An Empty Cup | Avatar. Miles Quaritch

17. The Assualt on Tree of Souls

I sat silently. My knees were tucked so tightly into my chest that it was hard to breathe. I stare at the burning embers of the fire before me. I sat in a hollow, dim, cave. The only light was the fire and my dots. The forest outside seemed darker tonight. Stri'Weys harness was layed on the floor as my hand slowly moves up my songcord.

Starting when I was born. My first hunt. And the biggest crystal, the Assualt on Hometree.

-

She holds her ikran toy softly. The other kids were huddled together, talking, playing. But she isolated herself from them. She wasn't in the mood for socialising. She was scared, upset, miserable. It was the day Toruk Makto had claimed they would defend our Tree of Souls.

Growing up, the stories she heard of Toruk Makto. There was ever so rarely a determined, confident, and strong champion would go up against Toruk. So many have failed. And little to no succeed. There has been generations of clans who have gone without a Toruk Makto. There have only been four, five now, since the time of the Great Songs.

Toruk Makto pulls the clans together and leads them to victory in times of great sorrows. And now, they were in such a sorrow, they were dwindeling in misery. The Skypeople had destroyed her Hometree, her home, and in time had killed hundreds. Including her little brother.

Her songcord sits in her hands. She had marked it on every event of her life. Her birth, her first hunt, her first kill. And she was carefully adding a bright white crystal too the threads. Indicating a strong and major event. She knew it would cost people their lives. Skypeople and Na'vi alike. The body count will grow.

Jake Sully, Toruk Makto, was crouched infront of the Tree of Souls. Having connected his Queue too the glowing purple branches. He was speaking too their ancestors through the bond. He was asking, begging, for help. For guidance. He begs the help of Eywa.

Her father and mother were beside themselves. Grieving for their young sons life. His body most likely burried under the Hometree corpse. The Skypeople had attacked and succeeded in collapsing and destroying the Hometree. It crumbled to the ground as the clan had evacuated. Her father had climbed too the brances above to gather the lost and uncalled Ikrans.

It was early afternoon. It was quiet for a second, almost peaceful. Before a long, black, large shadow grew over the tree.

Scared, Ray'Ala ran to Mo'at, the Tsahik. Mo'at quickly gathered the child against her leg, soothingly rubbing her hair. "Sweet child, do not fret." She reasures as best as she could, but her voiced wobbled. She sounded uncertain. She knew that she, and the children, were at risk.

Watching from a distance, Ray had stood as tall as she could to watch what was going on. She could see that the clans had disappeared, nothing in sight. Before suddenly attacking from the floating mountains and acted like a storm of violence and death. Diving down and taking out helicopters as best as they could.

It had been a few minutes. It looked like it was going well for the clans, before everything suddenly changed. Ray cries out as she watches multiple Ikran riders knocked off their creatures and sent hurting towards the ground. Left for dead.

Ray'Ala was never one to stand about. She was young, she was nine years old. But no matter what, something yearned and screamed inside her head, telling her they needed her help.

With a soft exhale, she ran. Gripping her Queue in her hand tightly, whispering, praying to Eywa. Begging for her help. Mo'at shouted after her as she darted towards the steep walls.

Stray Ikrans, having lost their owners, were perched silently on the vines.

With a sharp cry, they turn their heads at Ray sprinting towards them. She climbs the vines, before setting infront of an Ikran. Something called her to it. She puts her hand out softly. The Ikran had pale purple skin with bright yellow stripes across its body. "Hey, its okay. I need your help, please help me."