#mo'tsey

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Tater

Tater

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My fanart contribution to the fic The Eldest by @just-another-idk

Mo'tsey meets y/n

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Crimes

@just-another-idk count your days ardmore

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Old RDA Arc Chapter List

Chapter 1 - Capture

Chapter 2 - Pain

Chapter 3 - Defector

Chapter 4 - Escape

Chapter 5 - Epilogue

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Those You Burn For

Chapter One

- "<...>" indicates spoken Na'vi

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of torture, abuse, child endangerment, kidnapping

It's early morning, the sun just starting to seep around the edges of Polyphemus, threads of light brushing the floating mountains of the Boundless Range, spinning sunrise into the rainforest.

A rainforest charred and broken with ash.

No animals walked here. No ikran would fly here. No na'vi could live here. The forest was silent. It had been for days. But that didn't mean no-one was there. Indeed, there remained a very small camp with only a few inhabitants that wanted to stay here; most of the Sarentu clan, a Trr'ong warrior and a small child who preferred the company of those she knew to being uprooted to the Spires with the other Kame'tire. It had been a hard battle with Anufi to allow her to stay with the last fragments of the Resistance- she had not had good relations with the Resources Development Administration in the past and while the child had wanted to stay, her adoptive mother had fought a little harder.

This charcoal forest was no place for a child, though- especially not one who was raised without walls. Walls kept you safe. Teylan knew that, Teytìrìn accepted it, Ri'nela acknowledged it, Rasi was at least aware, and Tamtey... Well, Tamtey was gone. Mo'tsey, though? Even Teylan had struggled to keep her indoors, Teylan, the one Sarentu she would listen to, even over her birth mother. She refused to be distracted by anything she was given, finding something else or even just joining Teylan at the console. It was understandable; Anufi was in the Spires with the rest of the Kame'tire, but Mo'tsey was here, in Aranahe territory, so unfathomably far away from her mother. And they couldn't exactly bring Anufi here; she had a clan to lead. So Mo'tsey remained, bored and restless, trying to get out of the hideout to at least peer across and squint to see if she could see any of the forest's mountains.

No luck.

"<They won't notice...>"

The door clicks, the airlock hisses. A pair of blue ears twitch. It's early, too early for people to be outside. Even So'lek would not be awake yet. So who...

It comes to him almost before his feet hit the floor, sprinting to the airlock to pull her back in, by her kuru if he needed to. Not today. Not after all his promises to Anufi. Not after all the security measures. Not after the destruction of another RDA outpost. He knew she didn't mean anything bad by it. She knew to stay indoors. It would have been for a breath of fresh air, to try and see her home from the floating mountains without her breath fogging up a plexiglass window.

The airlock can't open fast enough. The pressure equalises, the doors open-

Just in time for the first thing Teylan sees that morning to be a small blue body tumbling into the air, in the claws of a pale ikran, shrill scream echoing around the mountains as she's snatched away.

Everything feels too slow after that. Climbing onto Ada, her wings beating the air, giving chase, dodging a hail of bullets, everything, too slow too slow too slow. You're going to lose her, your friend, because you were too slow too slow too slow. It's only when Ada starts to protest at the gunfire and the pursuit that he turns back, that he retreats, because he would be no use to her if he let his ikran die trying to rescue her. No, he had to think, had to plan, next steps, how to get her back.

He paces the grass, paces the airlock, then paces the empty living space. How long could she survive? She was able to tough out three days of intermittent oxygen torture, but he knew she had struggled getting back together after that and even that was probably lighter than whatever the Mangkwan had in mind for her. They had- at most- a day to rescue her before she suffered anything irreparable. Not that he wanted her to suffer at all. By the time he looks up from his thoughts, Ri'nela is up and about and watching him pace.

When they speak it's at the same time.

"Where is Mo'tsey?"

"How far is the Aranahe hometree on ikran?"

She peers at him, horrified.

"The Mangkwan have her-?"

"She went outside, the Clouded Forest-"

He looks equally worried.

"Teylan, slow down. What happened? Where is Mo'tsey?"

His ears pull back nervously. "She woke up first. I think she wanted to go outside, to look at the Clouded Forest, you know she doesn't like masks. The airlock woke me up- well, I was already slightly awake, which is why I heard it-"

"Teylan."

"Right- I tried to get her, because RDA security is tighter now, I didn't want her to get hurt, and- and one of the Mangkwan took her. He flew by on an ikran and just- picked her up. I don't know what to do, Ri'nela..."

She sighs. It wasn't his fault. Mo'tsey had worked with him on the airlock security; of course she would know the code. It could keep RDA out- but they had never meant it to keep her in.

"Contact Anufi. We need to move to the Spires, or she needs to come here. It is likely the Mangkwan and RDA will attempt to contact us, to ransom; it is important that she is here to help in negotiations. You know what they are like. She is young, and small." Teylan nods, but Ri'nela's eyes seem to piece his soul.

"She can hold human weapons, Teylan. I do not know what they will make her do, but a... Version of TAP is not unlikely."

