📎 𝐋𝐎'𝐀𝐊 ─ 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒.

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙖𝙢𝙪𝙮𝙖.

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How many days has it been since they've arrived? Lo'ak struggles to remember.

He does not remember the recent sight of the gorgeously turquoise waves of the vast ocean, sometimes impatient and vicious like a tempestuous wind, yet sometimes calm and gentle like a lullaby. He does not remember the contrast between the stingingly hot sand and the naked, moistened sand covering his feet, coating the gaps between his toes. He does not remember dinner last night or lunch this afternoon. Was he even present?

Lo'ak only ever recalls the old feeling of being suffocated by the diversities of flora everywhere around him. The thrill of riding his Ikran, soaring above the Hallelujah mountains and feeling invincible. He might just even touch the sky. He recalls the taste of the tinglingly cold water that spilled abundantly from indigo-colored leaves and the buds and blossoms that ornamented the most ancient tree. He dreams of the place he used to and was able to truly call home.

All thoughts vanished in an instant as Ronal glanced over, a faint glint of annoyance hidden amongst the glossy hue of her emerald eyes. He never understood, or wanted to understand the way her eyes would wander, sometimes seemingly devoid of any emotion at all and sometimes burned with a silent, yet fiery rage.

"Were you listening at all, forest boy?" Her harsh voice didn't resemble the way his father spoke to him sometimes: booming and thunderous, yet it still sent uncomfortable chills down his very spine.

"This. This is one of the many herbs in all of Awa'atlu and the villages beyond, but touch its thorns once and you will surely die." She warned.

He had almost forgotten they were in the middle of a brief tour that introduced Awa'atlu's flora and fauna. Ronal was giving strict instructions on the methods of collecting the abundant herbs and plants the Metkayina used for their immense amount of medicine and remedies. 

There were countless varieties of it splayed across a part of the village, he wasn't sure if it was actually countless or he simply just wasn't counting at all. Some were memorable, some were forgettable. Scratch that, most, if not all, were forgettable. He couldn't even recall the name of the flower that almost bit his finger off.

The boy was distracted, alright. After the unforgivable menace Neteyam had been by teasing his little baby brother, Lo'ak refrained from stealing glances and looking directly in a particular girl's way. Her deep aqua-colored skin with hints of teal decorating her form and her eyes, a complete divergence of her mother's. Her eyes speak. It moves like the strongest waves and runs like the breeze of the sea. It seemed to converse in so much emotion: joy, adoration, and euphoria. He was clearly, as bright as the Pandorian stars, infatuated with Tsireya.

"Guys, look at this!" The simplicity of being able to recognize the bubbly and merry-hearted voice of Tuk's anywhere left a slight smile adorning his lips. Watching Tuk point towards a peculiar flower, the boy inched closer inspecting the unusual blossom. The rest of the siblings did the same, as Tsireya only chuckled at their awe-stricken expressions, the unfamiliar strangeness of the plant did lead the scattered attention of the crowd towards a heated conversation on what it really is.

"This is a Pamuya flower," Ronal interjected. Her hands delicately grazed over the center of the flora and cautiously picked up what seems to be the resemblance of the most exquisite pearl, coated in the prettiest mix of pale pink and silver. "And this is the heart of Pamuya. Pamuya means 'water moon.' It grows only directly under the rays of the most dazzling, luscious moonlight."

"Pamuya. Pamuya. Pamuya." He whispered under his breath.

And something within Lo'ak seemed to click abruptly.

The dreams of her.