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Spider had always been different from the other humans.
Ever since Mo'at had first met the boy, who stood between Kiri and Lo'ak, clutching both of their hands in his much smaller ones with a shy smile on his face behind the clear glass of his mask, she had known this to be true. Even before the boy began to learn the ways of the People, before he traded his human clothing for something far more Na'vi, he had not been like the other sky people.
The scientists, even those with Dreamwalkers, forever had a lingering clumsiness when navigating Eywa'eveng. They lacked the balance and stamina needed to run along the large, winding branches that served as the forests' pathways, and they hadn't the strength required to climb the trees and vines that acted as ladders for the Na'vi. They could not look at the life around them and see it as the People did; they respected it all, were in awe of it, yes...but they did not See it as the Na'vi did, did not feel it in their very hearts.
Furthermore, there was something about their spirits that felt...lacking. It did not make them any less of a people, nor did it mean they were not treasured friends and allies, but they always simply felt so...separate. Wooden beads amongst stone.
Except for Spider.
From the moment she had seen him run alongside her grandchildren, playing among the roots of the great and mighty trees, sneaking tastes of nectar from forest hives that clung to little fingers in a sticky mess and relishing in the abundance of all their home had to offer, he had not felt human. No, Mo'at couldn't see him as anything but a Na'vi spirit trapped within a human shell.
The boy could feel Eywa'eveng in his bones.
(Just how could a spirit so bright and so grand fit inside such a small body? How did it not spill like water from such a delicate frame?)
She felt pity for the child. Despite how desperate he was to be one of the People, to live as they did and be accepted, he could never truly experience tsaheylu, would never be seen beyond his pale skin and small stature. The boy, kind and loyal, deserved better.
Over the years, Mo'at did not interact much with the boy. He would accompany her grandchildren when they visited her, and on occasion Mo'at would see him wandering the village, but otherwise she saw very little of him. It was for the best, she supposed; considering how displeased Neytiri was whenever Spider spent time with her children, if Mo'at were to attempt to speak more often with him, then her daughter was likely to have a fit, and her rage would find Spider as its sole target.
But still...If she happened to ensure Spider had a serving of whatever food she had on hand when he visited alongside Kiri or one of her other grandchildren, then that was just being a gracious host, now wasn't it?
It had been Jake who decided to take Neytiri and their children and leave. After what had happened in the forest, where the kids and Spider had just barely escaped capture, Jake had thought it best to draw the RDA away from the Omaticaya, acting as bait to lure the humans away before disappearing to stay with another tribe. Considering that the monster Quaritch, somehow returned to a physical form, had been among them it had seemed a wise choice; the man no doubt held a deep grudge towards Jake and Neytiri, and would hunt them now that he had caught their scent. Having to bid farewell to her daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren had been beyond painful, even knowing that they would be safe and alive, simply far from home.
Everyone else among the Omaticaya had felt saddened by their departure as well, but only young Spider was as devastated as she. Even Neytiri, who lacked any fondness for the boy, hadn't the heart to stop her youngest three from hugging their human friend tightly in farewell, the four children all crying. Even Neteyam, despite the ever growing distance that had formed between him and the human boy, looked pained at having to bid him goodbye.
In the days after their departure, Mo'at had not seen much of Spider in High Camp. The boy had been shaken by the return of his blood father, more so than most even, so Mo'at supposed he was perhaps taking time to himself. Time to try and understand and adjust.
Some of the clan feared the boy may run to his father, might gladly give up their location in return for the false Na'vi's attention and affections, but Mo'at held no such worry. In the past, during sparse moments where the subject of Quaritch arose, Spider would only ever show disdain. The man was a father to him in name only, and he had made that exceedingly clear.
So it made sense then, that Mo'at had not seen him in High Camp. He deserved the chance to come to terms with the return on the monster, just as they all did.
(But just because she had not seen the boy in the village, did not mean he was not there.)
The first basket of medicinal plants had been left just outside the entryway of her tent three days after the departure of the Sullis.
The basket was one of the spares kept lying around for any who may need it to assist them in their work, small and worn but sturdy. The flora were, to a one, all useful for her usual work as a healer; paywll from the river banks below High Camp, Eanfwopx blooms that still carried most of their spores, even stalks of Tstxa'a, and each was in perfect condition, evidence that whoever had gathered them had done so carefully as to not risk damaging them in any way that may impact their potency.
It was a kind gift, one Mo'at supposed came from one of the other healers in the clan in an attempt to lift her low spirits in the wake of her family's departure. She thought no more of it, and spent much of the day making use of the ingredients, distracting herself from her sorrow with her work. She'd thought it a one time occurrence.
She found the second basket two days later. The third basket, two days after that.
It was soon routine to receive a basket of medicinal ingredients every couple of days. Never more than she could make use of, whoever kept supplying them knew not to take more than was warranted from the forest. She never saw who left the plants for her, and when she left the empty basket outside her tent, it always disappeared by the next morning without Mo'at ever seeing anyone retrieve it.
(She did suspect though, for Mo'at was many things, but never a fool).
Interestingly, one of the herbs in particular that she continued to receive was a type of root that was often hard to gather, due to growing in the small nooks and crannies of the Ayram Alusing, places too small for a grown Na'vi to fit into. However, for a human…
And there was only one human who could navigate the steep climb of the mountains without aid or use of a Dreamwalker's body.
Spider.
But why would the boy, who Mo'at had barely spent any time with in all the years he'd been running about with her grandchildren, do something so time and effort consuming for her sake? The human was kind, yes, so one gift was understandable, but the following baskets?
She doubted it was out of pity– he understood the feeling of loss that still plagued her even after a month of her family's absence. Empathy seemed far more likely a reason, though it surprised Mo'at that one so young as Spider could focus on anyone else past his own grief and frustration. That was a skill many full-grown men and women struggled with, let alone a child Spider's age.
(But that was Spider, wasn't it? Always, always surprising everyone in the most unexpected ways).
But why did he not say anything? Why would he deliver these gifts in secret? Did he think Mo'at would be angered, think of him as insolent?
Although, considering how most of the clan reacted in Spider's presence...perhaps that wasn't so far-fetched a thought, at least for him. But Mo'at had never seen the boy as evil or corrupt for the actions of his father, even with the monster's return, as the others in the clan were wont to do. She did not see him as a stray pet that got underfoot, or as a pest with no place on Eywa'eveng. She had never treated him as such during their few interactions, she thought...Yet, perhaps not, if Spider seemed to believe he had to deliver the plants he'd gathered for her in secret.
Perhaps if Mo'at saw the young human as even slightly more irritating, or had watched him a little less over the years, she wouldn't care so much about what Spider was doing with his time. He always did try to help out around High Camp, after all– she might've been able to dismiss it as something similar to that.
But now? Now she was intrigued.
It was early in the morning, before most others were even awake, that Mo'at finally caught Spider leaving his now usual gift outside her tent.
The Tsahik would never admit it, but she'd been waiting just inside the entryway of her home, listening intently for the little human's footsteps. Spider was capable of being impressively quiet when he put his mind to it, and keenly aware of his surroundings as well (useful skills for any taronyu, even such a small and odd one as Spider), and so lying in wait had been Mo'at's only true option to catch him in the act.
The sound of a basket being set down with a scrape of reed against stone alerted Mo'at to the boy leaving the usual ingredients outside and she stood, abandoning the weaving she'd idly been working on and crossing to the entryway as she heard soft footfalls start to retreat. Peering out, Mo'at's gaze immediately found Spider's retreating back.
The blue markings the boy so diligently painted on his skin looked faded and lackluster, reminding Mo'at of the pale hue of a Na'vi who had fallen ill. His hair was slightly matted and tangled, as if he hadn't been taking proper care of it, and there was a curve to his shoulders that had never been there before. Mo'at took in these details in an instant, and made her decision.
"Spider."
The boy nearly jumped out of his skin, so startled was he when Mo'at called out to him. The Tsahik actually felt somewhat bad for giving him such a fright, but she did not apologize, waiting patiently as Spider came to a halt, hesitating before turning to face her.
The human looked apprehensive– tense even, as if bracing himself to be berated for some nebulous reason. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, then he brought a hand to his brow.
"O-Oel ngati kameie, Tsahik." Spider greeted quietly, eyes darting around, looking anywhere but at Mo'at's own amber gaze. He was acting like a child caught trying to sneak a Yovo fruit behind their parents' backs, rather than someone leaving a kind gift.
(A child should never look so frightened for trying to be kind to another, not even a human child-)
Mo'at gestured for the boy to approach, eyes never leaving his hunched form.
"Come closer, boy." She ordered softly when the human made no move to do so, and Spider jumped slightly, stumbling over his own feet with how quickly he tried to comply. Mo'at waited until he was near to speak once more, tilting her chin towards the basket by her tent.
"You have been the one leaving the plants for me these past weeks, haven't you?" She asked, careful to keep her voice even and unaccusing. Despite her best efforts to appear unintimidating, Spider still winced, his own eyes falling to the offered gift. Slowly, his head dipped in a nod.
"Yes, Tsahik."
