birds of a feather (part 3)
harsh words and scared eyes have created a chasm between you. angry and apart, will you and Neteyam listen to the wind calling your names?
part 1, part 2
part 3, wc: 4.0k
tags: aged-up Neteyam, fem pronouns, pining, post AFAA (by 10-ish years), the slow burn is still burning
To many Na’vi, tsaheylu was more than just a moment of connection – it was a true bond, an intimate exchange of feeling, a way to reckon with the gift and burden of the life Eywa provided. In this minute, tsaheylu was keeping you from overwhelming uncertainty. Sat atop a floating island, facing eastward towards your distant home, your bond with Vitra kept you afloat. Her large head lay in your lap, her vivid eyes blinking up at you slowly, a light chittering filling the air as you scratched under her chin.
Vitra had been with you through it all – through loss and pain, joy and purpose. Now, her mind filled you with a quiet balm, her presence reminding you that you were not alone. Looking outwards towards the quickly darkening sky, bioluminescence subtly began to glow from below and around you. The night was coming alive, the wind singing a soft croon in your ears.
You were not alone. Vitra and the current were your companions, and they would help to settle your soul.
After an afternoon of anger and sharp words, you had found yourself restless, roaming around the village in agitation, your tail a whip behind you. Lingering adrenaline demanded you take to the skies – and so you listened. Now, after pushing your ikran aggressively through the drafty gales and swirling clouds, you could feel your heart settling, the beat evening out.
“You missed dinner,” a voice speaks from behind you. So lost in your thoughts, your ears had barely twitched when you heard the slight rustle and settling of ikran wings atop the rock and vines.
“I wasn’t hungry,” you retort, your tone flat and words clipped. Just as you felt yourself coming back into your body, feelings finally regulated, he just had to show up. How he had found you, Eywa only knows.
“Somehow, I find that hard to believe – you wrestled a beast earlier, there’s no way your stomach isn’t rumbling,” Neteyam counters. As he steps closer, Vitra huffs and rises, her wings sending gusts of air through your hair as she disconnects tsaheylu. She gives you a soft yip before taking to the sky, Äye’s flapping echoing a moment behind her. Great, you think, now you’ve been abandoned by your ikran, too.
Still staring out at the forest, your eyes now narrow in a glare, you see a hand come cautiously into view from your right side, a food parcel in its grip. Sighing slightly, you grab it. While you might not have openly admitted it, the growling in your stomach had grown loud in the past few minutes. “Thanks,” you concede before unwrapping the meat and fruit nestled inside.
“Can I sit?” Neteyam hesitatingly asks. You nod slightly, the succulent juice of the meat hitting your tastebuds as you take a small bite. He settles beside you, his hands fiddling with objects clasped between his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Neteyam murmurs, “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”
You just hum, your eyes hard as they focus on the food in your hands.
“I was scared,” Neteyam admits. You turn your head towards him then, getting your first full look at him. He looks tired, you think, a bit overwhelmed. His eyelids are heavy, his movements slow. When he turns to look at you, you feel your breath stutter and your chest squeeze.
“I know you feel I’ve kept you at a distance over these past few weeks, and perhaps I have – but…” his voice trails off, his eyes looking back towards the forest. “I’ve grown to care for you, even despite my best efforts to maintain some space.” He looks down at his hands then, his ears pinned back slightly to his head.
You remain silent, and Neteyam can feel your gaze on him like the sun on a cloudless day, his ears and cheeks hot.
“I’m not used to letting people in,” he admits, his voice soft, before taking a moment to collect his words. “Sometimes the expectations with which I’ve lived my whole life have been a guidance, a clear and distinct path it’s acceptable to follow.” He swallows, “But they’ve often made me separate, apart from others. I have to be Neteyam, Toruk Makto’s son, not Neteyam, the actual person I am.”
This is perhaps the most you’ve heard him speak in the weeks you’ve been here, and you give him a slight nod of encouragement to go on. “While I know I agreed to try, a lifetime of holding oneself back is a hard habit to overcome.” You can hear the swish of his tail against the rock, his nervousness clear. When he looks up at you again, his eyes halt any response you have building inside you. They are open – open and vulnerable and devastating.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in this with you. I’m sorry I’ve let you navigate the Omatikaya alone, learn the forest alone. I’ve failed you in this partnership before we’ve even begun.”
