𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝟰. 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗿

The warmth radiating off of the white sands was only faintly quelled by the cool cloth blanket you had laid out underneath you. The youngest Sully boy sat in front of you, knees brought up to his chest as you worked a small mound of glass beads into his hair.

Sitting might have actually been an overstatement considering how often you had to wrangle him in and plead with him to stop fidgeting.

"Hold still," you reminded airily, not looking away from your current task. You caught him and your brother wrestling not far outside of the village border with an audience of his friends standing guard. You had to promise when you inevitably broke it apart that you wouldn't report the incident to your father or his, for both their sakes.

Lo'ak shifted again but caught himself and froze under your touch. "Sorry," he mumbled, wrapping his arms tight around the tops of his knees. You let it go only because you knew he meant it.

You've seen how Jake was with him—a total turnaround from how you've seen him interact with Kiri or Tuk. Strict, almost military. Orders were given in the stead of compliments. Respect was commanded, not earned. The last thing you wanted was to be the reason he received another lecture from his father.

"As I was saying," you continued, selecting another rounded teal bead from off the blanket. "During the wet season when lightning strikes the beaches, the heat melts the sand into glass, like this. The sea carries it out and drags it across the ocean floor, smoothing it over many cycles. When it returns to us at the beginning of the dry season, we wear them to show our thanks to Eywa for blessing us with our oceans."

Absentmindedly, you tugged on the pointed sea glass shard dangling from a braided lock of your hair. Another string of blue-ish green orbs was hung around your neck from a piece of jewelry that Ao'nung made for you to celebrate your second birth. It was the one thing you thought he did better than getting himself into trouble.

One thing you noticed over the past few days was the significant differences between the four Sully siblings. As the eldest son, Neteyam always greeted you formally, usually going out of his way to offer his help in some way or another. Meanwhile, Tuk would just about tackle you if she caught sight of you from across the way. Kiri was still quite a mystery to you and Lo'ak seemed to already have his poor opinions about this place set in stone.

At a loss for how to fill the sudden silence that grew between you, you began to hum as softly as you were able. The tune fell into rhythm with the crashing of waves, drawing in and out as naturally as the tides. Slowly, almost as if he were trying to fight it, Lo'ak began to ease into your light, gentle touches.

"Is...Is that your songcord?" he chirped, afraid that asking would make you stop what you were doing.

You smiled, reaching down for another bead. "Yes, only it's considered bad luck here to sing your own, so I can only hum."

Your actual songcord was hanging alongside your siblings in your family's marui, comprised mostly of smoothed glass similar to the ones you were braiding into Lo'ak's hair. You used to plead with your mother to sing you to sleep with it every night. At one point in your childhood, you didn't even need to run your fingers down the frayed fiber cord to know exactly what sounds to make.

"It's pretty," he offered, clearing his throat.

A 'thank you' was on the very tip of your tongue when you heard a heap of hushed laughter and quiet snickers. Both of you turned to see Ao'nung turning the corner with his band of friends sauntering close behind him. Lo'ak gulped and looked down at his hands which were still folded neatly on top of his knees.

You sensed the tension brewing in the air long before your brother even noticed that you were there. Perhaps he never even would have if Rotxo hadn't nudged him with his elbow and gestured to where the two of you were sitting.