That scares him enough that he gets immediately to calling Anufi, Ri'nela on standby to fly to the Spires if needed. Rasi was not awake, but any more commotion and she would definitely be up- and wondering what had happened to her daughter. Not good. They didn't need any more stress than absolutely necessary. No-one outside to look for her until Anufi arrived. Everything was loading, too slow too slow, the comms ticking to life as precious seconds slipped away from them. They didn't know how long Mo'tsey could hang on. How long they had. How much she could withsta-

"Teylan. Calm down. You are muttering. She will be okay. She is strong. Have you contacted Anufi?"

"N-no, not yet- but Ri'nela, are you sure? What if they hurt her too much before-"

"Teylan. Contact Anufi. Focus. You will not do her any favours if you catastrophise like this."

"Right. Yes. Anufi. Contact her."

His fingers drum the table, nervous, fidgety. You couldn't blame him. She was his best friend and so for him to worry was normal; but it would help no-one if he only stressed about her rather than focusing on the tasks at hand.

It takes a while, but eventually Anufi picks up, a small radio that each clan leader had one of; a simple, fast way to contact them without the need for messengers.

"<It is so early. How is Mo'tsey? Everything is good, I hope?>"

Dead air on Teylan's end. Right. The language gap. Ri'nela is the first to speak.

"<Anufi, something's happened. We need you at the Boundless Range. As fast as possible. Do you have an ikran?>"

There's a murmur of what they can only hope is agreement from Anufi. An ikran would be vital.

"I will leave Tsu'lo and Okul to lead in my absence."

Teylan's ears perk at the English; Anufi was coming. That was good, right? Ah... But now he would have to explain that he had let Mo'tsey get kidnapped... Not good...

It's the better part of a day later by the time Anufi arrives. Rasi is awake and restless, just as worried as Teylan despite her somewhat minimal involvement in Mo'tsey's recovery after the last RDA kidnapping. The hunter lands outside, Anufi sharing the saddle, before she dismounts and approaches the airlock; leaving Teylan to rush to open the doors and then fetch her a CO2 canister and mask. He notices the set left carefully by the front door of the chamber. So Mo'tsey had planned to return soon after. But not soon enough, though he had tried.

They explain the situation as best they can, Rasi helping with translation where needed. It was frustrating, this lexical gap, where none of the Sarentu knew enough of the other language to act as a translator. Teylan tries to read Anufi's facial expressions. She mostly seems worried, like the rest of them; but like Ri'nela, she's good at not letting it control her.

"So we are waiting?"

A general nod of agreement from the three Sarentu. A general buzz of static from the computer speakers. Teylan considers trying to make a translator to help communicate between the two languages, especially during this.

More waiting.

Maybe the waiting is the most unbearable part. Not knowing what will happen. Wondering whether they misjudged the RDA, if they would just kill her to simply get it over with.

The static buzzes.

Then crackles.

Then the lines on the overhead monitor break into a fuzzy image, that starts to clear, a little blue face peering back at them with two large ears flat to her head and two green eyes filled with fear. While the image on the monitor isn't about to win any awards, they can see the purple starting to flower under her skin, a few small stripes of red, harsh against the soft blue. How her pupils shrink away from the harsh facility lighting.

"Sa'- Anufi! It is... Um... Good to see you...! Hello! I have joined the-" She looks behind her for approval from whatever officer was orchestrating this, only to receive a sharp jab to the forehead with the front of the rifle. When she turns back her nervousness is almost palpable. "I have joined the RDA! To get stronger and learn more E... Eng..." She sticks out her toungue, the unfamiliar sounds starting to cause her confusion. "Eng... Lìs?"

The façade breaks, her accent comes through too much, and the sound of a blade coming out makes her pupils blow round with fear as the video cuts out, Anufi wide-eyed with horror.

"What... <What was that...?>"

Rasi is the only one not too shocked to speak. They had all seen, firsthand, the atrocities the RDA could commit; but Rasi had neither seen the worst of it nor did she have the same connection with Mo'tsey that Anufi did.

The screen flickers again. A timer. Eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes, fifty-eight, fifty-seven seconds. When would that be? Teylan peers out of the window. It was later than they thought. The sun was being obscured again, and the plants and mosses here were starting to glow to life. No doubt something similar would be happening in the rainforest below, where any plants not caked with ash would be beginning to glimmer weakly. So the timer would end at...

"<Dawn. It is for dawn.>"

His accent is broken and he isn't sure if he gets it across, but they couldn't waste time with a lexical gap. Not here.

Thankfully, Ri'nela is next to speak. She knew more of the Na'vi language. That was good.

"<We wait. We do not know what... This is. Teylan? Can you... Watch?>" A nod from Teylan. "<We will take turns. Teylan first. Then me. If it is there tomorrow still. Me, Anufi, Rasi will sleep.>"

This plan seemed to work; if they were going to kill Mo'tsey- a thought that distinctly worried Teylan- they would tell them, or try to strike a ransom. But he still didn't like how... How scared she had looked.