You feel his words wash over you; they feel like the sea spray on an early morning, true and crisp. He is being honest and brave, you realize, perhaps in a way reserved only for his most trusted. He is trying, so you will try, too.
“You haven’t failed anyone, Neteyam. I’m right here, and I accept your apology. You haven’t chased me away or made me reconsider; I knew this was going to be difficult.” Neteyam feels his chest loosen, your absolution as sweet as the healing nectar of the tawtsngal.
“Why do you feel like you have to hide yourself away? Your people love and admire you – I think they would like to know the real Neteyam, not just the version of Toruk Makto’s son you say you must present,” you question. You feel him withdraw suddenly, his body stiff, his tail now still.
You give him a minute to find his words, the conflict clear on his face as his eyes scrunch closed before opening again, “When we came back from the reef, I had changed. We all had changed. I was no longer the boy they knew – I was harsher, maybe even meaner, more aware of all that I could lose – and I felt in their silences and gazes that if I didn’t hide that part of me away, that part that was angry and desperate and fearful, that they would begin to resent me. That I would represent everything they were trying to escape and forget, rather than be the leader that they needed. One that could be firm and caring, stable and steady.”
Neteyam looks out over the forest, his eyes unfocused. Remembering how it felt to return home, somehow different, somehow not fitting as he once had. Somehow not understanding the role he was meant to play.
“The Sky People took many things from us, from our people. But they also left us with deep wounds that I fear will last a long time, beyond when we are here physically.” He turns to look at you, your eyes reflecting the light of the glowing flora, your gaze beseeching. “I am afraid that I will always be that scared boy inside, the one who felt powerless, unable to prevent the pain of the people I am supposed to protect. That I will pass that feeling on to others. It feels easier to just be Toruk Makto’s son, rather than the truth.”
You reach out tentatively, your hand grasping his, “Neteyam, can you not be both? Can you not be both fearful and strong? Courage is not the absence of fear – it is deciding that you are going to go forward, even when the wind is against you, even when the current pulls you away.” Despite his words to the contrary, you can feel how steady his hand is in yours, how grounding his pull is.
“Your people know this; they have had to learn it themselves. They would respect you even more for being honest, for acknowledging how difficult these years have been, the pain that still lingers. And in truth, you would serve them better if you not only knew their physical needs, but their spiritual and emotional ones too – you perhaps do them a disservice by hiding this part of yourself.”
Neteyam brings his other hand to yours, clasping it between his. He turns your hand over to look at your palm, staring at all the calluses you have earned over your life. His thumb runs across it, tracing its lines like an ikran navigating flight above a valley. “Perhaps you are right.”
A light chuckle escapes you, “Neteyam, I know I’m right. This is a lesson I had to gain myself. I had to confront my loss and my grief in order to become who I needed to be, who I truly am, to be honest with who stares back at me in my reflection.” He turns your palm over, interlocking your fingers in a sharp squeeze, before letting go.
He takes a deep breath in, his chest widening, “I hear what you’re saying. I’m not sure if I’m ready to act on it yet, but I am thankful for your advice and counsel. Your listening ears. Your forgiveness.” You nod, looking down at your hands now fiddling with the forgotten food in your lap, your tail tucking close to your thigh, suddenly feeling shy.
“The Sky People destroyed our ancestral Home Tree a year before I was born,” Neteyam offers, his voice softer, “My mother went back after my first communion with Eywa, to collect wood from what was left of its base.” He reaches to his side, where he had set down his earlier distraction. “She gathered enough for each of us children, so that we could each make beads out of its foundation. So that we could give our future mates a part of us, a part of the Omatikaya wherever they went.” He unfolds his hand now, where three dark beads sit.
