Not a Soldier Yet |Ao'nung x Neteyam|

47. Blood in the Water

For the next few days, Neteyam had no way of moving around - it filled his core with burning humiliation - Ao'nung had to help him with everything, including washing up.
Picking up jostled his knees too much. Ronal had fastened them straight with sturdy wooden sticks to prevent him from bending his legs.

Neteyam was miserable. Not from the pain, but from the sadness and shame he felt. He was supposed to be the older brother; it was his job to save his siblings, not the other way round.

His father sat beside him in the chief's marui; Ronal wanted to keep him close. Neteyam was lost in his thoughts, absent mindedly fiddling with his fingers across his chest.

"Neteyam," Jake whispered, voice hinted with pain. "What is that?"
His father reached for his hand and turned it, palm facing up.

An uncontrollable anguish burst through his veins as he pulled his arm back, placing his other hand securely over the wounds, hiding them from view.
"I'm sorry, sir."

Jake said nothing. He stood up on shaky legs and walked out of the marui, shoulders slumped in defeat. Neteyam felt his eyes fill with tears; he tried to blink them away, but it only allowed them to roll down his cheeks in fat droplets. He chewed the inside of his lip, drawing blood before a sob broke through his lips, preventing further damage.
He pressed his hands into his closed eyes, rubbing roughly until it hurt; he stopped then but did not remove his hands.
Slowly, he pulled himself off the sleeping mat, carefully minding his knees. The forest na'vi pulled himself to the other side of the Olo'eyktan's home to Ronal's supplies. There, he spotted a double bladed knife. Freshly sharpened.

He took it, placing it beside himself before carefully reaching for a large, shiny shell. He saw his reflection on the inside clearly, if a little bent. He swallowed thickly, void of emotion. He wanted his own old strong self back. Neteyam snatched Ronal's comb from the small shelf-like surface and propped the mirror-like shell up against a basket. He pulled back until he could see his upper body fully in the shell.

Lifting his arms, he began combing through his hair - it was all but to his waist now - straightening any tangles. He sniffled quietly and brought a section forward. Nobody entered the marui as he carefully sliced the strand of hair with the knife right above his nipples. Neteyam continued carefully, pulling forward more strands, slicing them neatly. Once one side of his hair was done, he smiled softly, examining his work. It seemed perfectly even. Tilting his head, he stared down the hair that had fallen into his lap before swatting it to the side.

Unknown to Neteyam, Ronal stepped in silently, watching him from the doorway. Her lips parted slightly to speak before she noticed what the other na'vi was doing. She watched curiously, head tilting to the side slightly. The tsahik did not make a sound as Neteyam slowly finished cutting his hair.
Ronal slipped outside.

Neteyam collected his hair in a neat pile and cleaned the comb he had borrowed. The forest na'vi placed everything back where he found it.
Smiling, he fiddled with the ends of his soft hairs - it was still somewhat longer than when he left his home.

"Neteyam?" A soft voice called out to him. Tsireya stepped into the marui cautiously. "Mother told me you might like to have these hairties- oh. You cut your hair."

Neteyam turned to her, cheeks filling with heat. "Yeah."

"It's nice and neat," she smiled pleasantly. "Would you like me to braid it for you?"

"No, it's okay. I want to leave it like this. "
Nodding, Tsireya set the bands to the side before carefully helping Neteyam lift himself back onto the sleeping mat before settling down next to him. She took his hand and examined his fingers innocently. "You know, your hands are much softer than Lo'ak's. He's always got some cuts or blisters from not being careful."

Neteyam laughed quietly for her sake but felt empty inside.
"I'm sorry, I'm tired."

Tsireya nodded in understanding. "It's alright. You must be in pain. I shall let you rest."
She got up, waving to him before stepping outside into the bright sunrise.

Neteyam laid down completely, placing a hand on his forehead, sighing softly as he stared up at the ceiling. He began running his fingers through a section of his hair, tugging lightly at the strands before he spread his arms out to the sides. His makeshift sleeping mat was placed on the floor to better help him move around. He spread his fingers out and sighed loudly into the silence; he longed to stand up and run or fly, but he could not do either of those things right now.

Neteyam felt hate bubble up in his chest. He clenched his teeth and furrowed his brows. Neteyam hated himself and what he had become. He stared to the side directly at the clutches his father had made him. He could not use them in the sand, but anywhere else they would aid his steps.
Neteyam's left knee was not as injured as his right. Ronal believed it did not really need to be straightened to heal properly, but Jake, in his shock at the state of his son, asked her to fasten the sticks to his left leg, too.

Neteyam eyed the sticks and bandaged. Ronal estimated that his bones would need to full moon cycles to heal, especially his right knee.

Neteyam startled as someone burst into the home; Lo'ak hurried to his side and kneeled by him. He placed a hand on Neteyam's cheek, eyeing him curiously.
"Bro, I thought Tsireya was messing with me, but you really did cut your hair."

Neteyam placed his own hand over his brother's.
Lo'ak searched his gaze for answers when his brother stayed silent before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "It looks good. You're really pretty, bro."

Neteyam exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, and Lo'ak lied down next to him, covered in his own bandages. His brother placed his head on his chest and snuggled into his side, hummed a soft Omaticaya song as he fiddled with Neteyam's hair.

Neteyam was not yet ready to ask him what had happened on the battle field.