So he sits. And he waits. And he hopes beyond anything that Mo'tsey will not die, or be killed, or suffer before they can figure out what the RDA plan to do. Maybe they would tell them, if it was suitably threatening. Maybe they would torture her to bait them. He didn't want to think about that idea. He remembered the beatings all too well, the bruises, the aching. If that was still fresh in his mind ten, twenty(?) years later, how bad would it be for Mo'tsey, only eight years old and yet already knowing things about this world no child should have to?

How bad would it be if they couldn't save her within the next few hours?

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

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your honour theyre different people i swear

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Mists and Moss

Part 1 > Part 2

The night air around the Refuge is thick with the smell of kxan'epe, though less so at the edges of the cliff-face; Zamhil thought you would be able to get drunk merely off the fumes inside the woven, wooden structure before even tasting a sip of the drink. So she had situated herself outside, feet dangling off the side of the ikran landing point as she picks at long strands of grass to weave them together. She's only half paying attention. One ear stays pointed towards the entrance to the Refuge in case Anufi needed help. Though she preferred to help after the exiled Tsahìk had finished experimenting, if only to carry her to the hammock and fetch water from the small stream nearby.

She had never had kxan'epe herself yet. Did it truly help you forget things that had happened to you? Anufi didn't seem to forget. The few times Zamhil had tried to intervene she'd been wildly unpredictable, switching constantly from one extreme to another. Crying about her crimes against the Sarentu, to fury at Mokasa, to confusion as to why nobody came to see her.

A single meer deer bleats and runs off below her.

The grass she is braiding into a tangled mess does not stand undisturbed, swaying slightly in the wind that was suddenly fierce despite not even whispering all evening.

Rhythmic gusts blow a handful of locs into her face, and that's when she squints up at the sky. A shadow blotting out the stars, four sweeping wings blowing grass and pollen directly up her nose. The shape of a rider on its back. The way that, when the ikran lands, it does not look eager to stay, fidgeting, though not letting any noise escape its throat other than a low rumble of concern.

Her rider dismounts with a short grunt of pain, clutching something in one arm.

Zamhil's mind is full of questions already. Who is this ikran rider? Why had they chosen the Refuge? Didn't they know Anufi was forbidden visitors? She opens her mouth to speak, but the bundle is shoved into her hands and she has to adjust to hold it better.

Her nose, previously crowded by pollen, is hit by the smell of milk and sweat and caustic herbs, and something unmistakably new suddenly feels a lot more delicate in her arms.

"Is-"

"Take her. To your-" Another barely concealed wince of pain. "-to Anufi. Your Tsahìk. You are Kame'tire, yes?"

"Yes, but-"

"She is yours now. I- ah- cannot care for her."

Zamhil wishes this woman would let her speak. "Anufi-"

"Please."

That does it. She shuts her mouth firmly, nods once. She'd find a way. This tiny little thing, surely only days old, was now her responsibility. Never mind Anufi's.

One thumb pushes back the wrappings, a small whine leaving the little bundle as it started to mewl.

A gust of wind that nearly knocks the two over, and she is gone.

Into the night.

Zamhil looks down at the baby again. A tiny pink nose, only the size of her thumbtip. A pair of wide, wide blue eyes that stare back at her. A gummy little mouth that was starting to open, open, tiny chest pumping as she starts to cry.

Oh dear. This was not ideal. Neither she nor Anufi had milk to feed this miserable baby, if food was what she wanted. How did you know what they wanted? This would be so, so much easier if Anufi was not exiled; she could look over this wrinkled, crying, new little thing, know what she needed, or even give her to a mother who could actually provide for her.

Not this.

This was no good.

She rocks the baby, cooing to it, hoping that that would help, that it would calm the fussy little creature, that she didn't need milk yet. One tiny blue hand reaches for her top, wrinkled fingers brushing the woven moss.

It coos.

Zamhil sighs in relief.

It would need milk, yes. Food.

But not yet.

And not yet was good enough for her.

She rocks it more in her arms, letting it play with her top, gently pushing away the wrappings around its face to see it better. A few locks of soft, fluffy red-brown hair, a distinct colour she recognised from her own clan. Pale gray-blue skin, but slightly darker than she had grown up seeing. Than anyone would see in the clan. She frowns. Its hair seemed Kame'tire. And its eyes, well its eyes were subject to change. Warm light bathes its face just as the smell hits Zamhil's nose. Her feet had carried her closer to the Refuge without her realising it, and now the baby was starting to fuss again at the strong smell of the kxan'epe.

The young warrior winces.

But she rocks the baby closer, trying to soothe it, humming, any song she knew, anything. Anufi would be done soon. Hopefully. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

The reality of that makes her heart sink.

Anufi would need help, but so would the baby.

She could not help both at the same time, at least not to the best of her ability, and certainly not while trying to hide the baby from Anufi.

What would she tell her, even? How would she explain it? Anufi was Tsahìk- at least, she had been- she would know immediately it wasn't Zamhil's own. She could tell her she had found it crying near the base of the cliffs. But this baby, with its wide blue eyes and Sarentu mark, didn't seem to be much of a crier.

