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Sumtysip ayawne (4)
Tonowari te Tsika'u Arvak'itan X Fem!Human!Reader
Synopsis: Rushed to sunrise training, the reader struggles with fear and incompetence in the water while Tonowari watches, frustrated, and Jake helplessly tries to help. Surivavaival begins, no compromises given.
Content warning: nongraphic descriptions of drowning, mild adult tension, they mutually hate each other and let it be known, eventual smut and fluff, tags will be updated as story progresses.
Word count: 5.2k
She was late.
The realization had settled in long before he allowed himself to acknowledge it, marked by the slow, deliberate way his patience had begun to wear thin. He had been standing at the shoreline since before sunrise, the horizon only just beginning to pale when he arrived, and still there was no sign of her.
He had been clear. Sunrise. Not after. Not when it suited her. Not when she decided she was ready.
His gaze remained fixed on the distant path leading from the village, though nothing moved there yet. The ocean shifted steadily at his side, familiar and constant, a contrast to the growing irritation tightening in his chest.
Thia was exactly the probelem. A lack of discipline, awareness and worse, a refusal to care.
His jaw tightened slightly as the minutes stretched, each one reinforcing the same conclusion he had already reached the day before. She resisted instruction, argued where she should have listened, and carried herself with a carelessness that had no place here.
Tonowari exhaled slowly, steady and controlled, though the irritation lingered beneath it, sharp and difficult to ignore.
Eywa must take some amusement in his misfortune, he thought, to place such a burden in his care.
His gaze flicked once more toward the path. Still nothing.
When she arrived—and she would—there would be no repetition of instruction. No allowance for delay.
She would learn.
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It was that dream again.
The same golden beach, endless and sun-warmed, stretching in every direction, the kind of place that feels impossibly perfect, like the world had been made to hold you just here. The sun rested on your shoulders, soft and insistent, and the breeze carried the scent of the sea, curling around you like it knew your name.
You were safe. Completely and utterly safe. Strong arms held you close, wrapping around you in a way that felt impossibly right.
You turned, desperate for a glimpse of his face, some hint of the person behind the arms, but as always, the figure remained frustratingly elusive. Nameless. Faceless.
Your lips parted slightly, unconsciously, and you let your tongue brush against them, tasting salt and something indefinabiblly (idk spelling guys?) his. The hold he held on you wasn’t rough but rather protective. You could have melted there forever and never felt anything more complete.
“What is your name?” you whispered, heart catching somewhere between hope, curiosity and that impossible pull you could never name.
“You already know,” he murmured, and the words were familiar, his voice familiar and yet impossible to place, just out of reach.
And then you woke up.
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You did not wake gently. You woke up choking.
Cold water struck your face all at once, dragging you out of sleep with a violent gasp that turned immediately into coughing as you jerked upright, sputtering hard enough to prove you were, in fact, still alive.
“What the—”
Jake is already stepping back, empty cup in hand, looking perfectly unbothered, like he has done this a thousand times and somehow finds the whole thing hilarious.
“I swear,” you managed between coughs, wiping water from your eyes, “I am going to kill you when I get my hands on you—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupts, already half smiling, the sort of infuriating grin that makes your blood pressure spike. “You can schedule that for later. Wake up. It is almost six.”
The words hit harder than the water ever could. You freeze mid-cough. ” …six?”
Jake tilted his head toward the entrance as if the answer were obvious and you were the only one failing to keep up. “Tonowari said sunrise. You really don’t want to find out how serious he is about that.”
Panic set in quickly, sharp and immediate. Your stomach tightened as your hands moved without coordination, digging through the small pile of clothes you had been given, tossing aside the wrong pieces, muttering under your breath as frustration built.
“Where is it… where is my—no, that’s not—”
Jake leaned against the wall, watching with the detached interest of someone enjoying a show. “Lose something?”
“My suit,” you snapped, your voice still uneven from coughing. “I am not going out there in whatever this is supposed to be.”
“You’ve got thirty seconds before I leave you to deal with him alone,” Jake replied, calm and entirely serious.