“These are for you. I’ve spent my life making them, carving them.” He looks up from his hand into your eyes, chewing his lips slightly between his teeth. “I know you don’t wear a lot of jewelry or adornments, but I was hoping you would accept these. As a courting gift, a mating gift. So that you can know I’m with you, even when I’m not.”
Your throat grows tight, as you reach forward to pick one up. Its decorations are intricate, the pattern distinct and crisp, full of interwoven lines and movement. “Even when I’m trapped under a palulukan?” You manage to squeeze out.
Neteyam laughs, rich and full. “Yes, even then. If you’ll have me, I’ll be with you everywhere.”
You lean forward to pick up the other two, his hand still proffered. You roll them between your fingers, feeling their weight and pull. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
Neteyam grows sheepish, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I also have your knife from earlier. It’s back at the village, but I figured you would want it.”
You nod, “Yes, thank you.”
“How is it that you managed to kill it, exactly?” You smile in response, softness in your eyes.
“Skill. And courage. And knowing that I was not alone.” His eyes take you in, your beauty and strength, your understanding and care. Neteyam’s tail, which had been restless all night, falters slightly in its movement, before slowly, gently hitting yours and landing against it.
“Neteyam,” you murmur, your voice quiet, “I accept your apology. Let us leave this day behind us. Let it be only a moment where we spoke rashly and unkindly, both of us harsh and unfair.”
Neteyam nods, “Yes.”
“But, Neteyam,” you caution, “If you speak to me that way again, if you are cruel to me – I will not stay, even after we are mated. I respect myself too much. I seek a life of open skies, not of obligation I have not chosen. Do you understand?”
His nod is shallower, then, his gaze direct. “Yes, I understand. It won’t happen again.”
“Good. I promise the same. Let us be a home to each other, yes? A place where we both can be safe.”
You look back out at the forest, your heart feeling lighter, the breeze dancing slightly around where you and Neteyam sit. “So – will you fly with me tomorrow?”
“You want to learn what?” Neteyam barks out, his voice incredulous.
“I want to learn how to fall. At home, the ocean is more likely to kill you than the trees – we gain the skill to know how to hit the water, how to roll our bodies with the waves. I want to make sure that if I fall here, it will not be a guaranteed death.” You are sitting atop Vitra, your riding glasses pushed up your forehead, as you look over to Neteyam. His face is slightly pale, his eyes wide.
“Here, I will show you.” Without another word, you pull your glasses quickly down and send Vitra over the cliff edge.
“Wait! Wait –,” Neteyam’s voice fades behind you, as you and Vitra head towards an open pocket of air between floating mountains.
“Ready, my friend? Let’s show him your skill, shall we?” Vitra sends a rumble of affirmation through the bond, before you slip free of the restraint on your saddle.
With a yip, you slide sideways, feeling gravity pull you downwards.
It is just you and the air, its push and pull. You make yourself small, an arrow cutting through the wind. You fall. And fall. And fall.
The forest floor grows closer and closer, the treetops growing more defined. You manage a sharp yip – and there –
There she is. Vitra slashes through the air, her wings taut and wide. You spiderweb your arms, forcing your body horizontal, preparing for impact. You collide with her back, the hit sending your teeth clacking and your arms tingling.
With a shriek of delight, you pull yourself up and into the saddle, connecting tsaheylu. You and Vitra share a moment of glee, acknowledging your daring and skill, glowing in the fun and freedom.
When you return to the cliff’s edge, your face is flushed with joy, a smile so wide your cheeks ache. “See, that is what I mean! If Vitra did not arrive in time,” a disagreeing growl erupts from your companion, and you consolingly pat her neck, “I would need to know how to fall, how to hit the trees.”
Neteyam’s mouth is slightly agape, his pupils large.
With his silence, you feel yourself growing confused, your joy shrinking, “What? You must have practiced falling before! This is a necessary skill, Neteyam. You call yourself an ikran flier!”
Still, words elude him. His mouth is gaping like a fish, opening and closing. Beneath him, Äye has a distinct look of aggravation in his stance.
“Come, come. Let’s go closer to the ground and practice.” You move Vitra closer to Neteyam’s ikran, encouraging him to sweep towards the canopy below, his teal wings finally spreading wide.
