Another Chance |Ao'nung x Neteyam|

Chapter 2: A Bead For Your Song

The morning sun caresses his cheek, kissing his skin as he blinks his eyes open. Despite the heat of the metcayinan summer, Neteyam is wrapped in the many blankets he's brought from home, basking in the scent of his family.

Neteyam sits up slowly, wincing faintly at the burn in his lower body. He's grateful that he does not have to share a living space with Ao'nung or his family. It feels like an insult to Eywa herself to even think about anyone seeing him in this state.

Chatter drifts into the marui pod, alerting Neteyam to the knowledge that many have already started their day. Hesitantly, Neteyam stretches his legs out, wiggling his toes. There's a lingering pain in his body no matter how he tries to sit, so he just gives up and chooses the least uncomfortable position.

"Neteyam," a voice calls out to him suddenly.

The Omaticaya tenses, turning towards the entrance. He knows he hardly looks presentable, lacking his necklaces, braids falling apart.

The Tsahik steps inside with a small box of something.

Neteyam stands hurriedly, attempting to pat his hair down, but it is useless. "Tsahik–"

She nods in acknowledgement and walks up to him, inspecting him with gentle eyes. "My son tells me you were hurt."

Cheeks flushing, Neteyam holds his hands up, taking a step back. "It is fine."

"You bled." The Tsahik reaches into her little basket, hints of a chide in her voice. "You are not a woman. If you bleed, it means you have been injured. It must be treated."

Neteyam sighs softly, understanding that she leaves no room for disagreement. He keeps his mouth shut, teeth clenching tightly; Neteyam had hoped nobody would bring this up now that the deed was done and there was nothing left to do but wait.

Ronal hands him a small container of something. Neteyam hesitates before taking it, raising it to his face for a sniff. Ronal's lips twitch as she bites back a smile.

"Applying this salve every few hours should aid in your healing," she explains gently. "Feel free to use as much as you feel you need. I am sorry that you had discomfort."

"It's nothing, don't worry about it," Neteyam murmurs, giving a tight smile. "Thank you for the salve and for your concern, Tsahik."

Ronal frowns, smoothing down the many colourful beads adorning her woven top. She seems as though she wants to say something more, but then thinks better of it.

"I will inform Ao'nung that he is not to touch you until you are healed," she says eventually, deep in thought. Ronal waits a breath before adding one more thought. "Or until you feel ready to be touched."

Neteyam swallows thickly, standing in front of his new Tsahik awkwardly. "It's not necessary—"

"Let us take care of you," Ronal cuts him off, lips pursed. She sets the basket down and takes his hand in hers. "Do not sacrifice all of you. Keep some of yourself."

The heavy pounding of Neteyam's heart fades. Muted relief washes over him like a cooling summer wave. His words are stolen like the pearls of an oyster.

Ronal lets his hand go, stepping back. Her eyes rake over his body, searching for wounds. When she finds none, she gives a curt nod. "My son will teach you our ways. You shall meet the rest of the people during tonight's feast. My daughter, Tsireya, will dress you in the right clothes."

"Of course," Neteyam replies quietly, turning the little container in his hand, fiddling with it.

"Your body might feel weak from the heat we forced it to go through." She paces around, long skirt swaying around beautifully with her movements. "Take as many breaks as you need during your lessons. Do not feel guilty for them."