The boy froze when the shuffling of footsteps came near. One of the clan's younger weavers came around the corner and passed by, eyeing Spider as they did so. Judging by the hunch of his shoulders and distinctly uncomfortable look on his face, Spider was more than aware of the appraisal.
Deciding that conducting a conversation out in the open wouldn't be productive, Mo'at gestured to the basket beside their feet.
"Bring these inside. We will speak."
Spider looked briefly crestfallen (he had likely hoped to be allowed to leave without further interaction), but he quickly hid it behind a placid expression, bowing his head respectfully as he crouched down to gather the basket.
"As you say, Tsahik."
Mo'at turned, not even looking back to ensure that the boy was following her as she went to the cold and empty firepit to start a fire. She could hear Spider shuffling around behind her, slow and uncertain. Mo'at waved a hand off to the side, where she kept some of her belongings.
"Leave the basket there, then come sit." She ordered quietly, satisfied when she heard Spider murmur in agreement.
(Respectful. Always, always so respectful. The boy always joked and lightly teased his friends, but Mo'at couldn't remember a time he was ever anything less than perfectly respectful towards an adult. Even when they glared at him, when they spat hateful words-)
It was easy to spark a small flame, and Mo'at stoked it patiently as she waited for the boy to join her by the growing fire. As she did so, she considered what it was, exactly, that she was seeking to do here. It had been more instinct than wisdom that had driven her to call out to the boy; it was a lapse in forethought she rarely experienced, but she would not doubt herself now. Instinct was rarely wrong, when it was so fine-tuned as her own.
Spider dropped down to sit beside the fire pit, though he kept a careful couple of feet of distance between them. His head was bowed slightly, showing proper reverence to Mo'at and her position, but his dark eyes inspected her with wary curiosity. Mo'at did not address him right away, instead taking the time permitted to her to organize her thoughts. She had many questions, yes, but some were more important than others, and some would surely discomfort the boy, so she needed to navigate this carefully. He was already acting a bit like a skittish pa'li as it was.
"You have been the one bringing me these gifts." She reiterated, this time wording it as a statement rather than a question, deciding it was the best place to start. Spider nodded, averting his gaze when the Tsahik finally finished with the fire and turned to him.
"Yes ma'am."
He was so young, Mo'at mused, as she stared down at the boy. Just as her grandchildren were. Just as Neytiri had once been. It hurt her heart, for some reason, to think of this.
"Why?"
Short and straight to the point, there was no way to misinterpret the question. Spider's small shoulders lifted in a shrug– a gesture Mo'at was far too familiar with thanks to her grandchildren.
"I...I thought you could use them? I know Kiri used to sometimes bring things she'd gathered for you..."
Mo'at nodded shortly. He wasn't wrong, Kiri had many times brought back useful plants from her adventures out in the forest. Oftentimes, it was her way of having an excuse to check in on her, which had always both warmed Mo'at's heart and slightly annoyed her; she was not yet old enough to require any sort of extra assistance, after all.
"Then Kiri asked you to continue in her stead? To keep watch over me?"
Spider jolted a bit, looking alarmed and violently shaking his head, blonde dreadlocks whipping about wildly.
"What? No! She didn't ask me to do anything! This isn't about her! I just-!"
Mo'at watched Spider, head tilted curiously as the boy faltered. The little human looked away, cheeks flushing slightly in what Mo'at had learned could mean any number of things, but in this case was likely due to embarrassment of some sort. With a sigh, Spider stared down at his fingers, which nervously fidgeted about together.
"I can tell you miss them. I do too, and I know how much it hurts." One of his pale hands lifted to rest over his heart, clarifying just where he so keenly felt such pain. Yes, Mo'at mused, the loss of her family did indeed pain her. Very much so. "I just...I wanted to try and make the pain a little more bearable. I know some baskets full of ingredients for your medicines won't actually make things better, but Kiri always said you were happy when she made your work as Tsahik a little easier, and I can at least tell one plant from another, so...I thought why not? Things hurt a little less when you can find a way to feel happy, at least for a bit."
For a long moment, Mo'at could only stare at the curious little being before her, eyes darting across his face as she searched for any sign of a lie, only to find none. Spider was being honest, painfully so considering how red his cheeks had turned. Mo'at did not understand why he was so embarrassed, not when his actions were not just kind, but outright compassionate. There was no shame to be found in such actions, and yet Spider seemed to think differently.
"You are ashamed. Why?"
Spider looked comically bewildered for a split second, followed by comprehension and understanding before he shook his head again, eyes darting away again.
"Not ashamed. Just...kind of embarrassed I was caught." He admitted with a self-depreciating smile. Mo'at raised a brow at him before standing, going to rummage through the cooking ingredients she had on hand for something suitable to eat. She trusted Spider to not attempt to sneak away while her back was turned, and this trust was not misplaced as she didn't hear him try to stand.
"I do not understand." The Tsahik admitted, gathering up her chosen ingredients and a huru before returning to the fire. "You did not wish for me to learn that you were the one leaving gifts for me. But the gesture was kind, surely you did not fear censure?"
Spider squirmed a bit, looking distinctly uncomfortable, but unwilling to be rude to the clan Tsahik. He'd been taught better than that, knew the proper respect that was due to someone of Mo'at's standing.
(Who had taught him that, come to think of it? Had it been Jake? Neteyam? There were few Mo'at could think of that would be willing to teach Spider such things).
"I wasn't sure if you'd accept them, if you knew it was me." He explained, voice barely more than a murmur, as if afraid to be heard. "I've never been sure about how you feel about me. Others in the clan, I don't have a hard time reading them, they're pretty clear on how they dislike me. You though? I've never been able to tell whether or not you don't like me."
Mo'at nodded in understanding as she set about chopping up the sparse few ingredients she'd grabbed to toss into the huru that now sat above the cookfire. It was true that she was not one for expressing what she felt most times, she found her work often benefited from keeping a stoic demeanor and calm, placid expression. She had "a mean poker face", Jake had once said, though to this day Mo'at still didn't quite understand the meaning behind his words. It therefore made sense that Spider had been unable to place whether or not his presence was welcome to her– people twice his age had trouble reading her sometimes.
"I apologize that I never made clear my view of you." Mo'at offered, not lifting her gaze from the yerik meat she was carving into small pieces. From the corner of her eye, she saw Spider shrug.
"You don't have to apologize. It's not a big deal."
Mo'at cut a stern glance his way, making the boy shrink away. His dismissal cut off, Mo'at returned to preparing their meal.
"I forget at times that words are needed far more than actions, especially when it comes to children." Spider began to bristle, as all his age did when referred to as a child, but Mo'at continued before he could protest. "Irayo si, Spider. Your gifts are most welcome."
The boy only nodded, but a shy smile showed he was secretly pleased. Mo'at carefully dumped the yerik meat and various roots and herbs she had prepared into the huru above the fire, then turned to fully face Spider.
There were deep shadows beneath his eyes, showing he had not been getting any true rest in quite awhile. While the markings on his back had faded with time, the blue paint on his front and sides was decently fresh– he no longer had someone to help apply the paint to his back, Mo'at realized. The fading was not caused by laziness, or because the boy had given up on his attempts to appear more like the Na'vi, but rather because he had no choice in the matter.
Amber eyes falling to pale hands, Mo'at took in the chipped nails and dirt that was ground into each line and crease of his palms. His fingertips were stained dark, no doubt from the time he'd spent digging for some of the herbs he'd retrieved for her. The plants he'd brought today, he must've been out before eclipse had even ended when he'd retrieved them...
Mo'at gestured to a rag carelessly tossed over by her healing supplies, one kept on hand for when her hands were dirtied as she prepared different medicines and tinctures.
"Clean your hands, boy. If you have that tubing with you, that ca-nu-la," She sounded out the word carefully, but was certain she still hadn't said it correctly. "You'd best prepare it. The food will not take long to cook."
Spider looked alarmed, though he automatically went to grab the cloth.
"You want me to stay? And have a meal with you?"
Mo'at raised a brow, amusement making the corners of her lips twitch against her will.
"I thought that would be obvious."
Spider's cheeks went red again, but he didn't protest or say any other silly sort of thing, simply dropping back down to sit by Mo'at as he scrubbed at his hands with the rag, staining the faded fabric with streaks of brown and grey.
For a few minutes they sat in a companionable silence, Mo'at stirring the medley that was cooking over the fire, and Spider steadfastly focusing on rubbing away all the dirt he could from his palms. The boy was quiet in the absence of his usual companions to speak with, and Mo'at wondered if perhaps he was quiet by nature and it was merely her grandchildren that brought out his more social side, or if he was a sociable sort and was only so quiet from a lack of conversational partners.
Spider folded the rag carefully, as if it were one of the clan's finest weavings, then reached for one of the larger pouches on his belt and pulled out a short length of tubing. Mo'at watched from the corner of her eye as he unwound the tubing from the tight coil it had been in and fiddled with his exopack for a moment. The boy was well-versed in switching his breathing apparatus, and he took a deep breath before pulling off the mask and yanking the cord that connected it to the battery. He tucked the mask in his lap, careful to not do anything that may scratch or damage it, and connected the cannula to the pack on his hip with one hand while he tucked it into his nose and over his ears with the other.