Her heart skips.

Sarentu mark?

A pair of gold eyes looks over the baby's face. There it was, clearer now in the dim light.

Zamhil could almost feel her heart sink further, past her ankles and into the ground beneath her feet.

This baby was Sarentu. And Kame'tire. Tiny. Probably hungry. But an impossible, inconceivable union between a dead clan and their murderers.

Did her mother know? Did her mother understand, as she gave her that mark, that her child would be known now only for its dead heritage, and not for the disgraced clan of herbalists and killers?

Was that, perhaps, her intention?

She definitely could not get Anufi to believe it was hers now, not with that mark, not ever. She would not help with the baby, she would not accept its existence, and if anything Zamhil didn't want her to scare it. She sighs and leans against the wooden wall, brushing a single curl out of the baby's face. It hadn't hurt anyone. This child did not bear the sins of its unknown parent. And it did not hold the responsibility of its mother clan. It would not have to be a storyteller, if it didn't want to.

The smell of kxan'epe was less overpowering now; Zamhil could hear Anufi tidying up, and, begrudgingly, she heads into the structure to assist. That was her job here. To help Anufi. And now, to help this child.

The ex-Tsahìk doesn't notice it immediately, how Zamhil only has one arm free, or how she can't stand still- always moving, rocking side-to-side. How she seems both more tired than usual and more intent on getting Anufi to get in her hammock faster.

What she does notice is the tiny bleating noises coming from the bundle that the warrior holds in her arm.

"What is that?"

Zamhil's heart drops for the third time this night.

What is that.

Not a question. A demand.

A demand they both knew the answer to.

“It is… not mine… A taronyu landed outside and gave it to me.”

The Tsahìk looks unimpressed, perhaps scorning its size, or its entire existence.

“We have to care for it- it’ll die otherwise-”

She kicks herself internally. Anufi probably had years more knowledge about this than she did. She would know that.

But the older na’vi simply turns over in her hammock and ignores the two, the baby now starting to whine louder.

“Anufi…”

“It was given to you. It is your problem now. It should not eat from the hands of a murderer.”

Zamhil allows the old woman that. She had every right to decline looking after this miserable bundle of blue skin and inherited guilt.

But part of her wished she would have the help of a Tsahìk in raising the baby.

She makes to leave, to look in the food stores for plant milk, anything for the poor thing to eat, though she looks over her shoulder to see if Anufi had changed her mind.

She had not.

It looked like she would be raising this baby alone.

Well, she could do that. It was reassuring herself as much as anything. That she wouldn't let this tiny thing die. That this baby, no matter how impossible or how strange, would not die on her watch.

She promised herself that.

It starts to whine again.

Right. The baby. Feed it.

There’s empty baskets under full ones, baskets full of fruit, some stale, some overripe; Anufi ate erratically and so the whole place was a disorganised mess. She rubs her temples.

This was not going to be easy.

She starts to tidy up, reorganising, while the baby mewls in her arm. It’s heavy and upset but Zamhil hopes and prays silently to Eywa that she would be able to find some- any kind- of milk. Just to give her something to feel full- she’d heard that you could transfer nutrients through Tsaheylu. That would help- there had to be a reason that infants rarely got plant milk. She tries to lift a particularly heavy basket with one hand- and it tips, fruit pushing at the lid, as she tries to rebalance it, tries to fix it.

She fails.

Fruit falls everywhere, under surfaces, into crevices and nooks, and the baby starts to cry. Again.

A feeble, one-handed attempt is made to collect it, but she gives up on that, opting to tidy up after the baby was asleep. It would be far, far easier that way.

How long would it be before it started talking? Crawling? Trying to be independent of the two people already living here? Before they had to baby-proof the entire Refuge?

With one hand Zamhil bounces the baby, trying to soothe its crying, while the other hand searches for that precious container of plant milk.

She finds it.

It’s in a tall jug, the same kind Anufi used for kxan’epe, though this one did not smell of the strong alcohol. It definitely had plant milk in; the smell was distinct even among the fruits and brewed drinks piled up in the store. Her heart lifts for the first time that night. She could feed the baby. She could sleep, even if for a short while. It wouldn’t die. Relief sweeps over her like mist over vale; this was the first good thing to happen all night. After Anufi had holed herself up in here it had been uneventful and tiring, but this was better. The baby was safe.

Now, how to feed it?

She tries gently tipping the jug- no, that wouldn’t work. It was too big. So she finds small, carved cups, dipping them into the milk and putting them to the baby’s mouth, trying to get it to drink. The first few tries are unsuccessful, and the precious liquid spills onto the blanket it was wrapped up in. That would have to be changed. Not yet, though. She focuses on feeding it; small amounts of the milk, then she connects the two kurus and starts to eat a fruit in between giving the baby sips of milk. This could work. At least until she could move onto solids. That wouldn’t be too long. Hopefully. Ideally. Maybe a few months. That would be most ideal, but probably not most likely.