You shot him a look, half disbelief, half warning. “You wouldn’t.”
He raised an eyebrow, and that was enough. You did not test him.
Your hands moved faster, though not better. You dragged your tactical gear from the pile and pulled it on in a rush, ignoring the way the straps twisted and the fabric bunched in all the wrong places. Nothing sat right, nothing felt right, but there was no time to fix it. You settled for functional, even if it was barely that.
The walk to the beach was miserable. The hour itself felt unreasonable, the air still carrying the cold of night, biting enough to make your skin prickle and your movements stiff. The sky was only just beginning to lighten, pale streaks of orange and grey spreading thinly across the horizon.
You muttered the entire way, your teeth threatening to chatter, though whether from cold or irritation was unclear. “This is ridiculous. No one should be awake right now. This isn’t morning, it’s pre-morning. This should be illegal.”
Jake walked beside you at an easy pace, hands relaxed, his expression openly amused. “You finished?”
“No.”
“Good. Keep going. It’s the most personality you’ve shown since you got here.”
You glared at him, but you did not slow down. By the time the shoreline came into view, something in your chest had already tightened. You could feel it before you saw him, a quiet certainty settling in your gut.
Tonowari was there. He stood near the water, arms crossed, posture rigid, as if he had been waiting long enough for patience to wear thin. The moment you stepped onto the sand, his gaze fixed on you. “You are late.”
You stopped a few feet away, your breathing still uneven from the rush, irritation rising fast enough to push back against the nerves. “It’s barely morning,” you shot back, sharper than intended. “No one should be functional at this hour.”
Tonowari did not react, instead his eyes moved over you once, taking in every detail, and his expression darkened. “…what are you wearing?”
You glanced down at yourself, suddenly aware of the twisted straps and uneven fit of your gear. “My gear,” you said, defensive.
“Your sky-people gear,” he corrected, his tone flat. “We gave you the clothing of the people, and yet you arrive dressed like this, and expect me to believe you intend to learn.”
“It’s practical,” you muttered, tension tightening your voice. “And I’d rather not end up naked because your clothes fall apart.”
“Practical,” he repeated, as though testing the word and finding it lacking. “When the sun rises, you will regret that decision.”
Jake turned away slightly, clearly trying and failing not to laugh. You shot him a glare before turning back.
Tonowari exhaled slowly, “I have other responsibilities,” he said, his voice controlled but edged. “Yet I am here to teach you the most basic skills, and you arrive late and unprepared.”
“I am here,” you argued, even knowing how you looked. “That counts for something.”
“That is the bare minimum.”
“Then congratulations,” you replied, your voice lifting despite yourself. “I’ve met your expectations.”
Jake shifted, clearly invested now, watching with open interest.
Tonowari stepped forward. Not quickly, not aggressively, but with a deliberate certainty that carried more weight than either would have. “You will listen,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Because as you are now, you are a liability. To yourself, and to anyone forced to keep you alive.”
You had no response ready for that, and the absence of one felt like a loss.
After a moment, he continued. “We begin simply. You will learn to swim. At the very least, you will not sink like a stone.”
Jake lost any attempt at composure, laughter breaking through as he stepped back. “That’s accurate, actually—”
“Whose side are you on?” you snapped.
“Not yours,” he answered immediately.
You turned back, offended. “I can swim.”
Tonowari regarded you with clear disbelief. “You were drifting like a dead fish when I found you.”
“That was different,” you insisted quickly. “I was thrown overboard. I just—wasn’t ready.”
“Then prove it.”
You forced your shoulders to loosen, though the motion felt false. “Fine.”
He gestured toward the water. “Go.” The single word settled heavily. You stepped forward anyway.
The water stretched ahead, too wide, too open. You knew that feeling, even if the memory came in fragments. The sense of pressure, of breath failing, of something closing in where there should have been space.
You swallowed and kept moving. The first touch of water against your feet was cold enough to make your body tense. You forced yourself onward. Ankles, then shins, then knees. You stopped.
“That is not swimming,” Tonowari said from behind you.
“I’m fine here,” you called back.
“Further.”