When the teen looked up to her, Mo'at pointed at a small collection of dishes in the corner.
"Two bowls." She instructed shortly.
As Spider grabbed the indicated dishes, Mo'at eyed the discarded mask.
It was so small. It could easily fit in the palm of her hand, nearly in the palm of a Na'vi child's hand. The human it belonged to was so very small as well, and yet his spirit...
Even most among the People would be hard pressed to match the sheer enormity of it. The boy's spirit was a bonfire, lit and sustained by an equally fierce heart. How it was missed by the rest of her clan, Mo'at would never know.
(But hadn't she been turning a blind eye to it as well? Hadn't she dismissed him, aside from brief thoughts of pity?)
Spider hesitantly held out the retrieved dishes, which Mo'at accepted with a bow of her head in thanks. As the boy settled back down at her side, Mo'at portioned out the modest meal.
A faint rumble made the woman pause, and she glanced at Spider. The poor boy looked mortified, and Mo'at realized the sound had belonged to the small human's stomach. Evidently, he was rather hungry.
"I-I...uh..." Spider stumbled over his words, trying to find something to say as his features grew progressively more red. It was...endearing.
Gaze softening, Mo'at offered a bowl to the boy, bringing an end to his stammering.
"Eat. It is clear you neglected to do so before going out gathering."
The young man winced, averting his gaze as he gingerly took the proffered food. The bowl, crafted for Na'vi use, dwarfed Spider's hands almost comically and made them look deceivingly delicate.
Silence fell between them as they ate, and while Spider looked rather embarrassed now, it was not uncomfortable. The meal, while simple, was filling and Spider ate with the same enthusiasm and gusto of any Na'vi child. Her own grandchildren often did the same, as had her own daughters long ago. Apparently, no matter the species, a child would always wolf down food with a great deal of energy and zeal.
Spider quickly finished the bowl, and Mo'at caught the longing glance he sent towards what remained in the huru. It was clear he wanted more, but was too hesitant to ask anything of the clan Tsahik, unwilling to appear greedy or some other foolishness. Mo'at decided to show the poor boy mercy and, rather than wait for him to ask, she set aside her own bowl and took Spider's from his hands, carefully scraping the last of the food from the huru into the bowl.
"Eat." She ordered once more, careful to keep her tone calm and non judgemental as she pressed the bowl back into Spider's hands. "You need more meat on your bones."
It was flimsy, as far as excuses went, but it spared Spider from any thoughts of being a burden, so it worked well enough. Spider didn't question her, bowing his head instead in gratitude.
"Thank you, Tsahik."
As the boy ate on, Mo'at considered what came next. Once done eating, Spider would surely make his excuses and leave, but...
Mo'at found she didn't want him to leave, not just yet. Perhaps she was growing soft in her old age, but she found that the persistent ache in her chest, the one that had sprouted like a seed in her heart the day her family had left the clan, was eased in the presence of this young human. Like balm on a wound, or water on smouldering embers.
Mo'at's eyes fell on the blue paint decorating Spider's skin, how the markings were more dull the closer they were to his back, and she was struck with an idea.
"Your markings are fading." Mo'at informed, setting aside her own empty bowl. "Finish eating, and then I will assist you in reapplying the paint."
Spider snapped up straight, eyes widening in alarm. He looked so comically shocked that it was a struggle for Mo'at not to smile.
"Wh-what?" He blurted, nearly dropping his food. "No! No, that isn't necessary ma'am, you have so much work to do already-!"
"It is decided." Mo'at interrupted firmly, tone leaving no room or argument. Unable to resist the urge to tease the boy a bit, she added, "You wouldn't argue with the clan Tsahik, would you?"
Spider jolted, frantically shaking his head in denial with a horrified expression.
"N-no! Never! I would never!"
Mo'at couldn't hold back the low, soft chuckle that left her lips, and Spider turned red once more, pouting slightly. It only served to make Mo'at laugh even more. It was awfully entertaining, flustering this child so.
As Spider mulishly finished eating, Mo'at went about searching for some of the same berries that she knew Spider used to create the paint he dyed his skin with. They were fairly common among the Omaticaya, and regularly eaten so it wasn't all too hard to find some she had stored away. As she crushed the berries and mixed the paint, Mo'at could feel Spider's eyes on her back, watching her every move with wary curiosity. Mo'at did not bring any notice to his staring, simply preparing what was needed.
When she returned to Spider, his bowl sat beside his knee, all but licked clean. Well, at least it seemed he had enjoyed her cooking, Mo'at mused. Nudging the boy with her foot, the Tsahik nodded towards an empty place away from the cookfire.
"It will be best if we have room to work. I am not near so small as you." She explained shortly.
Spider nodded hesitantly, rolling up onto the balls of his feet to do as told. He moved with the grace of a taronyu; each movement made with purpose, no energy wasted. The dedication that Spider had placed into his training was plain to see, and made all the more impressive when one considered that Spider had learned almost purely through observation.
(For how else could he learn, when so very few would even look his way, let alone teach him the ways of the clan? Mo'at's grandchildren could only teach him so much, after all).
As the two of them settled down, Mo'at inspected the marks spread across the boy's skin. Most were clearly painted by Kiri's hands– the Tsahik could see the girl's inspiration in the curl of the markings around the back of Spider's ribs and the curve of his spine. It was clear that Kiri had put much thought and care into them, each one painted with a steady hand, and each twist unique and planned. Mo'at would honor this dedication and reapply the paint just as her granddaughter had intended for it to lay, rather than deviate with any new lines.
Mo'at set the bowl down beside Spider's knee, where they both could reach it; and while Spider seemed wary, he did turn to show her his back, letting her start on the markings there while he started on the ones on his front. The paint was thin but clung well and didn't drip, and it stood out against the small human's skin, vivid blue carving rivers and streams across pale valleys and the pink ridges of scars. Beneath Mo'at's fingers, she could feel the boy's each breath, steady and deep. Something about it all was so very...soothing.
For a time, no words were said, for none were needed in moments like this, and touch could say many things. Mo'at's hands, gentle as they applied the paint, told Spider that she did not loathe him, and cared enough not to cause him discomfort. The fact she touched him at all communicated, clear as crystal, that she held no disgust towards his human form.
And Spider, clever little boy that he was, could read these silent words and he slowly began to relax. The tension in his spine eased, and the prominence of the tight muscles in his arms began to fade. Once Mo'at had determined he was not about to bolt any time soon, she finally broke the silence.
"Your gifts are welcome here, taronyutsyip." She informed the boy, long fingers sweeping along the back of a broad shoulder. "But I refuse to be ungracious any longer- do not interrupt." She lightly knocked a knuckle against the back of Spider's head when he drew breath to interject. "Whenever you bring me a new basket, you will join me for morning meal. Understood?"
Spider let out a choked noise, making Mo'at pause and crane her neck slightly to peer down at the child's face.
An expression of mixed shock and embarrassment made for an interesting look on Spider's face. Apparently, whatever he had expected Mo'at to say, it hadn't been that. The boy's mouth opened and shut a few times as he floundered, and Mo'at raised a brow.
"Will this be a problem?" She asked, prompting Spider to quickly shake his head.
"No! No, no problem!" Spider's voice cracked, and he looked horrified by this. He quickly cleared his throat, looking back to the lines he'd been painting along his front. "Just surprised. That's all."
"Is it so odd for me to wish for some company?" Mo'at wondered, gracious enough to not bring up the break in the boy's voice. Spider glanced back at her over a shoulder.
"It's just...People will notice. The clan will notice. No one except the kids actually like me, and they might think you're crazy or something, inviting me into your home so often. I don't want-"
"I have served faithfully as clan Tsahik for many years." Mo'at scoffed, unbothered. "Very little could damage my reputation, least of all keeping the company of a human child."
Spider glanced back at her, something akin to wonder on his features. It made him look so...vulnerable. It made Mo'at's stomach twist unpleasantly.
Children, no matter the species, were social creatures. They required attention, and it was an honor among the Na'vi to help care for a child's needs, whether physically, emotionally or mentally. Children should be spoiled with such things.
Spider was not.
Forcing her own discomfort to the back of her mind, Mo'at focused on her paint-covered fingers, allowing them to carefully curl around a thin arm.
(So thin, so small, and yet so very strong. Stronger than most any human, Mo'at believed).
"I no longer am able to seek the company of my family, and few understand my grief as you do. Truthfully, I find your company far more tolerable than most at the moment."
And that was indeed no lie– ever since her family had departed to lure away the invading sky people, many in the clan looked at her with pity, treated her as gingerly as if she were but a babe. It was as humiliating as it was irritating. At least Spider still treated her with respect and dignity, and as a fully capable adult.
Sensing Spider's uncertainty, Mo'at reached out, using the back of her hand where no paint stained and touching under Spider's chin. She lifted the boy's head, turning it until he met her eyes hesitantly.
"You will grant this old woman such a simple wish, will you not?"
Spider huffed, pouting slightly.
"You're not old." He grumbled, making Mo'at raise an amused brow. Still, "I guess I can stay for a bit, sometimes. I don't think anyone back at base will mind, at least."
