Chapter Text
The forest was restless.
Neytiri felt it beneath her feet before she heard anything. The roots beneath the soft earth seemed to carry a warning through the soles of her feet, while the leaves above whispered against one another despite the stillness of the night. Somewhere in the darkness, a small night creature gave a single frightened cry and then fell silent. Neytiri lifted her head, ears turning toward the sound. Her tail moved once behind her, low and tense.
Something was wrong.
She crouched beside the great root beneath which her family slept, one hand resting against the bark. The tree was alive beneath her palm. She could feel the faint pulse of it, ancient and patient, and for a moment she closed her eyes.
Oel ngati kameie.
The words were not spoken aloud.
They did not need to be.
Her spirit reached outward, searching for the familiar presence that had always been there, for the feeling that Eywa watched and listened and remembered. But grief had made the connection difficult. Since Neteyam’s death, every attempt to reach inward seemed to bring her back to the same place: his face, his voice, his scent, the warmth of his body in her arms before the warmth had left it.
Neytiri opened her eyes.
She hated the night.
She hated the silence.
Most of all, she hated that some part of her still listened for her son’s footsteps.
A twig snapped behind her.
Neytiri’s body changed instantly.
Her ears flattened.
Her tail stiffened.
Her hand found her bow.
She drew the string back without making a sound.
Nothing moved between the trees.
Then—
“You listen well.”
Neytiri turned.
The arrow was aimed before the stranger had finished speaking.
Varang stood beneath the trees.
She was alone.
Ash marked her skin in pale streaks, and the ornaments of the Mangkwan rested against her body with the quiet weight of things made from what their people had been forced to leave behind. Her long hair shifted with the breeze. Her ears were angled forward, attentive, but not afraid.
Neytiri’s lips pulled back slightly, revealing her teeth.
“Varang.”
The name came as a warning.
Varang’s eyes moved over her face.
“Neytiri.”
“You walk where you are not welcomed.”
Varang glanced at the arrow.
“And yet your hand does not release.”
“My hand does not need to.”
A quiet breath escaped Varang’s nose.
Not quite a laugh.
“I have heard you are a hunter.”
“I am.”
“I see.”
Her eyes moved over Neytiri’s stance.
“You carry yourself like one.”
Neytiri’s ears twitched backward.
“You come into my clan’s hunting ground to look at me?”
“I came because I wished to see you.”
“Why?”
Varang did not answer immediately.
Instead, she looked past Neytiri toward the sleeping camp. Her expression became unreadable.
“I heard your son calls from the forest.”
Neytiri froze.
The bowstring tightened beneath her fingers.
“Do not speak of him.”
Varang’s gaze returned to her.
“I did not speak his name.”
“You spoke enough.”
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Varang lowered her eyes.
“I know the sound of a dead one’s name.”
Neytiri’s anger faltered.
Only slightly.
“You?”
“My people carry many.”
The words were simple. But Neytiri understood them.
The Mangkwan had lost their home. Their sacred places. Their old way of living. Their grief had become part of their bodies, just as Neytiri’s grief had become part of hers.
Still, she did not lower her bow.
“You turned your face from Eywa.”
Varang’s ears flattened.
“And you speak as though Eywa turned Her face toward me.”
Neytiri’s eyes hardened.
“She is with all who live.”
“Then She was with us when the fire came.”
“Yes.”
“She watched.”
“Yes.”
“She heard our cries.”
Neytiri said nothing.
Varang took one slow step forward.
“She heard my people call to Her.”
Her voice remained controlled, but Neytiri could hear the wound underneath it.
“And still the mountain burned.”
Neytiri’s grip loosened by the smallest amount.
“Eywa is not the fire.”
“No.”
Varang looked toward the distant red glow beneath the mountains.
“But She is the Mother of the world the fire destroyed.”
Neytiri had no answer.
She hated that.
Varang’s gaze returned to her.
“You still believe.”
“Yes.”
“Even after your son?”
Neytiri’s chest tightened.
“Do not bring him into this.”
“He is already here.”
Neytiri stared at her.
Varang touched two fingers lightly against her own chest.
“Here.”
Then she pointed toward Neytiri.
“And here.”
Neytiri’s ears lowered.
“You know nothing of my son.”
“No.”
Varang’s voice softened.
“But I know what it is to carry the dead.”
Neytiri looked at her for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she lowered her bow.
Not because she trusted Varang.
Not because the hatred between their people had disappeared.
Only because, for the first time, she understood that the woman standing before her was not empty.
She was wounded.
There was a difference.
Varang noticed the lowered bow.
Her tail moved once behind her.
“You do not fear me.”
Neytiri’s eyes narrowed.
“I did not say that.”
Varang’s mouth curved.
“You do not need to.”
“I fear nothing about you.”
A soft clicking sound came from Varang’s tongue.
“A lie.”
Neytiri’s ears snapped forward.
“You call me a liar?”
“I call you Na’vi.”
That stopped her.
Varang stepped closer.
Not enough to threaten.
Only enough that Neytiri could hear her breathing.
“You feel too much,” Varang said. “Your ears tell it. Your tail tells it. Your eyes tell it before your mouth can hide it.”
Neytiri stared at her.
“You watch too closely.”
“It is how one survives.”
“No.”
Neytiri’s voice softened.
“It is how one hunts.”
Varang’s eyes gleamed.
“And what am I?”
Neytiri looked at her for several heartbeats.
Then she answered.
“Both.”
For the first time, Varang looked genuinely surprised.
Neytiri felt something strange move through her chest.
Not warmth.
Not yet.
Something closer to recognition.
Varang slowly stepped backward.
“I should go.”
“Yes.”
“You want me gone?”
“Yes.”
Varang’s tail flicked.
“Your mouth says yes.”
Neytiri’s eyes narrowed.
“And your eyes?”
“They say you will watch until I disappear.”
Neytiri hated how easily Varang read her.
She hated even more that Varang was right.
The Ash woman turned and began walking into the trees.
After three steps, she stopped.
Without turning, she said, “Neytiri.”
“What?”
“When next we meet, do not point your arrow at me.”
Neytiri’s ears lifted.
“Why?”
Varang looked back over her shoulder.
“Because I wish to see your face.”
Then she vanished among the trees.
Neytiri remained beneath the great roots long after Varang was gone.
Her bow hung loosely in her hand.
The forest had grown quiet again.
But now the silence felt different.
Neytiri placed her palm against the tree.
She closed her eyes.
And somewhere deep within the living network of the forest, she felt the faintest stirring.
Not an answer.
Not a warning.
Only life.
She opened her eyes and looked toward the darkness where Varang had disappeared.
“Ash woman,” she whispered.
Her tail moved slowly behind her.
She did not know why she had spoken the words.
Perhaps Eywa knew. Neytiri did not.