Your jaw tightened. You took another step, then another, each one heavier than it should have been. The water climbed higher, soaking into your suit, clinging awkwardly, dragging slightly with every movement.
Your breathing had already changed. Too shallow, too fast.
“Do not hesitate.” You turned sharply at that. “I’m not hesitating.” But his expression had shifted. Certain now. “You are.”
“I said I can—”
“Then swim.”
The words struck like a challenge, and you reacted before thinking it through. You pushed forward too quickly. The ground shifted under your foot, dipping just enough to throw off your balance. Water surged higher, and your breath caught hard in your throat.
For a moment, it was not the shoreline anymore. Your body locked, every instinct pulling tight as the memory surfaced in pieces you could not fully grasp. You did not move. You simply stood there, rigid, the water moving around you while your breath came uneven and sharp.
“…you do not know how,” Tonowari said at last.
“I do,” you snapped, though you remained exactly where you were. “I said I can.”
Tonowari stepped closer to the edge of the water. “You have been in water before,” he said. “That is not the same as knowing how to swim.”
You said nothing. Because he was right.
“You will learn,” he continued, more quietly now, though the weight of his words did not lessen. “Or you will drown.”
“That’s not fair,” you muttered. “I didn’t have a choice before.”
“You always have a choice,” he replied. “You chose to lie.”
“I didn’t lie—”
“You said you could swim.”
You opened your mouth to argue, then stopped.
“Again,” he says cutting of the silence.
You blinked. “What?”
“Move.”
Your stomach dropped slightly. You hesitated, just for a moment.
“You hesitate,” he said. “You fight the water instead of moving with it.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You are.”
The word settled cleanly between you. You turned back toward the water, unwilling to let that stand unanswered, and stepped forward again. Slower this time. More careful.
The uneven ground shifted beneath your feet, but you adjusted, forcing yourself not to freeze. “Do not lock your body, breathe properly” he instructed.
Every instinct told you to get out, to retreat, to avoid the open stretch ahead that felt far too large.
But you stayed.
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From the shoreline, Tonowari watched.
At first, he said nothing.
He had given clear instruction. Simple, direct, impossible to misunderstand. There was no need to repeat it. If she had any sense at all, she would adjust.
She did not.
Every movement was wrong. Too sharp, too frantic, driven by panic rather than control. She fought the water as if it were something to be overcome, not something to move with, and it showed in the way her balance failed her again and again.
She stiffened. She flailed. She forgot everything the moment it mattered.
A poor student. A dangerous one.
His gaze narrowed slightly as she lurched again, catching herself poorly, breath uneven even from a distance. There was no rhythm to it, no control. Only reaction.
Behind her, Jake Sully attempted to correct it.
Tonowari watched that with equal displeasure. His instructions had been clear, and yet Jake softened them, repeating them with patience that bordered on indulgence, stepping in too quickly, steadying her before she was forced to correct herself. It was ineffective. Worse than ineffective. It allowed her to rely on something other than her own ability.
She reached for him again. Predictable.
Tonowari exhaled slowly through his nose, the irritation settling deeper now, heavier, more difficult to ignore. This was not progress. This was delay. Time he did not have. Responsibility he had set aside for this. And still, nothing improved.
Another misstep. Another uneven breath. Another failed attempt to hold herself steady in water that should not have been a challenge at this level.
Enough. The decision settled cleanly.
If she would not learn through instruction, then she would learn through correction.
Tonowari stepped forward without another word, the sand giving way beneath his feet as he moved toward the water, already done with watching what should have been resolved far sooner.
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It had been hours.
The sun had climbed steadily overhead, burning away the last traces of morning coolness. Heat settled into everything, into the water, into your clothes, into you, making each movement heavier than the last.
Your arms ached. Your legs felt slow and unreliable. And your lungs still refused to settle into anything resembling a steady rhythm.
“Okay, no, don’t fight it,” Jake said, his voice close enough to grate, insistent in a way that made it difficult to ignore. “You’re tensing up again. Just float.”
“I am floating,” you tried to argue, but the words broke apart as your balance tipped the wrong way. The water rose too quickly, brushing higher than it should, and your body reacted on instinct, jerking to correct itself. It only made things worse.