A tired sigh brushes past the fruit. The baby would need a name. She liked the moss of Zamhil's top but prrwll was not the best name for a baby and she knew in her heart that it would be one mocked. By Anufi if no-one else. A wave of tiredness crosses the tsaheylu, though she doesn't know whether it's the baby's or hers. That was enough to tell her she needs to sleep, but she wouldn't yet.

Perhaps.

Perhaps.

And before she knows it the baby is crying again, the pale light of dawn seeping through the woven ceiling and Anufi is reorganising the food stores.

That she had just fixed.

Zamhil groans.

At least the older woman didn't seem to care about the baby grizzling behind her; maybe that was a double-edged knife. No help, but no interference. That would be good. She didn't want Anufi trying to help her parent this little thing. Not yet. Not now. Maybe when she was less volatile.

It would help if she knew how old it was. It seemed new, only a few days old, but for all she knew about babies it could be weeks.

The tiny thing grumbles slightly. Its blanket was starting to smell of sour plant milk; that made sense. Zamhil had fallen asleep before she could change the wrappings. One hand pushes herself up, and she goes to find a new blanket. She was already feeling the exhaustion.

This was not going to be easy.

Days, weeks pass as the baby grows. It- she- starts to cry less, starts to babble. The plant milk system works easier and easier. She's happy, cooing, but Zamhil only grows more and more tired, still trying to look after both her charges. The baby doesn't help. She knocks over everything, chews everything else, she isn't even sitting up and she already gets under the feet of both the other inhabitants. Rolling over, pulling at things, cords, beads, anything her little hands could reach. Gripping onto Zamhil's ankles with all the force and conviction of a starving thanator.

She still didn't have a name, nor had she had her first communion.

Neither would be the same kind of celebration as they had been for every other child of both her clans.

Zamhil slides her hands under her back, lifting her up and holding her close as the sun starts to become obscured by the mountains.

“You're very talkative, ma ‘evi.”

A small chirp from the baby.

“Your name…” She brushes a red-brown curl away from the pair of eyes slowly starting to lose their blue. “You will be called Mo'tsey. May your voice carry many stories to all who listen.”

What was she saying? The Sarentu were dead and she lived with an exile. It would be cruel to let her think she would ever be able to share the stories of her clans.

Still.

It was good to hope.

Time does not wait for anyone, and soon it has been over a month since Mo'tsey came to them. Not much had changed. She still got in everyone's way, still pulled on fistfuls of beads, Zamhil's songcord, anything left within the reach of her tiny arms.

Zamhil, meanwhile, sometimes found herself guilty of wishing Mo'tsey had never come to them.

She was exhausting. Cluster feeding meant late nights and early mornings. After that she'd been quick to cry at anything for seemingly no reason. But she seemed so… Unaware of it all. She didn't care what torment her caregiver had to go through to raise her. Yesterday she had pulled down a whole stack of baskets- empty, thankfully. The crash had shaken her to her core.

And now here she was.

Lying on the floor chewing a string of beads.

Sickeningly adorable.

Like she hadn't forced Zamhil to reorganise the entire pantry yesterday.

Like she could get away with anything.

And Zamhil knew she could.

Because she would let her.

Maybe Anufi would have stronger words to say about this- she often did- but she wasn't choosing to say them. So Mo'tsey continued to cause trouble, and Zamhil continued to let her get away with it.

But today was special.

Today, Zamhil would start the long journey to Ancestor's Rest for Mo'tsey's first communion.

The first half of the way would be the worst; the only way to get to the Refuge without an ikran was the tree-root bridges that stretched over the stone swamp and reached almost to the Hollows.

A tiny bit of her wondered if she could simply leave the little menace at the Kame'tire home for someone else to mother her.

That thought was squashed quickly as she lifted Mo'tsey to put her into the baby carrier, blue eyes now a gemstone green and wide with curiosity. She'd made a promise to the Sarentu ghost that she would look after the baby. So that was what she would do.

Even if it would be a difficult day's travel to Ancestor's Rest.

The wind whistles outside the small cave. Zamhil would be sleeping for days after this. But for now, heavy arms hold a rather unsure baby up to the glowing tendrils of the mushroom-like structure, moving her little bare kuru to connect to Eywa for the first time. The point glows stronger, Mo'tsey's eyes widening and a smile spreading across her face.

Zamhil copies her; she knew about returning baby smiles.

Mo'tsey's eyes light up and she beams. It was not only Eywa making her smile this widely. Even if she was a menace, she loved those who took care of her. And that was something special, even if this event was a sad imitation of the usual celebrations. It was heartening that she didn't want or need anything fancy or special to feel happy; only the comfort of her adoptive family.

Her next milestone is one Zamhil could not help but dread.

Crawling.

The last thing she needed-

The last thing Anufi would tolerate-

Would be the little menace crawling.

Getting into the food stores on her own.

Grabbing even more things, even more beads.

Getting under Anufi's feet.

Again.

