OC x Neteyam story
"Oel ngati kameie, ma Tarya."
"Oel ngati kameie, ma Neteyam."
*
"If you fight, you don't fight alone. Nìsoaia."
"Nìsoaia, Tarya. T...
"I can't know what you're feeling. But I will help you get through it. Nìsoaia."
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HIGH CAMP: HALLELUJAH MOUNTAINS SUNRISE
Exhaustion is a powerful enemy, or friend. For Neteyam, he was unsure as to which it was, but at the same time, he was grateful for the rest and rehabilitation he was able to endure for the next few hours.
From the minute his eyes shut off from the world, he was thrown into a deep slumber of dreamless rest. Fatigue had been weighing on him since his father found him on the floor, bruised and scathed, and his body was now silently thanking him for the shut eye he was experiencing.
An hour or so was what he had aimed to achieve, hoping to wake up every so often to check on Tarya, but his body had other plans. And that involved an uninterrupted sleep until sunrise.
And it was beautiful.
The sun rose upon a sleepy Pandora, with no knowledge of the pain and misery that many of the Na'vi had experienced just hours ago. Instead, it brought a new day, a fresh start.
An orange glow spreads across the mountains, encasing the camp in a pool of golden warmth. It awakens the Ikran, who begin to stretch their wings and chitter to one another, awaiting their morning check ups and breakfast before they descend into the mountains below for the rest of the day.
With the sun came life; the chatter of animals in the cave dwellings, screeches of wild Ikran and other flying animals in the air, and slowly, the unmistakable talk of the Na'vi.
As the camp began to come to life, sounds of daily jobs filled the air; the whir of machinery from the human labs, and their avatars slowly awakening in their restricted access tents, and Omatikaya warriors readying to head out to survey the air and ground space.
It's the bubble of life that slowly wakes Neteyam from his slumber, the young man groaning at the stiffness of his limbs from the awkward position he had fallen asleep in.
He could feel it in his neck, with the way his head has dropped onto his shoulder when he had fallen asleep, and in his legs, where he had sat cross legged for hours.
His back was the only thing not hurting, surprisingly. His gashes were now simple cuts along his shoulder blades and spine, and the sting was present no more. They just felt bruised.
The Tsahik was as such for a reason; she was incredible at her craft.
The boy stretches out his legs and his neck, groaning in protest at the aches he endures. He licks his lips, the dryness of his mouth not helping the cracks on his skin.