For the next hour, Neteyam explains how to use the large forest branches and leaves to slow one’s fall, how to grip and slide and let go at the right time. He emphasizes over and over again – these techniques are meant for running through the forest, not hurtling through the air from cliffs.
“Yes, yes, I understand, Neteyam. I’m not going to be doing this all the time, but it’s good to know for an emergency. My Eywa! You’re acting like a nervous sa’nok,” you tease.
Neteyam just grunts in response, still not over the image of you free falling through the air, Vitra a parallel blur – he swears he felt his heart stop.
“Tomorrow, you shall learn the basics of falling. Others need to learn, too. I am honestly surprised this is not integrated into your training more, perhaps I should talk with some of the mentors…” As you declare your plans for improving the flying lessons of the Omatikaya, Neteyam can hardly focus, your bright smile atop the cliffs now the vision replaying in his mind.
Soon it would be time to head east, to your home. In the blink of an eye, six weeks had passed in the forest. Preparations were being made for your journey, plans set forth of where you would stop and visit and rest.
In the few weeks since your encounter with the palulukan and your subsequent conversation, a shift had been felt by everyone in the village. Neteyam had been different. You had been different, too.
While Neteyam still completed his duties, the pattern of his days had shifted. He rose earlier than usual, greeting the day with you in the air, pushing and pulling with the wind. Your laughter and joy filled his ears, your teasing warmed his face, your listening calmed his heart. With you, he started each morning clear-headed and with eyes open.
Days were spent wrapped up in responsibility, from training to decision making to mediating; but his eyes searched for you across spaces, his steps lighter and more grounded.
Instead of communal dinners, you both had taken to wrapping up food and heading to the mountains, watching the sun set and the forest come alive. The first time you saw a kenten in flight, its circular wing glowing in the night, you giggled with enchantment. What a different world these people lived in, you wondered. How gentle and forgiving, yet sometimes harsh and realistic, too. The balance of Eywa was felt in every creature, every ghost of wind.
A few days before your departure, you took out the braids your mother had so lovingly crafted. Your hair loose and wild, Neteyam had felt his chest flutter when he caught a glimpse of you from across the village.
That night, he couldn’t help but reach for you, wrapping tendrils of your hair around his fingers, feeling the movement of the wind pushing and pulling you closer.
The afternoon before you left, you tentatively found Tuk and Kiri – would they help you braid your hair, you wondered? Practically vibrating in excitement, Tuk dragged you to the communal baths where she washed and detangled your hair.
In your kelku, she and Kiri set to work, separating strands and arguing over patterns. Here, you thought, this could be home.
When you handed them the three beads Neteyam had gifted you, Tuk nearly knocked you over in a fierce hug, before Kiri wrapped you in a tearful embrace. “I always wanted another sister,” she exhaled.
On the day of your journey, the sun arrived large and bright, the air still in contentment.
“My son, please be safe. You know the flight path, but there are many clans who will invite you in if you find yourself tiring. Do not do anything stupid,” you could hear Neytiri advising, as you walked towards their family’s dwelling.
“Neytiri, they’re going to be fine. Listen, kid, be respectful, be helpful, but also have fun,” Toruk Makto interjects, his voice firm. “Who knows when you’ll be able to do this again, so take advantage of it. Get to know her better, hm? This is a good opportunity.”
“Yes, yes, I know. You do realize I’m fully grown, right? I don’t need you all hovering, I swear, you’re all making me feel claustrophobic –,” Neteyam’s voice cut off, his eyes landing on you lingering at the door.
“Hey – hey. Come in,” he urges you, adjusting his riding cloak and closing the saddle bags. He reaches out a hand towards you while looking down at his belongings, cataloguing everything for the flight.
You say your hellos to the family, Neytiri and Jake exchanging glances as they notice the beads in your hair, Tuk babbling about the weather and flight times and if Vitra gets restless on long journeys and Kiri interjecting about tsahìk training – seemingly twenty different topics get flung through the air in the minute you’re there.
You move to Neteyam, your hand finding his, a sharp zip shooting down your spine. “Hi. You ready?”
