Way of Life

T W E L V E

♪ Healing Ceremony
by James Horner ♪
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Chapter Twelve:
The Awakening

The morning sun filtered softly through the canopy of the trees, casting dappled patterns of light on Ma’vona’s face, making her skin shimmer in the soft golden glow. Her face, usually full of fire and determination, now looked peaceful, though every so often, her brow furrowed, as if she were trapped in some troubling dream. I sat beside her, watching as the gentle rise and fall of her chest reassured me that she was still with us. But even in sleep, she did not seem at ease. 

The Tsahìk, Anufi, worked quietly beside us, her hands deftly mixing herbs and pastes. I could tell from the tightness in her jaw, the subtle tension in her movements, that she didn’t want to be here—didn’t want to be tending to Ma’vona. Yet, bound by her duties as Tsahìk, she was forced to do so. Her fingers moved methodically as she spread the paste across Ma'vona’s wounds, careful but brisk, as though fulfilling an obligation rather than offering healing.

I couldn’t help but feel a quiet anger stir in me, seeing how she treated Ma'vona as if she were an outsider, even though Ma'vona was one of them, a daughter of their clan. But I knew better than to speak. Anufi was their spiritual leader, after all, and her authority here was absolute. Still, it pained me to see the lack of warmth or care in her eyes.

As I knelt beside Ma'vona, my hand gently brushed against her hair. It was damp with sweat, clinging in soft curls against her forehead. My fingers weaved through the strands, hoping to bring her some comfort, though I knew the real comfort she needed was beyond my reach. Her eyebrows would twitch from time to time. Her injuries weren’t life-threatening, but seeing her like this, vulnerable and still, filled me with a dread I couldn’t shake. 

She was strong—stronger than most people I knew—and yet here she lay, fragile and pale in the morning light. I had seen her fight. Fight for herself. I had witnessed her bravery in the face of overwhelming odds.

My own body ached from the fight the night before. Bruises and cuts covered my skin, a dull reminder of the chaos we had barely escaped. The memory of the gunship's roar, the explosions tearing through the jungle, the panic as we fought to protect Sayura—it all weighed heavily on me. But none of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was Ma'vona. Her safety. Her healing.

I watched as Anufi leaned over Ma'vona, her hands moving with a practised grace, applying salves and herbs to Ma'vona’s wounds. The light inside the hut was dim, casting long shadows on the walls. Outside, the day was bright, but here, it felt like we were suspended between the past and present, between the battle we had just survived and the uncertain future that awaited us.

I sat just inside the entrance, close enough to feel the cool breeze from the floating mountains, but my attention was solely on Ma'vona. Anufi’s quiet murmurs filled the space as she finished her work, her fingers tracing symbols onto Ma'vona’s skin. A spiritual ritual, one meant to call back strength and balance to a body so drained from battle.