Mo'at allowed a small, pleased smile to curl at her lips. Spider was no replacement for her family, not for her daughter and grandchildren…
But his presence, at the very least, could ease the constant ache in her chest.
And if a part of her hoped that perhaps her own presence may heal some of the wounds on Spider's own spirit?
Well. No one had to know.
Mo'at peered down at the boy beside her.
Spider, now a regular visitor in the past couple of weeks, had begun insisting that he be allowed to help Mo'at with the time-consuming task of preparing medicinal ingredients and the more simple of the Omaticaya's medicines. The Tsahik wondered if this was, in part, because the perceptive taronyutsyip had noticed that she occasionally struggled with the more labor-reliant tasks such as grinding down ingredients with a mortar and pestle, or painstakingly separating seeds and kernels from certain plants. Her hands had, as she'd gotten older, begun to cramp and ache far easier than they once had, and thus she was honestly glad to have young Spider's assistance.
She was surprised, however, by just how much Spider knew about the plants and herbs they now worked side-by-side on. He knew and called them by their proper names rather than the human names the scientists called them, and knew what to avoid when tending to plants with dangerous parts. He could list the ingredients used in the clan's basic medicines, ointments and tinctures, and even craft them himself if given enough time and the right supplies. Perhaps it was all only knowledge he'd gained from the time he'd once spent with Kiri, but Spider was a natural at medicine-making, armed with an innate sense for just how much of each ingredient was enough, and more patience than most his age had.
(Her dear, sweet Sylwanin had been gifted with such patience, could sit and listen for ages as Mo'at taught her a healer's– a Tsahik's ways. Neytiri, fierce and impatient as her father, had never been able to sit still near so long.)
Of course, the boy was young. He would need more practice to craft anything more complicated than a simple healing tincture or stomach soother, but if there was one thing that the both of them had, it was time. If nothing else, it would be interesting to see just how much Spider could learn, given the proper attention. It wasn't as if Mo'at had much else to do, aside from her usual duties.
And if allowing Spider to act as an assistant and semi-student meant that now she needn't always request the help of the other healers in the clan to craft all the needed medicines, then that was currently more a blessing than anything else. Many of the healers in the clan were still sending pitying, guilty looks her way, as if they had a hand in her family's self-imposed banishment, and it was distinctly uncomfortable to sit in the same tent with them for hours at a time. Spider was much more preferable company.
Beside her, Spider set aside the pestle he'd been using, offering the mortar to Mo'at for inspection.
"I think this is alright." His voice tilted upward at the end, making what had meant to be a statement sound more like a question. Mildly amused, Mo'at brought a large hand up to cup the mortar, her own long fingers folding slightly over Spider's. She eyed the paste inside, giving it a cursory sniff before nodding.
"Good."
The praise is mild, barely worth a passing thought for most, but Spider all but beams for a moment before he even realizes it. When he does, the boy quickly tries to smother the expression, but he still can't quite rid his lips of their curl at the corners. Mo'at feels a flash of something in her chest, something that is flavored with sorrow.
(Because this boy treats even the smallest bit of praise like a great treasure, like it isn't something he should've been receiving his entire life, rather than be left bereft.)
Pulling her hand away, Mo'at nodded to the pair of paywll pods by the boy's knee.
"Cut those open and add the juice to the mixture." As Spider reached out to do so, she asked, "Do you know what it is that you are making now?"
Mo'at had decided to test the boy today, and rather than telling him what to make, she only offered him the ingredients and what to do with them. If Spider had noticed the purposeful omission, he didn't ask the reasoning behind it, and simply followed her instruction.
Spider paused, looking surprised by the question. He didn't look nearly as uncomfortable as he'd once been with responding to her, Mo'at noted with a small bit of pride.
"Uh..." Spider glanced at the paste in the mortar, then at the paywll, clearly working through the short list of ingredients he'd used. "Eanfwopx, paywll..." Dark eyes lifted to meet Mo'at's amber gaze. "A paste to use for fever, right? Apply to the skin, and wait for it to cool you down."
"Indeed." Mo'at agreed, secretly pleased, and Spider again grinned as he reached for the pestle once more to mix the juice into the paste. When she'd tried this sort of thing before with Lo'ak, her foolish grandson had simply thrown out guesses at random as to what they were making. Neteyam, bless his heart, would always try his best to answer, but he'd never had much of a head for plants and medicines. Kiri always knew the right answer, but she tended to be a bit...verbose, and it was difficult to teach someone when they wouldn't let you get a word in edgewise.
"Does it work on humans?" Spider asked, rousing Mo'at from her musings.
The Tsahik hummed as she absently reached out to adjust how Spider held the pestle. The boy asked smart questions. That was good. It meant he was always thinking, always striving to find new ways to improve or adjust things.
"Go at an angle. It will save your wrist from pain, and make it far easier to fold the juice into the mixture." Spider was quick to follow her instruction, and Mo'at nodded, satisfied. "Just so. As for your question," She leaned back slightly, mulling it over for a moment. "I am unsure if this particular remedy is effective for humans. None of the plants used to create it are dangerous to your kind, but that does not mean they will have the same effect as they do for a Na'vi."
Spider nodded along with her explanation, looking pensive as he went through the repetitive motions of mixing and grinding. The boy, with courage dredged up from somewhere deep in his spirit, continued the conversation.
"I'm surprised we're using the Healing Rose for something this simple." He commented. "Kiri always said it's hard to gather– what with the Tawkami clan finding it to be sacred and all, she said they get pretty pis- uh, pretty mad when it's used on simple stuff. They're never really eager to part with what they gather, which I'm guessing means we don't have much of it lying around, so why not something else?"
Mo'at's brow raised, suitably impressed by the medicinal knowledge the taronyutsyip was showing.
"It is, indeed, hard to convince the Tawkami to part with what they gather." She agreed slowly, watching Spider closely as he continued to work. "As for why we are using it in a simple remedy, that is because this paste will be used on children. Unlike other ingredients with similar effects, if consumed the nectar will cause no harm. And as I am certain you know, despite your own young age...Children will put anything in their mouths."
This startled a laugh from Spider, who had clearly not expected such an answer. White teeth flashed through as he smiled, and Mo'at found her own lips twitching up into a small, wry smile of her own. As the pair of them returned to their own individual work, Mo'at mulled over Spider's words.
"It is also true that our clan does not have much Healing Rose nectar stored away. I will likely need to go gather something with similar properties in the coming days. Ar'lek seeds perhaps."
Spider frowned to himself as he carefully scraped the excess of the paste off of the pestle and back into the mortar.
"Why not just send one of the other healers out? I mean, you already have so much to do, being Tsahik and all."
Mo'at waved a dismissive hand with a scoff, as she had always done when her daughter brought up such concerns with her.
"Bah. I am not in such high demand that I am needed here constantly." She slanted a look Spider's way. "Nor am I so old and feeble that I cannot handle an excursion for some much needed supplies."
Spider spluttered, quickly shaking his head in denial, nearly dropping the mortar in his hand in his haste to refute her.
"I-I didn't-! I'd never suggest that you-!"
Mo'at chuckled lowly as the boy floundered. Perhaps it was a tad cruel to tease Spider so, but an old woman had to find entertainment where she could. Reaching out, she touched the boy's shoulder, halting his words.
"Easy, taronyutsyip." She soothed, taking in the bright red flush on Spider's cheeks with good humor. "I only tease. I know you would never suggest anything so rude about another, and certainly not your Tsahik."
Mo'at was surprised when Spider twitched slightly, face falling a bit. Dark eyes turned away, shame flitting across his face, and Mo'at was left wondering what she had said to cause such a sudden change. Going over her words, it took the Tsahik a moment, but she realized the problem soon enough.
Your Tsahik, she had said. Speaking in a way that indicated Spider was of the Omaticaya, of her clan, but in truth…
(The older members of the clan, the ones who remembered the day Home Tree had fallen, were never quiet in their opinions. "He is tawtute", they said, "He is not of the People".)
(But how could anyone look at this taronyutsyip and see anything but an Omaticayan?)
Mo'at did not attempt to retract or rectify her words, nor did she apologize. Bringing any sort of attention to Spider's reaction would only cause embarrassment for the boy, she knew. And so instead, she changed the topic, carefully taking the mortar from Spider's hands to bottle the contents.
"If possible, I will go out gathering the seeds tomorrow, I believe, if I can find another to join me."
This seemed to be enough to shake Spider whatever self-deprecating thoughts he may have, as his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Is it hard to gather? Kiri always said the seeds were pretty hardy..."
"The ar'lekikran prefer to nest, and are far more territorial for it. It is always best to have another by your side when gathering the seeds, in case there is trouble with some of the more aggressive ikran. They cause no harm, but it is difficult to harvest anything without another to ward them away."
"I guess that makes sense." Spider agreed slowly, mulling it over as he absently turned the pestle over in his hands. "Even when they don't mean any harm, an unbonded ikran can still cause trouble..."
"Indeed." Mo'at said mildly, corking the new jar of fever paste and setting it aside. She was mentally going over those who may be tolerable to have along as a companion on her outing, though that number was currently rather few. She could put up with the sidelong looks for a few hours, if she absolutely had to, however…
"What...what if I went with you?"
