a life ends.
another begins.
a son leaves.
a son returns.
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fanfiction based on the avatar world that has its roots in original characters from the rpg "the world sees us" by the same account. the story is however independent.
no character belong...
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THE RAINDROPS were beading the Na'vi's little ears, sliding against his cheeks, following the curves of his still slender blue body. A chilly wind had picked up between the jungle leaves, making him shiver a few times as he struggled to hold his bow string properly between two of his slippery fingers.
Luan stood covered under tall foliage, his feet buried in a mixture of damp soaked earth. His still short hair was styled in multiple braids arranged with colored beads and a few feathers. The braids caressed his shoulders gently as the gusts passed. His cheeks sported paint proudly, as did his chest. A white and black line ran down from his eyes to the end of his jaw on both sides of his face. Small woven bracelets from his mother's native clan were wrapped around his still weak wrists.
Luan did not yet have the makings of a typical Tipani warrior. He knew he wanted to be, but he lacked reason. He was only seven years old, he was young, overflowing with ambitions inspired by his family. They got into his head, like all young people of his age, the prodigies of hunters, the power of warriors and the glory of Toruk Makto.
It was with these Na'vi ideologies of well-built stature and legendary deeds that Luan sought to impress someone the older he got. His mother, this unhappy huntress, alternating between coursing and the sadness of her life. The young male was aware, despite his age, of having been a disappointment for his mother from birth. Luan, wasn't it obvious? The one who lost. Anyone, from the youngest to the oldest, from the stupidest to the wisest, could have understood this.
Luan had lost the opportunity to bring hope back to Txur'ite's life. But he didn't. That story ended before he even said his first word.
So then he was standing there, in that lush jungle, trying the best he could to teach himself to hunt. Maybe he would make his mother proud. He applied what his memory had retained from the hunter training he had been able to see from afar during his stealth outings. Being left-handed, he held the bow with his right hand. Luan applied tension to the rope, balancing the forces via his grip on the handle. His stomach sank, his posture straightened. His ears had drooped in concentration, and his yellow feline eyes shone in Pandora's afternoon mist and rain.
The precipitation grew stronger, beating harder against the petals of the plants and the trunks of the trees. The wind that had been whistling before was gone, and the braided hair of the son of the Olo'eyktan remained stiff, water soaking through it. The rain streamed down his back, sending shivers down his neck, stiffening slightly. Luan was Na'vi, certainly, but his composition was weaker than those adults.
As the small dots adorning his face glowed faintly in the gray darkness of the wilds, his thin, slender tail beat rapidly in the air, striking a few leaves as it passed. The elements of nature seemed against him, thunder hitting the sky, suddenly making his hands sweatier than they were. His nervousness grew, but he kept his feet firmly planted on the ground, determined to succeed.