“Relax,” Jake insisted. “You’ve got to trust the water—”
“I don’t trust the water,” you snapped, your voice tight as your footing slipped again. Your balance faltered, and you dipped slightly beneath where you meant to stay.
The reaction was immediate. A sharp spike of panic shot through you, quick and overwhelming. You forced yourself upward again, arms moving too fast, too hard, every motion driven by urgency rather than control.
It was a mess. An exhausting, frustrating mess that only seemed to spiral the more you tried to fix it.
Jake reached for you again, his hands steady as he tried to anchor you. “Alright, okay, I’ve got you. Just—”
“I don’t need—” you started, but the protest collapsed the moment your footing slipped again. You grabbed onto him without hesitation.
Your pride took the hit but you did not care. Not with your chest tightening like this and certainly not with the constant shifting of the water making it feel as though it might pull you under if you stopped moving for even a second too long.
Somewhere along the shore, there was a long, measured exhale, the kind that carried more meaning than sound. You did not hear it over the water and your own uneven breathing, but Jake did, and the slight wince that crossed his face was enough to suggest exactly who it had come from.
“Alright,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you, his tone dipping into something cautiously resigned. “That’s… probably not great.”
“What?” you demanded, still struggling to keep yourself steady, your focus split between him and the constant, shifting pull of the water.
“Nothing,” he replied, a little too quickly.
It was very clearly not nothing.
A moment later, the sound of movement cut cleanly across the shoreline, sharp and deliberate, followed by the unmistakable break of water. The splash that followed was controlled and precise, nothing like the uneven disruption you had been making for the past several hours. It carried a kind of efficiency that made the difference between you impossible to ignore.
You barely had time to turn before he was already there.
Tonowari moved through the water as though it belonged to him, as though it recognized him and chose not to resist. Each motion was smooth, unbroken, the surface parting around him instead of pushing back. Within seconds, he had closed the distance, his expression set, irritation etched plainly into the rigid lines of his posture.
“This is ineffective.” The judgment came immediately, and you were not given the opportunity to respond before he reached you.
His grip was firm and absolute, leaving no room for argument. You jolted at the sudden contact, instinctively trying to pull back. “Hey, what are you—”
“Stop moving.”
“I am not—”
“Stop.”
The command cut through everything else with a force that had nothing to do with volume. Your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up, stilling just enough for him to take control.
He adjusted you without hesitation, one hand steadying your shoulder while the other corrected your arm, shifting your posture, your balance, the angle of your body in the water. Every movement was efficient and practiced, as though he had done this countless times before and you were simply the latest in a long line of problems to be corrected.
“You are fighting the water,” he said sharply. “That is why you fail.”
“I’m not failing,” you shot back, though the words lacked conviction even to your own ears.
“You are.”
He did not even look at you when he said it. The dismissal stung more than it should have, settling somewhere under your skin in a way that made it difficult to ignore.
Your breathing remained uneven as he adjusted you again, pushing your shoulders back slightly, forcing your body into a position that felt unfamiliar and precarious.
“Your body is wrong,” he continued. “Your balance is wrong. Everything you are doing is wrong.”
“Then explain it better,” you snapped, frustration bleeding through despite your effort to keep it contained.
“I did.” The simplicity of the response left no space to argue. For a moment, you had nothing to counter with.
“Jake Sully has been repeating the same instructions for hours,” he went on, his tone edged now with clear impatience. “And you ignore them.”
“I’m not ignoring—”
“You panic,” he interrupted, cutting cleanly across your words. “And then you lie about it.You are afraid.”
Your body stilled without your consent, not in defiance, but in that same involuntary way it always did when something struck too close to the truth. For a moment, the only thing you could hear was the quiet movement of the water around you and the uneven rhythm of your own breathing, too fast and too shallow to be controlled.
Tonowari adjusted your arms again, guiding them into place with steady, uncompromising hands.
“Do not flail,” he instructed. “Move with intention.”
You tried.