Mo'at blinked, ears twitching slightly. Spider seemed to take this as a sign of displeasure, and quickly backtracked, turning his head away to hide the blush on his cheeks. His grip on the pestle had his knuckle turning bone white, and not for the first time, Mo'at marveled over how strange human skin could be.
"N-nevermind. That was a stupid idea, just ignore me-"
"You have traveled to see the ikran before, with my grandchildren." Mo'at mused, cutting the child off before he could spiral into his thoughts. "They have spoken of it before."
She could remember Kiri and Lo'ak scrambling into her home one day, both all but dancing as they chattered over one another, regaling young Tuk with a story of how their human friend had stared down an ikran on one of their misadventures.
("He stared it in the eye, no fear at all!" Lo'ak crowed, smile wide, eyes bright. "And he hissed at it! You've never seen an ikran so confused and startled!")
Spider was human. His bones were weak, easy to crush, and his skin was thin. He was nearly frail, by Na'vi standards, as all humans were. Yet...he knew the ikran, knew how to stand tall and not yield to their sharp fangs or broad wings. Mo'at could very easily believe that Spider could hold his own, even against such fierce creatures.
She made her decision easily. Perhaps too much so.
"You will need to pack enough to ensure you can eat and drink, as well as breathe, for several hours." The boy's head whipped around, and he stared at Mo'at in alarm as the woman spoke. "You will need much rest as well, tonight. Finding the plants and harvesting their seeds will take much physical exertion."
Spider struggled for a moment to find words, throat working as his mouth opened and closed a few times, and Mo'at patiently waited. He finally managed to regather his wits.
"Wait, really?!" He asked, lurching up a bit until he stood on his knees, eyes wide, expression disbelieving but also painfully hopeful. "You wouldn't mind? Even though I'm not a hunter or healer or-"
"Na'vi do not lie." Mo'at chided. Before the humans had come to Eywa'eveng, 'lie' had not been a word in their language, and the concept of it was only vague, something practiced only by children, and not for long; Spider knew this. The boy tilted his head in acknowledgement, some of the disbelief that had previously been in his eyes fading in the face of pure, solid fact. Mo'at nodded at this, satisfied that he did not continue to doubt. This was actually a decent solution to her predicament, as she had very much not been looking forward to having to go out accompanied by someone who still treated her like glass. Not only did Spider not look at her in such a way, but his small hands would make him a very useful assistant in gathering the precious ar'lek.
"Then it is decided– tomorrow you will accompany me. You will meet me here at the first light of dawn, and we will be gone for some time, so you will bring whatever you need for such a journey out of High Camp."
The Tsahik's voice brokered no room for argument, and rather than looking intimidated like most little ones would at such a tone, it instead seemed to bolster Spider. The boy was absolutely beaming, all but ready to vibrate out of his skin with joy at the implicit trust being placed in him– the honor of having the Tsahik herself ask for his assistance.
(For a boy who was the son of a monster like Quaritch, trust and acceptance was a novelty. It should not be, though, Mo'at thought angrily. It should not).
"I'll be ready." Spider assured her quickly, stumbling up to his feet. Mo'at hummed, maintaining her cool, stoic composure even as the boy nearly tripped over his own feet. She reached up, tugging him back down by her side.
"We have two more poultices to make, boy." She reminded him dryly when he looked up at her in confusion, her brow raised. "The day is still young, you will have time to prepare. Later."
Smiling sheepishly, Spider allowed the mortar and pestle he'd abandoned to be shoved back into his hands.
"R-right." He laughed, a bit flustered, but still so very happy. "Sorry."
Children, Mo'at thought to herself with wry humor, were always in such a rush.
Spider was ready. He'd told Norm and Max and even a couple of other scientists where he'd be so they wouldn't panic about him being gone for so many hours, he'd packed clean water and a couple of the gross ration bars stocked away on base that were human friendly in case there were only non-edible (at least for humans) plants on the trip, and he'd even tucked away three spare battery packs, even though one should last him for more than a few hours.
He had woken up long before first light to make sure he would make it to High Camp on time, as the trip there took nearly an hour on his own. He was determined to not keep Tsahik Mo'at waiting, not when she was allowing him such an honor in letting him join her on her trip. He was going to be on time, early even-
And then halfway through the Omaticaya camp, he'd been stopped by E'tun and a couple of his lackeys.
E'tun was still young, around Spider's age, give or take a few months. He was one of the most outspoken in his distaste for humans, but for Spider especially, and was the most persistent of those who harassed Spider. The two of them had come to physical blows more than once before, and when he didn't attack with his fists, the tall Omaticayan teen would lash out with his words. It had been a few weeks, though, since the young hunter had decided to come after him, so Spider was admittedly caught a bit off guard.
Spider shuffled back a step to maintain distance as E'tun and his friends came to a halt before him. His fingers clenched around the strap of the bag he'd slung over his shoulder, dark eyes warily following E'tun as the taller boy sneered down at him.
"Rather early to be lurking around here, isn't it?" E'tun asked snidely, ear flicking irritably. "First light hasn't even broken, and yet here you are, creeping around like a fmongyu."
The innate suspicion was nothing new, something inherited from how the older Omaticaya looked at him with caution on a near constant basis. Spider couldn't fault any of them, considering who had sired him, but it was still annoying.
"I was asked to come here at first light." Spider retorted simply, eyes darting briefly to the two other Na'vi at E'tun's back. They all looked too relaxed to have come for any sort of physical fight, Spider noted somewhat absently. If that was the case, then hopefully this delay shouldn't take too long. "To help with gathering ingredients for the healers."
E'tun scowled, amber eyes narrowing suspiciously as he crossed his lanky arms over his chest.
"And just who would be asking for the help of a tawtute?" The young hunter demanded, looking disbelieving. "When there's a clan full of people who could help them just as easily, eh? Who would ask you for help, before their own people?"
Spider shrugged, shoulders tense despite how he tried to feign calm nonchalance.
"Man, I'm just doing what I was told." Spider tried to leave it at that and walk around them, but one of E'tun's buddies slid over a couple steps and blocked the path. Frowning, Spider looked at E'tun. "Look, I'm just doing my part to help the clan, what's your problem?!"
"'Your part'?" E'tun barked out a laugh, sharp and mean. "You still speak as if you are one of the People, rather than the Suli family pet! And to think I believed you would finally leave the clan be once you no longer had Lo'ak or Kiri to follow around!"
Spider sighed, rolling his eyes as E'tun and his friends had a good laugh at his expense. It wasn't the first time he'd been called a pet of the Sullys, and he doubted it would be the last. The words had lost some of their potency by now, but it still caused him quite a bit of irritation. And to add to this, the first light of day had started to settle over the camp, meaning that now he was nearly late.
"Whatever, haha, real funny." Spider grumbled, trying again to go around. A broad palm settled on his chest and shoved him back, sending him stumbling.
"Hey now, what's the rush? We're just having a friendly conversation, aren't we?" E'tun taunted, grinning widely. Spider's eyes narrowed as he stared down the taller boy, jaw working as he forced himself to hold back a number of...well. Colorful responses. As much as he'd love to curse out the smug hunter that stood before him, he knew it would only spur on E'tun's anger and make the situation worse.
He supposed he could mention that it was Mo'at that he was going to be assisting, but it felt...wrong, to use her name and position just to make things easier on himself. It would be best if he could just get past these skxawng without name-dropping the Tsahik, and...why had E'tun just gone pale-?
"Spider."
The young human nearly jumped out of his own skin at the sound of his name from behind him rather than in front, whipping around. Mo'at stood a few feet away, far too put together for so early in the morning. With the early dawn light spilling over her, casting her face into sharp relief, the Omaticayan Tsahik looked almost like a figure from one of the old ancestors' tales told to the clan's children. Like someone untouchable, a spirit given living form. Spider hurriedly lifted a hand to his brow.
"Oel ngati kameie, Tsahik."
E'tun and his cronies were quick to follow, offering their own greetings with drawn, nervous expressions. Mo'at looked over the group of young Na'vi men and Spider, considering them all briefly for a moment before nodding and bringing a hand up as well to form her own greeting.
"What is this, then?" She asked as she again regarded the lot of them, a frown starting to curl at her lips as she noted the white-knuckle grip Spider had on his bag.
E'tun shoved his way forward before Spider could offer an explanation, the human scowling as he was sent stumbling. Mo'at's brow furrowed further as Spider quickly regained his footing.
"Tsahik, my friends and I found the tawtute poking around before first light. Without Kiri or Lo'ak here any longer, he has no reason to be here; he was only ever here to follow them around, after all. We thought it would be best to make sure he wasn't up to anything-"
"I told you, I'm here because I was asked to help with harvesting some ingredients!" Spider insisted, hissing at the other boy agitatedly when E'tun turned to him. The taller male hissed back, and honestly, Spider wasn't the one who usually started fights but he was about ready to throw down, Mo'at's presence or not-
"Enough!" Mo'at snapped, making all four of the boys flinch and bow their heads in submission. Once certain that the argument wasn't about to turn into a fist fight, the Tsahik eyed Spider before turning to E'tun.
