lomtu → neteyam sully [2]

vol

→ 008; 010; mo'at

but neteyam was drunk on his feelings; drunk on the way kyati looked at him and the way her lips felt; drunk on adrenaline. he smiled and brought his lips down to hers.

they discussed a plan that they would execute in two nights' time. it was a gamble; for as much as neteyam's grandmother mo'at loved him, she was still the tsahik of her people. when they would tell her they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with souls bound, she would either see to it that they would do exactly that, or she would reveal their relationship to their respective parents.

it seemed as if everything was on the line—a very thin, fragile line. the possibility of an outburst of chaos and ruination (at least, that's what it would feel like) could be triggered by a shallow breath; by the weight of a single hair; by a deviant beat of the heart.

⏜⏝⏜⏝

in the tsahik's tent, the new-morning light barely managing to dent the darkness of it, mo'at blinked her large, golden eyes. even on a good day, neteyam could scarcely gauge the thoughts of his grandmother. and today, she seemed to be actually trying to hide any tell in the lines of her aged face. unnervingly, she leaned her head backwards and regarded neteyam. scrutinised him brutally.

"do you understand, neteyam," she said carefully, "that in order to do something like this, i must speak to the tsahik of the sopyu?" the boy's stomach churned. something akin to nervousness flushed underneath his blue skin. still, he impelled the hard expression on his face to remain. he would not back down, and his grandmother would know it. in the end, she sighed; placed one of her four-fingered hands onto his shoulder and remarked, "you have grown into an admirable young tutan." she seemed impossibly old, then, peering down at his youthful face with her own wise and weathered one. "i cannot promise you anything."

neteyam's eyes brightened, betraying his heart. "you will try?"

"i shall try," mo'at confirmed, blinking slowly. in the thrill of it all, the boy flung his arms around the tsahik, whispering his thanks over and over until it settled like a handful of tskxevi thrown into water.

"irayo, irayo, irayo!"

translations

tsahik = matriarch, high priestess, interpreter

tutan = man

tskxevi = pebble, stone polished smooth by natural forces

irayo = thank you