Neteyam looks up, words on his lips, “Yes, I –,” his words falter as he takes in your appearance. The front portions of your hair have been pulled back to expose the bottom layer of braids – where two beads sit along one plait, the other bead framing your face on the opposite side.
“Oh.” You look up at him, cataloguing his reaction. It is slight, but noticeable. His eyes dilate, his breath gets shallower, and a slight purple hue rises to his cheeks.
“You wore them.”
“Yes. Tuk and Kiri helped me braid my hair last night.”
A beat passes, you simply looking at each other, thinking of what this implies, the choice you’re affirming.
“I’m glad. They suit you.” You nod, a soft smile coming to your lips.
Seemingly at the same time, you both realize the kelku has grown quiet. Neteyam and you turn to look at the Sully family, who in turn are looking back at you, each with similar expressions on their faces.
Joy, relief, acceptance.
Neytiri clears her throat suddenly. “Alright, it is getting late in the day. You must go before it slips away. Neteyam, you are ready, yes?” With a nod to his mother, Neteyam moves to grab the saddle bags and gather the last of the supplies.
Outside, as you yip for Vitra and Äye, the Sullys say their goodbyes. Neytiri approaches you, squeezing you close, “Say hello to your mother for me – give her my best. Enjoy this time, young one, it does not come around twice. Fly strong.” With a lingering look, Neytiri moves to the ikrans, checking their saddles and scratching their necks.
As you pull on your rider’s mask, Kiri interrupts, “Keep him in line, you hear? And say hi to Tsireya for me.” You agree that you will, with a teasing quip about checking in on Roxto and his mating status. Kiri simply grimaces before walking away, “Eywa, whatever! Have fun, you skxawng!”
Next it is Tuk, who asks you to find her ilu and bring back new shells.
Finally, Toruk Makto walks up, “Have fun, kid.” You nod respectfully, keeping your eyes averted. In all your time with the Omatikaya, your time with Toruk Makto has been limited, his great presence something you’re not sure how to address or get used to. “Listen, I – I don’t know how much Neteyam has shared about me, about my past. But where I came from… the people I worked and lived with, emotion and vulnerability weren’t a good thing.” He clears his throat, and you look up at him. His eyes have been on the forest, but now they focus on you, his gaze direct and unwavering.
“It made me tough, but it made me weak, too. Becoming a parent is difficult – you think you’re going to do it better than your parents, than the people that taught you, that you’re going to be different.” He swallows, looking down briefly before continuing.
“In some ways I’ve been better, in other ways I’ve been worse. But I’ve definitely passed on the practice of burying my feelings and fear under action and anger – that hasn’t been for the best,” Toruk Makto confesses, conflict clear on his face. “Give him time, kid. He’s trying.”
You nod again, looking down at your hands, feeling your ears move close to your head in shyness as you confirm, “I’m trying, too.”
Toruk Makto claps a hand to your shoulder, giving you a slight shake. “Good, I’m glad. Ok. Ok. You guys better get going now, before Neytiri has my head for delaying you both.”
You chuckle, murmuring your assent, “Yes, it is time. The wind is calling.”
Indeed, it was. You could feel the current now, pushing and prodding and pulling you into the air.
Glancing at Neteyam, who had moved next to Äye, you climb aboard Vitra. As your betrothed settles in for the flight, you spare him a look – strong, caring, and willing to try. You smile at him, feeling the freedom ahead of you, just within reach.
With a whoop, you take to the skies, headed towards home.
a/n: part 3! woohoo! this thing keeps getting longer and longer - two more parts to go, I think. thank you all for reading, and another big thank you to @plum98 and @uzmacchiato for the dividers.
also, I wanted to quickly say - I'm from the United States, and while fic has often been an escape for me, it's also inherently political (as all writing is). I feel it's important to affirm that this blog supports immigrants, hates the capitalist hellscape we're in, and believes in human rights for all. please stay safe and support your community in any way you can. sending love to you all, and fuck ICE.
taglist: @teyamwa, @alligator-person, @lucilia9teen