(Did she believe them that he was up to no good? But she'd told him to be here, she knew he was only here to be helpful, right? He only ever wanted to help-)
"Spider is correct, E'tun." She informed the young man. Spider could have sworn that her usually even, stoic tone held a lilt of reproach. E'tun looked up to the Tsahik with an expression of bewilderment as his mouth flapped open and closed, looking for something to say, and Spider had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the comical sight, ducking his head even lower to hide how his lips tried to curl in a grin as Mo'at continued.
"I asked Spider to assist me today in gathering ar'lek seeds. While you and your friends' wish to help keep our people safe is...commendable, Spider is no threat to our clan, just as he never has been." The woman turned to the human boy in question, gesturing him forward in a wordless order. "Spider."
"Yes, Tsahik." Spider immediately complied. He had a bit of a hop to his step as he joined the Na'vi woman, to her right and just slightly behind, showing deference to her position among the Omaticaya in not daring to stand directly by her side without invitation. Spider's heart felt lighter than it had just moments ago, and though he'd never admit it, he basked in the feeling of evading trouble, of having someone see that it wasn't he who was the problem, for once. And seeing the shock on E'tun's face? Spider couldn't help but feel just a little smug.
(His heart in his chest always felt like a feather, in the presence of Mo'at, in recent times. She always looked placid, but was so kind and understanding and never looked at him with disgust like her daughter-)
"You did not tell them that it was I who requested your aid." Mo'at mused, both a statement and a question in her words. Spider looked up at her with wide eyes, and he narrowly avoided tripping over a crack in the rocky ground under his feet.
"I'd never go throwing your name around, especially not to just get my way!" He insisted, sounding offended at the very idea. Mo'at's lips curled slightly; whether in amusement or approval, Spider wasn't quite sure. The Tsahik didn't respond either way, instead looking forward and continuing on.
"We will be taking Telisi, higher into the mountains, but not the entire way. We will need to go on foot for part of our journey. You will be able to keep up?"
Spider nodded vigorously, speeding up a bit to better match the woman's long stride as if to prove it.
"I can handle it. It's not the first time I've climbed Ayram alusing."
"Good."
Spider hesitated a moment, waffling over whether or not he wanted to ask the question on his mind, before deciding there would be no harm in it.
"You're really going to let me ride with you on yourikran?" He asked haltingly, fingers reaching down to absently fiddle with the songcord that hung at his hip, a nervous habit of his. Mo'at turned slightly to raise a brow at her young companion, looking unimpressed.
"I said we would be taking her, did I not?"
"Well, yeah, but I just...I mean..."
Mo'at drew to a halt, and Spider did so as well. Mo'at squinted down at him, head tilting slightly as she inspected him for a moment.
"You have ridden before. I know this to be true, as Kiri herself told me you have accompanied her before."
"I-I have." Spider agreed. "It's just...She and Lo'ak are the only ones who have ever really...trusted me, and liked me enough to let me anywhere near theirikran..."
To be allowed to ride on another's ikran was a gift, one that showed just how much the rider trusted the other person in question. Not only that, but for the ikran to be that of the clan Tsahik? That was an outright honor. One Spider did not deserve, and that many others would be horrified to hear being offered to him so easily. He'd ridden with Kiri and Lo'ak before, yes, but even that had earned some raised eyebrows and disapproving looks. To ride with Mo'at....
Reaching out, Mo'at gently patted Spider on the head, startling him from his thoughts. Her palm could all but cup his skull, and her long fingers briefly threaded through Spider's dreads.
(He was pathetically grateful when she pretended not to see how he twitched away at first, how he went tense and wary).
"You would never hurt Telisi, this I know." She replied simply. She leaned down to better meet his eyes. "And we do not have the time to climb the entire way. I am not as spry as I once was, hm?"
Spider couldn't help how his lips twisted slightly into a small smile. Mo'at nodded, straightening back up and lifting her hand away from messy blonde dreadlocks.
"Good. Now, come. Let us not waste daylight."
Spider did not argue further, and scrambled after her.
Mo'at watched closely as Spider carefully wiggled free the seeds from one of the pods of the ar'lek plant the two of them knelt before. Spider did his best to not let it get to him– to not let that knife-sharp gaze shake his nerves. It was easier now than it had once been, after having spent so much time together recently.
"Good. Slowly, just so." Mo'at murmured, voice low as if speaking to a frightened pa'li. Spider's brow knotted in concentration, lips pressing into a thin line as he gently eased the seeds out one by one, careful to leave no damage to the pod itself. It could regrow the seeds it lost, but only if left in pristine condition, and Spider was nearly terrified that he might cause damage to the invaluable plant.
Mo'at held steady the bag they were using to collect the seeds, and once the fifth and final seed from the pod was placed inside, she tied it shut while Spider allowed himself to breathe again.
"Well done. Again" Mo'at commented, and Spider's cheeks gained a pleased flush.
"Kiri used to go on, sometimes for hours, about how some of the younger healers in the clan were too impatient when harvesting ingredients. That they were ruining plants like the ar'lek because of it, and it was making it hard to keep up with the demand for medicine. I think she'd probably shoot me with my own bow if she heard I mistreated any plants the same way."
Mo'at hummed, looking mildly amused by this. Spider grinned sheepishly, shrugging.
"I suppose making my granddaughter angry would make anyone rather fearful."
"She's scarier than an angry palulukan." Spider agreed, feeling a surge of pride when Mo'at chuckled. It was an achievement to make the usually placid woman laugh.
The midday sun was warm on their backs, fighting off the chill that came with the higher altitude and constant breeze of the floating mountains. Out here, in the open air without the clamouring bodies of the clan or the other humans in the labs, Spider could almost pretend that everything was the same as it once was, before the RDA returned, before his monster of a father had hunted his friends and caused them to leave…
"What thoughts have you frowning so?" Mo'at asked, making Spider jump slightly. He hadn't realized that his expression had become sour, distracted as he'd been with his thoughts. Blushing slightly in embarrassment, the teen forced a smile on his face, though he doubted it was convincing.
"Nothing important." He tried to assure her. "Just stupid stuff, like most kids my age."
Mo'at raised a brow, unimpressed with the attempted dismissal.
"Very rarely do you do or think something 'stupid'." She retorted, earning a look of surprise, then shy pride for the plainly stated compliment. "Now. What has you so somber? I doubt it is the plants."
Spider knew that the woman would not let the topic go– a good Tsahik looked after their people, and Mo'at was not just good, she was great. She would look after the wellbeing of even those outside of the Omaticaya.
(Even the local tawtute, the son of the man whose actions ended in the death of her own mate, her own daughter, drove her family from their home-)
"I'm just...thinking about how different it feels, out here. Away from everyone."
Mo'at contemplated his words for a moment, then,
"Is this a good difference? Or a bad one?"
Spider shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest.
"It's...an okay kind, I guess."
Mo'at raised a brow.
"And what makes it 'o-kay'?" Mo'at asked, the human word foreign on her tongue. It made Spider smile a bit, despite himself.
"It's different, back home." He sighed, planting his chin in a hand. "Ever since Kiri and the others left, it's just..."
Mo'at waited patiently for him to compose his thoughts and words, simply watching him with wise, calm eyes.
"The only ones in the clan who've ever really been able stand to have me around, have always been Kiri, Lo'ak and Tuk." He didn't mention Neteyam, it had been years since they had been close, though not from lack of effort on Spider's part. "Well, and kids in the clan don't mind me, but it's not the same. I go to High Camp and it just feels..."
"Empty."
Spider blinked, looking up at Mo'at. There was understanding on her face, and her usual mask of stoicism was cracked with faint grief. Slowly, Spider nodded, feeling a bit breathless.
(For once he wasn't alone, for once someone understood-)
"Yeah."
Mo'at hummed, nodding in understanding as her eyes turned towards the sky, where her ikran lazily circled as she awaited her rider's call.
"I feel much the same." The Tsahik confided, voice low, as if she feared being overheard. "The loss of our family, even if not to death, is...very painful. It leaves our spirits lonely and wanting."
Spider's throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly. 'Our family', she had said. Not 'my family', 'our family', as if Spider was one of her own grandchildren, as if-
Spider forced himself to focus back on what the woman was saying, even as his fingers curled tightly around his waytelem, the beads digging into his skin.
"It is alright to feel this pain. To feel as if something is wrong even as you walk about the place you call home each day."
"It's not just that, though." Spider admitted, biting his lip as his eyes dropped to the ground in shame. "Ever since we found out Quaritch is alive, that he's back, I've been...I've been scared. It's selfish of me, I know– but I keep wondering...he's my father. After everything he's done, everything he is doing now, do I really deserve to walk among the Omaticaya? Quaritch isn't just some memory now, and I'm a reminder more than ever of all that he did, and add to that Kiri and Lo'ak being gone? What will prevent the rest of the clan from driving me away? From never letting me come back?"
It was a common nightmare for Spider now, after the Sully family had left. He'd wake, drenched in sweat, the accusations and hateful words of the clan in his dreams still ringing in his ears. He didn't want to be driven away, didn't want to have to live the rest of his life encased in dull metal walls, cut off from Eywa'eveng, from the People-
"I will."