It happens slowly; rolling onto her tummy and trying to push herself up. Trying to reach toys just that little bit out of her grasp. Small, purposeful little movements that Zamhil was too tired to pay much heed to.

Then when she's put down for a nap and Zamhil leaves to organise the food store, it's not long before she feels a tiny hand on her thigh.

She looks down.

And there is Mo'tsey, holding herself up on her leg, having clearly tried to crawl up onto it.

“Aba.”

“You're… Crawling.”

There’s that gummy little smile. She was proud of herself.

“You're a menace.”

“Guiiuuuuu~”

“You can't cute your way out of this one.”

Mo'tsey just smiles wider.

“Shit, maybe you can.”

She giggles.

A proper giggle. And then again. A delighted little sound, soo happy with Zamhil's clear effort to not find her cute.

The young warrior's exhaustion lifts for the first time in six months.

Mo'tsey, her baby, now bigger and stronger than when she had first come here. Crawling and laughing.

Part of her hadn’t expected her to make it. Maybe hadn’t believed she could keep her alive, that the plant milk would work. She puffs her cheeks and Mo’tsey giggles. Anufi would have loved to see this, and Mo’tsey was inexplicably obsessed with the other inhabitant of the Refuge. She’d roll around, trying to grab onto her ankles, cooing at her, smiling- Anufi ignored it, of course. This didn’t deter her much. She remained persistent and now the problem would be even worse that she was crawling.

Maybe the Tsahìk would remain indifferent.

Maybe.

Unlikely.

Mo'tsey wakes to sunlight glittering among the dying embers of the fire, now a little older, a little stronger, a little more daring.

But no-one was here greeting her.

That was Incorrect.

So she pushes herself to her feet, determined to find someone to give her attention.

It's tiny steps at first. A little fist grips onto the lichen that clings to the wall. One foot before the other, like she had seen Anufi and Zamhil do. It was hard, and it felt a little bit like her legs didn't know what to do, but she keeps going. She'd spotted Anufi earlier; she was down by the food place, a location that she wouldn't struggle to reach.

Later on, neither her nor Zamhil would know why it happened.

But Mo'tsey lets go of the lichen-

A few nervous steps forward, arms out, tail flicking wildly to stay balanced-

And clings to Anufi's leg.

She doesn't notice.

A look of deep offence crosses the baby's face.

“‘Nufi!”

That does it.

Anufi looks down at her, something new, something she hadn't felt for a while flickering across her face. Maybe joy.

Maybe wonder.

“... That is my name..”

Mo'tsey's face brightens. “Nufi!”

For the first time, some of the fog in her mind begins to clear.

“... You are speaking my name.”

A beam across the child's face. Standing. Holding on to Anufi's leg like it was the last tree on Pandora. Tail wagging for balance and joy and everything in between.

“Nufi!!!”

Her heart lifts every time she speaks. The realisation creeping in, stronger than doubt, stronger than guilt.

Her first word.

And it had been Anufi's own name.

She repeats it with wonder to match the child's.

“Anufi..”

Mo'tsey brightens even more at this, green eyes wide and a gummy smile plastered over her face.

“Nufi! Nufi! Nufi!”

Then Anufi tentatively wraps one hand around Mo'tsey's waist, supporting her with the wooden prosthetic.

The effect is immediate.

Her smile spreads into something more, something- not new, but almost all of this felt new to the Tsahìk.

Mo'tsey starts laughing, squealing with joy and wrapping tiny chubby arms around Anufi's neck.

“NUFI! NUFI!”

Her heart melts. That was it. She knew she would love this child, now ten times more, to make up for lost time.

“You have a name..” She murmurs, thoughtful. “Mo'tsey, yes?”

Mo'tsey peers up at Anufi at the mention of her name.

“Zamhil named you well. Mo'tsey… Mokri… Ah, the voice of the People, yes?” Her eyes catch the Sarentu mark. A little on the nose, in her opinion, but a good name nonetheless.

“Nufi.”

“Yes.”

Mo’tsey leans back to study Anufi’s face better, batting at it with one hand. Experimenting with how much she could bother her before she was put down.

“Nuuuufi.”

“That is my name.”

She babbles sweetly, one hand pulling at the locs that frame Anufi’s face.

To her credit, the Tsahìk does not object.

She could get used to this.

Next >

[crystalsncryptids]

Those You Burn For

Chapter Five

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Warnings: Mentions of injury, depictions of violence, some injury detail

Na'vi Language Words: Sawtute - humans (4+), sa'nu - mama

Blow after blow shakes her body. Fists painted red with seed-like scars, never failing to connect with her ribs.

A hand closing tight around her neck, letting only a useless strangled cry escape.

The rush of air past tiny limbs.

The immediate, cracking thud as her small body lands against the wall.

The pain that explodes behind her eyes as her head whips back to follow her shoulders.

The broken relief as she's dropped and left to crumple on this awful steel floor. Arms bent in ways they shouldn't.

She's only barely aware of the hot wetness starting to leak from her nose. Her shoulder won't listen when she tries to wipe it. So one green eye, drained of all emotion and sickeningly dull, is left to track the spreading blood in front of her face.

