her die, unable to do anything to stop it. Her voice breaks at the end, just barely, and she presses her lips together tightly, as if that could stop the pain from reaching her.
His little hand grips her arm, his ears lowering as well now. “I’m sorry, Sa’nok.” he murmurs softly, eyebrows furrowing together as if he can barely understand it.
Neytiri gathers him close, pressing her face into his hair. She inhales the sweet scent of her child, letting it wash away the pain. “Irayo, ma ‘itan. I carry her always,” her hand gently grabs his, placing it over her beating heart, “here. And one day, you will carry your own the same way. They will find you, I promise.” She taps his chest gently, right over his heart.
Lo’ak nestles deeper, reassured not just from her words, but from the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. She knows his worries still linger. But for now, it was enough to know his mother sees him, loves him, and holds him just as tightly as she always will.
As sleep began to tug at Lo’ak, Neytiri rocks him gently, whispering the beginnings of his songcord against his ear. “Oel ngati kameie, ma Lo’ak. My little ikran-child.”
And with her arms wrapping firmly around him, Lo’ak finally lets go, dreaming of flying.