Spider's thoughts ground to a halt. Slowly, he looked up. Met the pair of golden eyes that peered down at him.
"Wh-...what?"
Mo'at considered him for a moment, then repeated,
"I will. I will not allow anyone, of the Omaticaya or otherwise, to drive you from our home."
"But its not-"
Mo'at lifted a hand, silencing Spider's protests.
"You may not be Na'vi in form. You may not be capable of Tsaheylu, or be able to breathe our air. But here, Spider." She reached out, long fingers and weathered palm resting over where Spider's heart beat in his chest. "You are of the People here."
Spider's eyes were burning now, wet just as they had been when he'd had to bid farewell to his pseudo siblings. His heart was pounding hard against the cage of his ribs, almost painfully so, and he was certain that Mo'at could feel it through the palm she had pressed to his chest.
It had already been an honor to simply be allowed in Tsahik's presence so frequently. For her to offer protection to him, to ensure he always had a place in High Camp and acknowledge him as, at least in her eyes, one of the People...It was just…
(It was everything to him).
"Many may not see you as one of us, Spider. They may only see you as a human, something foreign that does not belong. But I can promise you that I have never, and will never think so. You have only ever shown loyalty to the Omaticaya; it is time that same loyalty is returned to you, taronyutsyip."
Mo'at's hand pulled away, but Spider could still feel the warmth of it lingering on his chest, as if her very fingerprints were seared upon his skin. He swallowed thickly, lifting a hand to the place the woman's hand had vacated. He wanted so badly to be accepted by Mo'at, by the Tsahik who all of the clan, Spider included, looked up to with the greatest reverence. And yet…
"But why?" Spider croaked, fingers curling against his chest, shoulders tight. Mo'at tilted her head questioningly, and so he clarified. "Why do you...how can you welcome me so openly like this? I'm the son of Quaritch, the greatest monster the Omaticaya have ever known, you've lost so much because of him, and I don't understand, how can you even stand to look at me at me most days, let alone all...all this!"
Spider jolted to his feet, beginning to pace agitatedly as he combed his hands through his tangled dreads. Mo'at did not attempt to interfere with his sudden burst of movement, simply watching as he stalked back and forth, perilously close to the edge of the island they were on, fearless in the way only those raised climbing the forests and among these very floating islands could be. After a few long moments, Mo'at spoke.
"It was not easy to gaze upon you, at first." She admitted easily, watching as the boy continued to pace restlessly. "But you are not Quaritch, and children have no say in who birthed them. This, I reminded myself constantly. It became easier to be in your presence as time went on, and you displayed a kind heart and love for Eywa'eveng and the People. Even easier, each time you very loudly denounced Quaritch as your father." She sent a pointedly amused look in Spider's direction as she said this, noting how the human's ears turned pink. Chuckling to herself, Mo'at turned her gaze out to the view of the forest far below. "I see no reason to hold any ill will towards you for the actions of a man you yourself refuse to acknowledge as anything but an enemy and a monster."
Spider's pacing had slowed as Mo'at spoke, and now he stood, motionless, staring at the woman with a misty gaze. After a moment, Spider's gaze dropped to the ground, and he sniffed as he shuffled back over to sit at Mo'at's side. The woman reached out, brushing a hand over the boy's head, petting his hair as he fought to regain his composure fully. Once certain that Spider was calm once more, Mo'at returned to the previous topic of their conversation.
"Regarding the space left empty in your spirit in our family's absence– I will not lie to you. It will hurt, and it will for some time. But you are not alone, child. Just as you have helped ease the pain of their absence for me, I shall do so for you as well."
Spider's head whipped up as he looked at her, aghast.
"But-...But you're Tsahik! You have more duties than just about anyone! You have a clan full of people to look after-!"
"And you," Mo'at cut him off sternly. "Are one of them." Her face softened and she reached out, a hand briefly passing through Spider's blonde dreads. "You are a good child, Spider. Kind. Loyal. It is past time that someone treat you just as well as you treat all others."
The calm surety of Mo'at's voice reminded Spider of Kiri. The determined set of her jaw was the same as Lo'ak's. The familiarity of it all made Spider feel ready to melt; whether from relief or pure, unadulterated gratitude, he wasn't sure.
All he knew was that for once, someone other than his siblings Saw him.
(That meant more than just about anything to him).
Mo'at often dreamed of her family, since they had been forced to leave. It wasn't unusual, her heart and spirit aching still from the loss, wanting and reaching out desperately for them. It was common among those who lost loved ones to death or banishment, Mo'at knew this better than anyone.
The entirety of her family was always in her dreams– Neytiri and Jake, Kiri, Neteyam, Lo'ak and Tuk. None of them were ever absent, and for that Mo'at was grateful, for it meant she got to see all of them each time. Most times they'd all simply be spending time together in High Camp, doing simple things, nothing too outlandish or strange. It was always calm, and warmed her in a way that lingered even after she woke.
But this time, the dream of her family was...different.
Not in a bad way, but certainly a surprising one.
Usually, in these dreams, Mo'at would be doing something simple, like preparing herbs for medicines and tinctures, or mindless weaving work. Oftentimes, Kiri would be by her side, assisting her. Sometimes it was Neytiri.
This time though, it was Spider by her side. And he looked different from how Mo'at knew him to be.
He was still human, of course. Still small and tan and just a little bit alien. But now he was not so plainly dressed; his dreadlocked hair was pulled back, knotted in a large, messy bun at the nape of his neck, a few dreads decorated with beads of painted wood and bleached bone falling freely to frame his face and softening his features. A warrior's band encircled his middle, embroidered and beaded in red, orange and golden yellows in painstaking detail. At Spider's hip, his waytelem swung freely, no longer hidden away as Mo'at knew he usually wore it. It was longer than the one Mo'at had caught brief glances of in the past, and laden with beads Mo'at knew it didn't carry in the waking world.
(The bead celebrating his first bow, his first hunt– beads he'd been denied due to the fact he was other, was not Na'vi-)
A necklace sat high on the boy's neck, the long, vertically placed bone beads of it shielding his vulnerable throat, clearly crafted by loving hands. His arms and wrists were decorated with bands and bracelets that clattered and clicked in a soft waterfall of sound with his each movement, the beads and feathers woven into them a riot of color. Tucked around his shoulders was one of Mo'at's own shawls, one of her favorites in fact; the near translucent fabric with leafy veins of pure white was far longer on the boy than it was on Mo'at. It swamped his shoulders and puddled around him, but it didn't look silly in the slightest, instead softening the boy's sharp and jagged edges. It was almost a possessive touch, as if he'd been claimed by Mo'at in some small way.
The most impactful difference, though, was that Spider wore no mask.
There was no low hiss of a filter constantly accompanying his presence, no long and tangling cord hindering him as he worked, no glass pane covering his face and separating him from the cool, clean air of Eywa'eveng. And yet despite the lack of device, Spider's chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths– as if he'd been born to breathe the toxic air. With each breath, a staggered line of sanhi on either side of his neck and curling along his collar bones flared slightly brighter before returning to a dim glow. It was such a hypnotic sight that for a moment, Mo'at could not tear her gaze away.
He looked like a blessed being, like the atkorina, as if his very spirit and soul was irreversibly intertwined with the planet and ancestors and…
Apparently feeling her gaze, Spider looked up at her, expression inquisitive, then he smiled brightly and laughed, something witty on his tongue-
(Could he really look this way? So joyful, so vibrant? Could Mo'at somehow make it so?)
And then she was suddenly back in her personal tent in High Camp, alone. It took ages for the image of Spider, as vibrant as Eywa'eveng herself, to fade from her mind.
"There's blood!" Te'rak stammered out, bursting into Mo'at's tent, the normally stoic man looking very much shaken.
Spider, sitting beside Mo'at and helping prepare some new tinctures and ointments, was so startled that he nearly dropped the small clay jar in his hands. Mo'at, armed with the quick reflexes of a mother, easily steadied the jar as she set aside her own work and looked to the panicking hunter.
"Who is bleeding?" She asked, calm (because someone had to be, and it definitely wouldn't be Te'rak) as she stood. To her right, Spider scrambled up as well, eyes wide and expression one of worry.
"I'naat." Te'rak clarified, gesturing out towards camp. "She is in labor, but there's something- I think something is wrong! There is blood, and-!"
Mo'at's lips thinned into a tense line. I'naat, one of the clan's weavers, had been suffering through a difficult pregnancy for several months now. It was still too early for labor, however, the child was not yet due…
Mo'at turned to grab her bag of healer's supplies, but found it already being pushed into her hands. Spider had not stood idle it seemed, and Mo'at offered him a nod of thanks as she took the offered bag. The Tsahik went to follow Te'rak back out of the tent, but paused, looking at Spider with a critical eye.
The boy blinked up at her in return, brow furrowing with confusion. The silence stretched for a long moment, Te'rak looking between Mo'at and Spider in befuddlement.
"Tsahik..?"
Finally, Mo'at moved once more, jerking her chin to the tent's entry.
"Spider. With me." She commanded, striding out of her tent. She did not look back to see if he was following, she knew Spider well enough by now to know that he would not ignore her command.