The iron twinges in the back of her throat, sharp, metallic, yucky. A noise of protest dies before it leaves her throat.

The big sawtute would find her soon. Hopefully they weren't the first. Her stomach burned from their kicks. Her scalp screamed where her kuru had been used as an extra appendage to hold her by. Easier to hit her.

She hadn't eaten much. Wasn't hungry. Her belly wouldn't let her eat anyway. The bruises hurt so bad that she could swear on Eywa that they went all the way through her.

That one green eye weakly scans what she can see of the corridors. Trying to see if anyone was coming. Her arms ached. Her hands ached worse. She had to move her fingers, to hold different guns, pull the triggers. But she wasn't sure now that even that was something she could do.

Her lungs resisted every shaky breath dragged into them.

She tries to cry for help, a noise that never leaves her lungs, gargled and dying.

Metal footsteps echo down the corridor. Her eye manages to find the source, a human with one of those... Suits that extended your arms and legs.

One ear flicks weakly.

"Get up."

She tries. On Eywa she tries. Nothing moves. Nothing listens to her.

"I said get up."

Her breath catches and something echoes in her ear. Someone's voice. Panicked? And a horrible whining sound throughout the steel hometree.

"<.... Wake up!">

One eye narrows in confusion. Her breaths were coming too fast now, but her lungs burned with the effort of dragging in air. Not enough. Not enough. It hurt to pull air down her throat, hurt to try and breathe, hurt when Teylan flickered into view and air finally slammed into her lungs.

Teylan.

One eye flashes open, properly open, and she regrets it immediately. The lights were blinding and there were so many of them, her pupil constricting in a panic as she still can't breathe, still can't make sound, and now the whining is louder, machines flashing as Teylan worries, eventually someone she doesn't recognise adjusting something, turning something else, and her breathing slows as the alarms stop.

"What... That?"

It's hoarse, broken. The sound barely comes out. But they hear it. Teylan and the other person look to each other.

"Respiratory faliure. You were going into cardiac arrest."

Teylan helpfully supplements him. "You stopped breathing."

She looks confused, feeling the air struggle in and out of her lungs.

"But I breathe now? Teylan fixed?"

He shakes his head and gestures to the other person. He's not tall. Not much taller than Mo'tsey herself maybe. And he was pink.

"Norm fixed it. You've got air now. These machines-" She peers around her with her good eye. "They breathe for you. When it's needed."

"This things... Take my air?"

She looks offended, and Teylan can't help but laugh, a tiny bit. They hadn't lost her. This time. He allows himself that relief.

"Who... Norm? Where this?"

Her voice is still scratchy and nearly strangled before she speaks, the bruising on her throat now swollen and painful.

Teylan speaks first.

"Norm is... A dreamwalker. Like Alma was. But also a healer. He is fixing what we couldn't."

One eye blinks in confusion.

"We aren't at home. We're at a place called High Camp. They can help you better here, I promise."

"Sa'nu here?"

The young Na'vi nods and Mo'tsey seems content with this. One hand starts to move to touch the bandages on her tummy, but Norm catches it gently.

"Don't touch."

She gives a small whine of protest, but concedes to lying still when he has to run a medical scanner over her, pointing out whatever's on the screen in human words she doesn't know. Teylan's face wrinkles with concern. She catches some of the conversation. Rest. Lots of it. Ribs, most of them, broken. Some badly. Others less so. Bruising. Tail, kinked. She flicks it helpfully. The bullet in her leg had hit bone. They'd removed it. The one in her belly had gone in sideways. They'd taken that one out too. It hurt, a bit. There was a pretend worm, long and thin, that led from a sack on a stick into her arm. She knew what that was. She'd had one of those the last time the RDA had taken her.

Her eye still doesn't open when she tries to lift the lid. It felt sticky and wrong. And still sore. So she leaves it shut, for the people who knew healing to fix it.

"Why... Not sa'nu?"

Norm looks up first, before Teylan.

"<There weren't the right materials and people to help. So'lek had to bring you here when you were more stable.>"

She blinks one eye. This human didn't speak human words. How curious.

"You like Alma? She bad bad. Kill Tamtey sa'nu. And Nor sa'nu. And Teylan sa'nu. And Ri'-"

"<No, I'm not like her.>" He focuses on the scanner and checking that the bandages were tight enough. "<I'm a scientist. Not a teacher.>"

She doesn't know that word.

"Scientist?"

"<Learner. I learn from the world. Try to answer questions by learning new things.>"

Mo'tsey attempts to nod sagely and winces, accidentally agitating bruises on her neck.

"When go home?"

"Soon. When we know you aren't going to have another episode like earlier. The Hollows and the Refuge don't have the equipment to help you there..." He trails off, more focused on the scanner readings now. Explaining them to Teylan again. The Sarentu mechanic looked concerned at what it said, though Mo'tsey wasn't sure how bruises and broken bones were so worrying.

It's not long before she drifts off again, the worm-bag stuff drowning her under another river of sleep.

