Chapter Text
The woods weren’t a place for a Metkayina to be. Your people belonged to the swirling ways of the sea, not the twisting paths of the roots. Metkayina knew how to be swift and agile in the water, not above it, which is why most had never even dared to wander further than the beaches they called home. It was simply too dangerous. This is what you too believed, that was, until the Sullys showed up at your doorstep. The People of the Forest, seeking refuge from the People of the Sky, with the People of the Reef. It was really quite laughable, but they adapted, fast. Annoyingly so. Their thin arms and legs, their puny tails, they were not made to swim. Yet suddenly, four Sully brats rode your waters, caught your fish and collected your shells. How was it that the Omatikaya could learn your ways, but not the other way around? It simply couldn’t be.
The first time you explored the forest, standing tall at the edge of your village, you already knew it wouldn’t be the last. The air tasted different, fresher, heavy with moisture. All of a sudden the salty breeze of the ocean started to feel cloying. Although not at all like sand, the damp, cold moss felt good against the soles of your feet. After a lifetime in the sun, the shadows of the trees became a sanctuary. There, you could hide away from the responsibilities you carried as the firstborn to the mighty Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk of the Metkayina Clan. One day you, like your mother, too would become the spiritual leader. It was the will of Eywa. And for reasons you could not make sense of, the deeper you ventured into the forest, the closer you felt to her. When you could no longer hear the trashing of waves or the laughter of your people, that’s when Eywa’s voice rang the truest in your ears. So at night, when your parents' expectations tormented you, when the burdens of your birth-assigned duties crept up and became suffocating, you began to seek out the trees.
In the small hours you would sit with them, letting the rustle of their leaves dictate your breathing and the swaying of the branches cradle you to sleep. Sometimes, you would even speak to the trees, for they never judged you. They simply listened. If your brothers saw you then, they would’ve deemed you an even bigger freak than Kiri, the eldest Sully daughter. You liked her. She seemed to have a deeper understanding of the ocean than her siblings, but she was no future leader. Too whimsical, always in her own world. You could not afford to lose focus like she did. In that sense, Neteyam was more similar to you. He too bore the weight of representing the family legacy, in the way only the eldest child does, or at least so you thought.
Since the Sullys arrival in Awa’atlu, you two hadn’t spoken much. He was polite, exchanging simple greetings, but never more. You didn’t attempt to make conversation, either, but his total indifference to your presence annoyed you anyway. He never seemed to lose his composure, always a calm expression plastered across his face. You, on the other hand, had to do your utmost to keep the act going. Declining your siblings' invite to the beach in favor of helping your mother organize her herbs and salves took an immense amount of willpower. You were the perfect daughter, yes, but it was just a facade. Neteyam was the perfect son, through and through. He embodied his role completely, and that? That annoyed you. Didn’t he have any interests except abiding his dad? Why did you want someone so boring to notice you? You pondered upon this as you cut off from the path, smooth from years of wandering feet upon it, and into the forest.
With the amount of work you had on your plate, efficiency was key. Turns out the walk back home could be cut in half by taking a shortcut through the trees. Although this was an absolute game changer, you had yet to tell anyone about it. Still, no one knew about your secret trips to the forest at night, and you wanted to keep it that way. The Metkayina were steadfast in their superstitions, indoctrinated in the stories from a young age. When everyone huddled around the campfires at night, the elders would tell vivid stories of men who had dared step a foot into the woods, only to return as shells of their former selves. You learnt soon enough that they were just fairytales, even before you dared trek into the forest yourself, for you had observed the Sullys do it. Hell, they used to live there. Sometimes, you swore you could hear them, talking and laughing as if they were home. But you had never crossed paths with them, you always made sure to walk the opposite direction of the sounds. The tales had left their marks in you, too. Being spotted in the forest would be shameful, especially for a future Tsahìk, and even more so if it was a Sully that caught you. If you stumbled upon another Metkayina, at least you could question why they too were in the forest.
You were almost out of the forest when your thoughts were cut short by a raised root in your path. Your foot caught beneath it, making you fall forwards, twisting your ankle in an awkward position. Dropping the satchel you were carrying to catch yourself, the shells you had spent the better half of the day gathering scattered all around. For a split second you only felt warmth, then sharp white pain. Curling into fetal position, gripping your ankle with both hands, it coursed through your body. Shouting out in agony, the pain was so great it blurred your vision, leaving you paralyzed for a good minute. Eventually, the ringing in your ears started to subside. Sweaty and drained of energy from the exertion, you laid limp in the moss, cold against your scorching skin. The sensation helped you further ground your senses, assessing the situation you now found yourself in.
Your ankle had its own heartbeat, already crimson and swollen. There was no way you could stand, let alone walk on it. The village was not too far away, but you couldn’t let anyone know you had crossed the forest. Even in your current state, your pride was strong. Besides, no Metkayina ever stepped close to the forest. Even if you cried for help as loud as you could, your voice would not reach the outskirts of the village. It seemed as though your situation was hopeless. Soon enough, someone would notice your absence. They would search for you, but not in the forest. Not at first, at least. Why would the heir be stupid enough to tread into the woods? You’d probably be stuck here for days. You let the chirps of the forest soothe your mind, when suddenly they were interrupted by the crunch of a branch being snapped in half. You froze. Something was moving close by. Your mind immediately rushed back to the old Metkayina superstitions. You were not a fighter, and right now you stood absolutely zero chance against the dangers that supposedly lurked in the trees. A probably broken ankle promptly became the least of your worries. Whatever it was, it was moving closer. A rustle of leaves, a movement between the trees. You held your breath, heart beating so fast you could feel it in your throat. Then, out stepped,
“Neteyam?”.