Your post got me thinking about Spider and Neytiri making their metkayina knives at the same time. in the same marui…
them using the same gather of materials separated into two piles on opposite sides…
Spider looking over at Neytiri as he makes his, thinking maybe if he makes it similar enough to hers she’ll see he shares her love of pandora, the na’vi and their family.
I raise you, he was using her scraps. at least for the crystal of the blade.
he spent days watching her work, her movements caught between distant and focused, her grief weighing down each flick of her finger as she carved the crystal that made up the blade, or wrapped and worked the fibers around the hilt, or wove away the sheath. she doesn't even notice him staring.
she doesn't notice him picking up her discards. he just looks like he is tidying up. pulling his weight. a sad, irritating thing for her, no doubt. but she cannot scold him for cleaning. she is not that lost in her own mind.
but for Spider, he.... he didn't know why he needed to do this. to emulate her. but he did. it came so naturally. he'd always admired her, even when it was in no way reciprocated or respected or even known or acknowledged by her. even if many would argue it wasn't "deserved". he just... he understood why she hated him. he hated himself for the same reasons. felt a burning itch about other humans, not all of them, but every now and then, he feels it too. and she was everything one should ever aspire to be. a powerful warrior, hunter, provider. a good mother to her children. a testament to strength and resilliance. a leader. and she did all of that with her blade.
it followed her to battle. killing those who threatened her world and her people, her family. it provided, hunting and gathering what keeps her people and family sustained. but it also cut fruit for hungry children. and wittled toys. and cut hair. it was so important to her. all knives were important to their bearers, this was the Na'vi way. but it always struck Spider right in his heart how she carried hers.
moreso after it sliced across his chest and became lost to the sea.
he'd always admired it. even when it hurt him.
now he has the chance to hold a blade like her's. maybe live up to that image.
so when he picks up a discarded hunk of crystal that she deemed unfit, but he thinks will be plenty good enough for himself, he... doesn't return it to the crafters. he had to make his own anyways, he had to to be a beneficial member to the communit. and this means he would not have to trade or gather his own stone. this wouldn't be the first time he used less than ample supplies to not be a burden? that was literally his jam.
he had watched her carve her blade. it laid around as he worked on the hilt. and attempted to emulate it's shape. not as curved or grooved or hooked as the reef style. no, this was long and forest styled. the stone did not want to chip as cleanly as her piece, and he...
he couldn't let his mind settle into crafting enough to let his mind wander from thought to thought without his chest aching, with grief. with pain from his stitched wound. with nauseating anxiety.
so the blade came out no where near as refined. he had to invert the thumb notch for stability. had to keep the handle and tip thicker to keep them from chipping or snapping. but it was close enough for him.
as she weaves her grip, she discards the shorter, duller pieces. but they perfectly usable, even if sparse. so he is able to weave a simple grip. to feel what she feels under her palm when she takes her weapon. it's methodic work. maybe he thinks about her. maybe he thinks about home in the forest.
he has to steal glances of her work to imitate it. and she'd likely see him while working on it. maybe they share a passing glance. maybe Neytiri lets out a small scoff, maybe she just ignores it. she's not ready to see him or his efforts yet. maybe Spider tries to hide it, at least until it's done and can no longer be hidden. maybe he's bashful.
and then he got to join the hunting party and was given some hide as a reward for his efforts. and it's the part that's unique. thats his. the dark leather wrapping around the jagged carved hilt, and blending in the weaving her put so many hours into.
finally, perhaps they did share the leather that made their sheaths. perhaps Spider collected it, bringing it back to the mauri. a long sheet of tanned leather split in two. he takes one, she takes the other. and maybe she leaves a spool of her leather threading in the open as well. the same stitching holding their blades together. the same leather keeping it to their person.
Neytiri hasn't accepted him. but... it's something. it's something like neutrality. something like putting up with him. which is more hen things could be described as in the past. maybe, beneath the grief and anger and resenment and trauma, she is so curious as to why this boy admires her so? why he mirrors her? why he copies her blade as his own?
and in the end, Spider and her do match. his could never compare to hers. but they match.
