It was a new day. The sun crept over the horizon, spilling golden light across the ocean, and the village stirred awake with soft voices and splashing footsteps. When my eyes opened, I instinctively expected the sound of my siblings—squabbling, laughing, crying—but there was only silence. My marui was empty but for me. Strange, yet freeing.
I stretched and rose slowly, savoring the stillness. For breakfast, I gathered fruit from the grove near the rear of the village, filling a basket with ripe, sun-warmed pods before carrying them back. The sweetness filled my mouth, but it wasn't just food—it was the taste of independence.
Duty soon called. Yesterday had been my day of rest; today I slipped back into rhythm. Feeding the ilu, teaching the smaller children how to take their first breaths underwater, and guiding the older ones in the hunt. The elders liked to say I had a gift with the young. I wasn't sure if it was true, but I loved teaching our ways, loved the spark of wonder in their eyes when they learned something new.
By the time I finished, the village was alive with laughter and waves of activity. I had only just returned to my marui when the sharp, urgent wail of the warning shell split the air. My chest tightened. Without hesitation, I seized my spear and sprinted down toward the shore, weaving through the gathering crowd. Tonowari and Ronal appeared just ahead, moving with practiced calm.
Above us, four ikran circled before descending to the sandbank. I pushed through to the front and froze. Na'vi unlike the Metkayina stood there—taller, darker-skinned, forest-born. An adult male and four children.
Ronal's posture stiffened, sharp as a blade. I slid to stand at her side, bracing for her ferocity. The man stepped forward first, bowing his head in respect as Tonowari greeted him. His name was Jake Sully—Toruk Makto, the Omatikaya leader of legend. He sought uturu for his family.
Ronal stalked around them, her eyes narrowed, hands inspecting tails and fingers. Some of the children bore demon blood, she accused sharply. But Sully intervened with quiet strength, showing her his own human hands, taking the shame upon himself. My heart ached faintly at the sight of him—this father pleading, not for glory, not for war, but for his children's safety.
Tonowari's jaw hardened. The Metkayina were not at war; why should we take on his burden? Jake's voice broke then, pleading in raw honesty. He was finished with fighting, he said. He only wanted sanctuary for his family.
Something in his tone stirred me. A warrior stripped down to only a father.
Ronal relented after a long, tense pause, but Tonowari's quiet words to her caught my ears: "There is no marui free for the family."
I stepped forward without hesitation. "Tsahìk, if I may. They can stay with me. My marui is large, and I would welcome the company."
Ronal's eyes fixed on mine. "You are certain?"
"Yes," I said firmly, with a small smile toward Sully. "It is the least I can do."
Her sharpness softened, if only slightly. "Very well. Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us. Treat them as kin. They do not know the sea. They are children still, learning their first breath. Teach them our ways, so they do not suffer shame."
Tonowari's gaze slid to me at that, as if the last words were meant for me alone. He spoke next of his children—Ao'nung and Tsireya—who would guide the Sully children.
I lingered after the crowd dispersed, catching Tonowari's subtle smile. "You have something more to ask me," I teased quietly.
He chuckled. "I do. I want you to train Jake himself. My children will guide his, but I need a seasoned warrior for him. There is no one better."
I dipped my head respectfully. "It will be done."
⸻
Later, I returned to find Tsireya leading the Sully family into my marui.
"Welcome to your new home," I said softly. All five heads snapped toward me, eyes wide with curiosity and weariness. "There were no free marui, so you'll share mine. I hope that is all right."
Jake smiled faintly. "Of course. Kids?"
A chorus of "thank you" rose from the children, the youngest—Tuk, I learned—smiling so brightly it pierced me.
"Anytime," I said warmly. "Settle in. Tomorrow, we begin. Tsireya, Ao'nung, and Rotxo will guide your children. I'll work with you, Jake."
He nodded gratefully, and I placed my spear back on its stand, choosing instead my fishing bow. "I'll hunt for our dinner. I won't be long."
⸻
That evening, I returned with three fat reef fish, their scales shimmering in the fading light. "Kaltxì," I greeted as I stepped inside. "I brought dinner."
The boys, Neteyam and Lo'ak, leapt up eagerly to help. I knelt with them, showing the way to clean the fish. They mirrored my hands carefully, their eyes shining at every word of praise.
"How old are you?" Lo'ak blurted suddenly.
"Skxawng!" Neteyam hissed. "You cannot ask that." He turned to me, mortified. "Forgive him, Tayala, my brother has yet to learn manners."
Their bickering drew a laugh from me. "It is all right. I take no offense. I am twenty-two."
Both boys froze, eyes wide. "You do not look that old," Neteyam admitted sheepishly.
"Boys!" Jake's voice rang sharp from the corner. "Do not be rude."
"Sorry, Dad," came in perfect unison.
I only chuckled, shaking my head. "Truly, it is fine. I know I appear younger than my years."
⸻
We cooked the fish together and gathered around the fire Jake had prepared. The flames cast gentle shadows, painting us in warmth and flicker. Tuk nestled against my side as we ate, her small laughter softening the silence.
At one point Jake leaned closer, his voice low. "Do you live here by yourself?"
"Yes," I answered simply, smiling faintly.
He hummed, then offered quietly, "Thank you—for letting us in so freely."
The sincerity in his tone warmed me. I glanced at the children, so content now, and said softly, "You deserve safety. All of you."
When eclipse fell, we set out mats. Tuk clung to my hand, asking if I would sleep beside her. My heart melted instantly. "Of course, Tuk. I'll bring my blanket."
As I fetched it, I noticed Jake watching us, eyes distant, softened by memory. Perhaps reminded of days when his youngest had been small and safe in his arms.
We lay down together—Tuk curled against me, Kiri on her other side, Jake with his sons close by. The marui filled with gentle breathing, the warmth of bodies, the peace of togetherness.
I stayed awake a while, listening, feeling. Two days ago, I had moved out, cut loose the ties of my own family. And now here I was, with another. A family of strangers who already felt like something more.
Sleep found me slowly, but when it did, it carried me gently.