The motion was still awkward, still uneven, lacking any real grace, but it was not the same as before. Your arms moved with intention, however slight, and your legs followed without immediately breaking into panicked, erratic kicks.
It was not good. But it was less wrong.
Behind you, Jake let out a quiet breath, something almost like relief. “There you go.”
You ignored him, focusing instead on maintaining what little control you had found, on holding onto the fragile balance that felt as though it might slip away at any moment.
For a brief stretch of time, you did not sink.
Tonowari said nothing. He did not offer praise, did not immediately correct you again, but he did not let go either. His presence remained steady, his hands still guiding just enough to keep you aligned.
Your breathing was still uneven, your movements still rough, but something shifted. There was a moment, fragile and uncertain, where your body did not immediately resist the water, where the instinct to panic did not take over the second your balance wavered.
One second passed, then another, and then your footing slipped again, the sand shifting beneath you as it had so many times before.
This time, you did not flail. You adjusted just enough to keep yourself from losing control entirely, your movements messy but deliberate.
Behind you, Jake let out a quiet, surprised laugh. “Okay… yeah. That’s better.”
You did not respond. Your focus remained fixed ahead, on not undoing the small progress you had managed to carve out of hours of failure.
Tonowari remained close, his presence constant, his grip still there but lighter now, ready to correct if you faltered.
You expected him to speak, to point out what was still wrong, what still needed fixing, to dismantle the small success before it could settle.
He did not.
Slowly, his grip loosened. Not enough to abandon you, but enough to test whether you could hold yourself there without him.
Your body is still braced for the drop, for that sudden slip beneath the surface, for the panic that comes with it. But it doesn’t happen. Your head stays above the water, your mouth just clear enough to pull in air, your arms tense at your sides instead of flailing. It isn’t graceful. but atleast it worked.
Tonowari exhales sharply through his nose, the sound cutting through the quiet. It’s not approval.
“This is unsatisfactory,” he says, his voice flat, almost dismissive.
“I am floating,” you manage, your voice rougher than you want it to be.
“Poorly.”
Behind you, Jake lets out a quiet snort, clearly entertained, and under normal circumstances you’d snap at him for it. Right now, though, you don’t have the energy. Every bit of focus you have is going into keeping yourself where you are, keeping your body from tipping too far one way or the other.
Tonowari’s gaze stays on you, sharp and measuring. like he’s deciding whether you’re worth the effort.
“For someone like you,” he says after a moment, “to remain above water without thrashing like a dying ilu…”
You tense immediately at the comparison, irritation flaring even through the exhaustion.
“…is acceptable.”
That’s it. Acceptable.
You blink at him, unsure whether to feel insulted or strangely relieved. It’s not praise but coming from him, it’s the closest thing you’ve gotten.
“…wow,” Jake mutters from behind you, low enough that it’s almost to himself. “High praise.”
You shoot him a look, but it lacks its usual sharpness. Your arms are starting to shake now, the effort catching up to you, and holding yourself steady is getting harder by the second.
Tonowari notices. “You will return tomorrow,” he says.
“…what?”
Your expression drops immediately, disbelief pushing through the fatigue. “Do I not get a break?”
“No.”
You stare at him, frustration rising fast now. “Are you serious—”
But he’s already turning away, the conversation dismissed as easily as if it had never mattered. He steps out of the water with the same controlled ease he carries in everything else, not looking back, not waiting for a response.
“Hey—” you start, incredulous, shifting just enough that the water wobbles around you and your balance nearly goes with it. “You can’t just—”
He can. And he does.
“…I hate him,” you mutter under your breath.
Jake lets out a small laugh beside you, “Get used to that.”
You glance at him, too tired to argue, and in that split second your leg shifts the wrong way. The balance you’ve been fighting to keep falters, and you reach out instinctively, grabbing onto him before you can stop yourself.
“Hey,” he says, a little lighter now, “atleast you didn’t drown.”.
It’s not much. It’s not a win you’d brag about. But it’s not a loss either and right now, that’s enough.
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The second your feet meet solid ground, the world crashes into you all at once, like a wave you didn’t see coming.
