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Summary
"I am here. You don't have to be afraid." Her voice was raw, choked by the relentless waves of a foreign sea. Atop a desolate crag, Neytiri’s hands, once steady and lethal with a bow, now trembled as they traced the fatal wound on Neteyam’s chest, desperately trying to bleed her own warmth into a body that had long since gone cold. The war had irrevocably stolen her finest son, leaving behind only a shattered mother and a haunting, hopeless lullaby. She refused the dawn, fearing that the morning light would cruelly expose the truth that her child was truly gone. Amidst the roar of the ocean, Neytiri clung to a fragile illusion - a world where she remained the protector, rather than a warrior forced to watch the one she loved most drift away into the eternal embrace of Eywa.