When her eye opens again, it's the same metal box as last time. People walking around, medical stuff next to her, the worm still in her arm. This one said something different though. She didn't know what. Teylan hadn't taught her those words yet. The next thing she notices is that there are cool bandages on her eye. It still wouldn't open. Maybe the bandages would help. She'd heard them say big words, more words she didn't know; iris, pupil, cornea. Followed by ones she did. Scarred. Damaged. And a phrase that was dubious at best. Vision loss. She knew what loss was. But she didn't think she'd lost anything. Her insides still felt inside. More so even than when the thanator had chased her just two seasons ago and it had felt like her heart was going to come out of her mouth. She owed it another race. Maybe she would win again. She didn't know how she'd even won the first time. Thanator was scary. But she admired it too much for common sense to have much of a voice. Anufi had said that when she'd come home covered in scratches and bruises and pine needles and mushroom spores. Frightened, but alive.

She wondered where her toy thanator was now. Hopefully it had made it to the Spires when the rest of the clan went there. Probably not. Unless Anufi had made special care to bring it.

Her tail coils worriedly and she picks at her bandages. They'd probably be off soon. At least the ones on her belly and leg. She'd get to see the cool scars from the bullets! She had lots of cool scars now!

A small recompense for what she'd suffered... But recompense nontheless. She could show them to Rìkeya and the others when she got home!

If there was a home to go back to.

She tried not to think about that.

The medicine starts to make her sleepy again, drifting off, laid flat on the gurney, the lullaby of the medical machines surrounding her. Already planning games to play with the others.

When she next wakes up, the arm worm is gone and there are no more bandages around her belly, or her leg, or most of her arms. Instead, pale, jagged scars wrapped over her skin in place of stripes, thinner where it was simple cuts and thicker where broken bones had torn the skin or where too much had been damaged to stitch her back together. She still could only see out of one eye. That disappointed her a bit, but she knew she could learn to live without it.

That memory came back vivid. She hadn't learnt the human words properly. Had tried to desert the human base.

Foolish.

She remembered how the scary man had reached for his knife, how she'd closed her eyes so tightly so she didn't have to look, the cold prick of the blade as he measured his mark, then the curved steel slicing into the left side of her face.

How he had said no mate would want her after that. The threatened offers he had made in words humans didn't know.

Her tail curls uncomfortably then. She didn't want to keep remembering anymore.

"Teylan?"

No answer. Panic rises in her voice.

"Teylan?!"

He looks up, and once he notices she's awake he moves quickly. One green eye rests on his face. A question, unspoken. It didn't need to be.

What was going to happen with her damaged eye?

She tries to open it again. It's hard. She can feel her eye beneath the lid, able to move, but even when she manages to open it it's still not right. She closes the other eye; suddenly all she can see is where there's light. No detail, no blurriness, just the dim blue of the lab and the fuzzy spots of bright white light.

She swaps back to the working eye once she starts to get a headache, and having the other eye closed somehow felt.... More comfortable. More natural.

Teylan notices and tries to change the subject. A small bite of guilt rose in his stomach; she didn't deserve people trying to pretend they hadn't seen the damage, the thin line that cut through her iris, the clouded grey of the pupil.

Like the mists in her home.

"Norm says you're allowed to get up... Anufi is outside, waiting. She threatened to have So'lek and Tamtey blow this place sky-high if we lost you."

Her ears swivel to attention.

"Tamtey back?"

A smile crosses Teylan's face. "So'lek killed Wukula not long after he brought you to us. She's... Recovering. Better. The Mangkwan did a number on both of you." He catches her as she swings her legs off the gurney, careful, not crushing too hard into her chest. "No running around yet. Your ribs are still healing. You can't overexert yourself."

"I be fine. So'lek say I strong."

"So'lek isn't wro-"

"Yes good thank you bye-bye!"

And she's off, stumbling out of the door and onto the stone surface of the floating mountains. Ikran fly overhead, huge, but not pale and threatening like those of the Mangkwan, carrying riders that dismount and untack them, families rushing together, children her age talking and playing games. An ikran as black as soot with yellow and blue colours on its wings that snaps at anything and anyone in sight has her attention, before she's distracted by Anufi coming up behind her and swooping her into her arms, careful not to jostle her ribs.

"Ma sa'nu!!"

"Ma 'ite, <How are you? The humans were able to heal things we couldn't, but that does not mean...>" She trails off as her eyes catch the jagged scars that decorate her daughter's limbs like a new set of stripes.

"<They healed me good! And the dreamwalker was super nice! He...>"

Whatever she says is lost on Anufi's ears as she finally allows relief to flood every part of her. Mo'tsey was alive. Her daughter was here, alive, perfect. She would not have to mourn her child today. Perhaps not ever. But definitely not today. She would add a new bead to her own songcord, a way to remember this, this moment, and perhaps begin to teach her to make her own beads, but not yet. Not quite today. Today was for joy, for celebration. For Mo'tsey to return to the Hollows, safe from the RDA. Safe from the Mangkwan.

Home.