The cold clings to your skin like the refuses to let you go. Exhaustion settles deep into your bones and your muscles tremble in the aftermath, breath uneven in your chest. By the time you’ve made it only halfway up the stretch of sand, you’re already shaking, despite the warmth the air is supposed to carry.
Jake doesn’t move to help you. He doesn’t rush forward, doesn’t steady you when your footing falters, doesn’t offer anything beyond his presence a few paces behind. Which is irritating. Because it means he’s watching. And worse than that, it means he’s enjoying it.
You make it a few more steps before it spills out. “I hate him.”
Jake snorts. “Yeah, I got that.”
You shake your head, frustration surging “No, you don’t understand.”
“I hate him. Not just a little. Not just in a normal way. I mean deeply. Personally. On a spiritual level.” you continue, voice picking up despite your exhaustion.
“Mmhm.”
“He woke up this morning and decided, ‘You know what would be fun? Making someone’s life miserable before sunrise.’ That’s what that was.”
“You were late,” Jake points out, the calmness in his voice almost offensive.
You stop just long enough to shoot him a look, incredulity flashing across your face. “It was six in the morning,” you argue, your voice rising. “That’s not a real time. That’s a suggestion. a vague concept at best"
Jake laughs under his breath as you keep going, gaining momentum now.
“And then—then—” you continue, your hands lifting as you gesture emphatically, nearly losing your balance when your foot slips against the uneven sand. You catch yourself at the last second, irritation flaring hotter. “—he has the audacity to stand there and judge me. Like I’m the problem. Like I asked to be thrown into the ocean like some kind of—of experiment—”
“You kinda are,” Jake mutters under his breath.
“I nearly drowned,” you shoot back immediately, rounding on him.
“And yet,” he replies lightly, “you didn’t.”
You glare at him, holding it for a moment as if sheer force of will might make him reconsider his stance.
“That’s not the point.”
You turn forward again, picking up your pace despite the way your body protests, your steps uneven but determined. The sand shifts underfoot, but you push through it, your frustration lending you momentum where energy fails.
“He called me a rock,” you go on, your voice climbing again. “A rock, Jake. A rock. Do I look like a rock to you?”
"kinda? yeah..."
“I am going to push you into the ocean.”
“i’ve been in the ocean all morning.”
You glare at him with what you are absolutely certain is the rage of a thousand suns—Jake doesn’t even flinch.
It ruins the effect completely.
Your glare falters, just for a second, before you huff sharply and turn away, feet dragging a little more now that the adrenaline is wearing off.
“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, though it’s loud enough that he definitely hears it. “I’m suffering. Actively suffering. And you think this is funny.”
“Still standing, though,” he points out after a moment.
You frown, the words catching you off guard just enough to slow your steps. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Jake says, a little more plainly now, “you didn’t quit.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” you settle on finally, though it sounds weaker than you intended.
Jake hums, unconvinced. “There’s always a choice.”
You don’t like that answer So you ignore it. Instead, you push forward again, shoulders still tight, arms crossed like you can hold yourself together through sheer stubbornness alone.
“I’m still not coming back tomorrow,” you say, with far more certainty than you actually feel.
Jake doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah,” he says. “You are.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
You stop again, turning to face him fully this time, narrowing your eyes. “Oh, really? And how exactly do you figure that?”
He shrugs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Because you’re mad.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does,” he says. “If you were done, you wouldn’t care this much.”
For a second, you don’t have a comeback. “…I still hate him,” you say again, but there’s less fire behind it now. More stubbornness than anything else.
Jake nods once, like that changes nothing. “Good,” he says. “Means you’ll listen.”
You stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious. “…That makes no sense.”
“It will,” he replies, already turning to head back, like the conversation is over whether you agree or not. “Tomorrow.”
“…I hate both of you,” you call after him.
Jake doesn’t turn around but you can hear the laugh anyway.
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Tonowari should have been focused. That was the problem.
The council space was active, voices low but constant, people moving in and out as matters were brought to him that actually mattered—fishing routes, patrol shifts, boundary concerns. Things that required his full attention, his judgment, his presence. Leader work. Important work. Work he was not fully giving.
