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✠ ┏━━━━━━━━
✩°̥࿐୨୧
The Metkayina people has always held their warriors in the highest regard, those who had ventured beyond the reef on a mission known only to the leaders who had sent them, their bravery woven into the very fabric of their existence. Protecting their homeland was an honor, a duty carried with quiet pride. All the chosen left in the silence of the night, and returned in silence. The rest of the village would offer whispered prayers to Eywa, casting their hopes into the sea like offerings to the great mother.
A new dawn broke over the horizon, casting golden ribbons across the endless sea, the shoreline trembled with anticipation. Through the unsteady heartbeats came the long-awaited return of the warriors, tall figures merged from the mist, gliding across the shallows, their forms hardened by exhaustion, their expressions heavier than the tide.
The fortunates stood in formation, though their bodies bore the whispers of battle scars freshly painted, bruises darkening like storm clouds against their skin. And sad to say, the less fortunate had to be carried, their weight cradled by the arms of their brothers and sisters, their breaths labored, wounds weeping salt and blood.
A sharp cry broke through the air, the wail of a mother spotting her child among the fallen. Another, a mate desperate to reach the man who had left her and children side moons ago. But the guards purposefully held them back, their duty firm, their hearts aching in quiet sympathy. Routinely and swiftly, the village healers moved, hands already stained with the work that awaited, as attendants ushered the wounded toward the care huts where the scent of herbs mixed with the briny sea breeze.
Some warriors would heal. Others would not.
Such was the way of things.
The ones who remained standing did not speak. They never did, not until it was time. Pain, triumph, and grief...these things were held close, buried deep within the marrow of their being. Among the Metkayina, such warriors were not greeted with celebration other than within the heart, nor were they overwhelmed with questions.
Only the leaders, would approach when the time was right. They would listen, weighing each word carefully, seeking the truth beneath what was spoken. Only they would know the full cost of what had been lost, and what had been won.
For now, the village could only watch, could only wonder what these warriors had seen beyond the horizon. The tide whispered its secrets to the shore, but the warriors—silent as the deep—kept their own.
"Everyone, the answers you seek will come in their proper tide," Ronal stepped out of the hut in a calm manner. "Until then, the village will carry on as it always has. Return to your duties. Trust that what must be shared, will be."