“…and the eastern reef has been—”
“Yes,” Tonowari cut in, a touch sharper than necessary. “Adjust the rotation. Do not leave it unattended again.”
The villager nodded quickly and moved off, clearly not inclined to question the tone. For a moment, it seemed as though the interruption might pass unnoticed, swallowed by the steady rhythm of responsibility that surrounded him. But the brief lull that followed stretched just long enough to invite something else.
A quiet snort broke the silence from somewhere behind him.
Tonowari did not turn immediately, though he knew exactly who it was and what would follow. If anything, his stillness only encouraged them.
“I have never seen you this distracted,” one of the warriors remarked, amusement threading too easily through his voice.,“It must be serious,” another added.
Tonowari exhaled slowly through his nose, already feeling the edge of his patience wear thin. “It is not serious.”
“Oh, it is,” the first insisted. “You have been glaring at nothing for the past quarter hour.” “That is not nothing,” the second said lightly. “That is your guest, is it not?”
At that, Tonowari turned, slow and deliberate, his expression already settled into something flat and unimpressed, edged just enough with warning that most would have let the matter drop. Most.
His friends did not.
“The one you were seen dragging into the water this morning,” one continued, his grin widening at the reaction he was clearly trying to provoke. “Word travels quickly.”
“Very quickly,” the other agreed. “Especially when our future olo’eyktan postpones his duties to—what was it—”
“Babysit,” the first supplied, entirely unhelpful.
Tonowari’s jaw tightened at that, irritation surfacing despite his efforts to keep it contained. “I did not abandon my duties.”
“No,” the second replied easily. “You merely postponed them. For a human. An enemy.”
The word settled heavier than the rest, and Tonowari’s expression hardened, if only slightly. “Do not mistake this for leniency,” he said. “This is obligation.”
A low hum answered him. “You sound very convinced.”
“I am.”
They exchanged a glance, subtle but telling, and that alone was enough to push what remained of his patience.
“Believe me,” Tonowari said, his voice dropping, the irritation now clear despite his control, “the displeasure is entirely mine.”
That dimmed the amusement, but did not erase it. If anything, it shifted, curiosity threading through it now.
“Oh?” one of them prompted.
Tonowari let out a short breath, something closer to frustration than he would have preferred to reveal, and this time he did not hold it back.
“They are incompetent,” he said flatly. “Reckless. They do not listen. They argue with every instruction given as if defiance will somehow replace skill.”
There was a faint flicker of agreement, small but present, though it did little to interrupt him now that he had started.
“They do not know how to swim,” he continued, irritation sharpening with each word, “and yet they insist that they do. Even when it is obvious. Even when they are in the water, proving otherwise.”
A quiet huff of laughter slipped from one of the warriors, quickly stifled when Tonowari did not so much as glance in his direction.
“I pulled them from the sea once already,” he went on, his voice tightening just slightly, “and still they learn nothing from it. No caution. No awareness. Only stubbornness.”
“That sounds familiar,” one muttered under his breath.
Tonowari’s gaze snapped to him immediately, sharp enough to cut the comment short before it could go any further. The warrior lifted his hands at once in surrender. “Not my place.”
“Clearly not,” Tonowari replied.
Tonowari exhaled sharply, done with the line of conversation. “They are a distraction,” he said, more firmly now. “An unnecessary one. I have no time to waste on someone who refuses to learn properly.”
“Yet you will meet them again tomorrow,” one pointed out.
Tonowari did not hesitate. “Yes.”
“Same time?”
“Yes.”
A brief pause followed, deliberate enough to be noticed, before the inevitable—“Sounds like babysitting.”
Tonowari fixed him with a look, cold and unimpressed. “Say that again.”
The warrior lifted his hands, unrepentant. “Training.”
“Correct.”
“You are very committed for someone who dislikes them so much.”
“I am committed,” he said evenly, “to ensuring they do not become a liability.”
This time, the silence that followed held. No one challenged it, no one added to it, and the conversation folded back into the steady rhythm of duty as if it had never happened at all.
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