Te'rak and Spider quickly caught up, Spider having to jog to keep up with the long stride of both Na'vi. Te'rak was speaking hurriedly, explaining what all had happened that she had missed. If the hunter also sent suspicious glances Spider's way, no one addressed it.
Pushing her way into Te'rak and I'naat's tent, Mo'at was immediately hit by the strong scent of blood and sweat. Her nose barely twitched, a testament to just how often she'd encountered such a pungent mix in her work as Tsahik over many years. I'naat was laying on her pallet, face twisted in pain as a hand cupped over the swell of her belly, her breathing labored.
Mo'at immediately went to the younger woman's side, beginning to check her over as the weaver's mate took place at her other side and squeezed her hand comfortingly. It took Mo'at a moment to notice that Spider still lingered at the tent's entrance, and she frowned at him.
"Spider."
Her tone carried more than enough of a message and Spider hurried to kneel beside her.
It was likely that I'naat and Te'rak were not pleased to have Spider in their home, especially during a time such as this, that was scary and sacred in equal measure. They were among those who were wary of any human, ally or not, and Spider was no exception.
But this was an emergency, Mo'at needed more than her own two hands, and summoning another healer would take time that they did not have. Spider knew enough, had learned enough with her over the past couple of months, to serve as assistant in this moment.
"You will help me." Mo'at informed Spider. It was in no way a question, and Spider's chin jerked down in a terse nod of understanding.
"Tsahik-!" Te'rak exclaimed, looking horrified, but Mo'at cut him off with a sharp look.
"There is no time to fetch another for aid, Te'rak." She snapped, even as she gently felt over I'naat's belly. "This baby will wait no longer. The boy is young, but has been working alongside me for many weeks now, has been learning. You will hold your tongue, or you will wait outside."
Te'rak's ears flicked down, jaw clenching and tail whipping behind him, the beginnings of a growl rumbling deep in his chest. He so clearly wanted to protest, but knew Mo'at's threat was not empty, and did not wish to risk being tossed out. From Mo'at's side, Spider shifted a bit, bringing Te'rak's attention to him. The boy's expression was tense, but there was a fire in his dark eyes.
"I would never do anything to harm a member of the Omaticaya. Never." He asserted. His voice was low and even, calmer than even Mo'at expected. "I love this clan, even those not yet born to it." He nodded to I'naat's swollen belly pointedly. "Trust me to help. Rutxe, taronyu."
Te'rak and Spider stared each other down, neither yielding. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire in the firepit, and I'naat's labored breaths.
Slowly, the tension eased from Te'rak's shoulders. Whatever he saw in Spider's face, it soothed some of the hunter's paranoia; enough so that the man slowly nodded, releasing a heavy breath.
"Do what you must."
It was as much of an agreement as he was going to get, but Spider seemed grateful for it, and he shuffled a bit closer on his knees, a determined set to his shoulders.
Mo'at felt a burst of pride in her chest, but pushed it aside. Later, she could speak with Spider. Later, she could tell him that she was proud of him, for standing his ground, for not faltering when he was needed and yet faced with suspicion. Later, she could wonder over just how calm and kind Spider had been, even in the face of said suspicion.
Things after that were a bit of a blur. Spider, while not knowing nearly so much about delivering a child as he did about herbs and medicine-making, was quick to learn; Mo'at rarely needed to repeat herself more than once with the boy in general, and this was no exception. She was, admittedly, impressed by how professional the boy was in this setting, keeping a composed and confident air that Mo'at often encouraged other healers to adopt when tending to another. When Mo'at requested something, he was quick to respond, and whenever there was a brief moment when he had nothing to do, he would murmur comforting words to I'naat, who slowly calmed under his steady, warm voice.
(If the boy noticed how intently the young woman watched him, gaze now far more considering rather than wary, he said nothing).
When Mo'at had taken position between the younger woman's legs to receive the baby and she'd had Spider join her, he did not blanch as most young men would at such a request– in fact, the only sign that he was fazed at all was the embarrassed flush of pink along his cheeks as he carefully scooted up beside her.
When the babe was finally free, they'd had to work quickly to stem the flow of blood, but Spider hadn't faltered under the pressure. Rather, he seemed to flourish under the press of urgency, and more than once Mo'at turned to request a specific item only for the boy to already be pressing it into her hands.
The sun was at its peak when they finally managed to stop the blood and check I'naat and the baby for any other minor issues. By that time, three other clan healers had come through to offer their assistance as they side-eyed Spider, but Mo'at had brushed them all off, snapping that she had all the help she required and the tent wasn't big enough for more adult bodies to be lingering about. If Spider sat a little straighter each time this happened, no one mentioned it.
Spider beamed down at I'naat and kept a running commentary as Mo'at finally cleaned the newest little Omaticaya up, as the young woman could not quite see her from where she lay.
("A girl, I'naat, a girl! She's gorgeous, she looks so healthy and strong! You did amazing!" and I'naat couldn't help but breathlessly laugh at his excitement).
Spider was clearly besotted with the little one, watching with bright eyes as the tiny babe was carefully cradled in I'naat's arms. Then again, it wasn't all that surprising– the children of the clan had always been welcoming to Spider, despite his species, and even as he grew older he always made time to play with them. Spider adored the children just as much as they adored him.
It was a surprise to everyone when I'naat offered Spider a weary smile. All of the wariness and fear she had always regarded him with before was gone, replaced with something warmer and more friendly and open.
"She's so tiny..!" Spider wondered aloud. It must've been something of a novelty for him, to see a Na'vi so much smaller than him, as even the children tended to outgrow him early on.
Spider jumped when I'naat reached out, taking one of his hands, despite the mess on his hands left from the delivery that he'd yet to clean off. He didn't draw back, but instead watched her, somewhat nervously, as she carefully pulled his hand up and towards her. The young weaver brought Spider's hand to the baby, letting him brush his fingers over sparse, downy soft hair and across warm, pudgy cheeks. The look of awe returned to Spider's face, causing I'naat to chuckle lightly
"She is smaller than most. She is early to come to us, after all." The woman replied, voice a bit hoarse, but happy. "But she is here. I had feared that..." She trailed off, and had to swallow before continuing. "But she is here. She will have the chance to grow. Thank you, Spider."
The young human's brows shot up, cheeks flushing a bright red as he quickly averted his gaze, mumbling something along the lines of "no problem" and "happy to help" and "Mo'at did all the work" under his breath. Mo'at felt her lips twitch slightly in amusement at the sight. Things such as praise and gratitude never failed to fluster poor Spider, and seeing the normally fairly composed child in such a state was...rather adorable, honestly.
After leaving the new parents to bond with their child and rest, as she and Spider cleaned themselves up in the stream that sat at the foot of the mountain, Mo'at was more careful in how she worded her own praise so as to avoid another bashful, stammering mess of a human.
"You did well." She informed Spider, not lifting her gaze from where she was scrubbing beneath her nails. In her periphery, she saw Spider pause, before he continued with his own scouring.
"I just did what you told me to do." He tried to brush off. "Really, I feel like I didn't do that much, other than hand you stuff."
"You did as I would have had Kiri or Neytiri do." Mo'at corrected him, straightening up and turning her head fully to look at the teen, even as he kept his gaze stubbornly on his hands. "You were quick to provide me with the tools and medicines I asked for, where others with the same inexperience as you would have stumbled or hesitated. You assisted in stemming the blood flow, ensuring I'naat did not go into shock or bleed out, and you helped keep her calm– the birthing process is far more difficult, and even dangerous, if the mother is under too much stress. You know me well now, Spider. Do I offer hollow praise?"
Spider quickly shook his head in vehement denial scoffing at the very idea. Mo'at grunted, satisfied by the response.
"Exactly. And so, I say again: you did well, Spider."
Ducking his head a bit, Spider accepted the praise with a small, sweet smile.
Over the following days, word spread about Spider's assistance in the birth of I'naat's little one. Both I'naat and her mate, who once did their level best to avoid Spider let alone speak of him, now spread praises about him. Spider found himself on the receiving end of looks that were now more considering than distasteful, which was a bewildering but welcome change for him.
Mo'at saw this and, clever as she was, started demanding that Spider join her for her usual rounds to tend to the clan's sick and wounded. If assisting her with I'naat's birth had brought so much positive attention to Spider and had some wondering whether he was really so bad to have walking among them, then what if he continued to help her with others? What if the other Omaticaya became used to seeing Spider at her side, ever a dedicated assistant in her work? Could his reputation among the People be changed in such a way?
Mo'at was willing to try.
It wasn't too surprising, in retrospect, that Mo'at got sick. It was that season after all, when the minor illness that the humans said was reminiscent of their 'flu' spread around like wildfire, especially among the little ones. Considering how many of her people she'd had to treat who had this very same illness, Mo'at was rather surprised it had taken this long to settle inside her.
The clan, mostly those that were healers, had taken it upon themselves to try and take over her care. After so long of having dealt with the entire clan sending her pitying looks and now being treated like an invalid, she had no patience left to deal with the hovering and poking and prodding.
She was fairly certain she'd made one or two of the younger healers who had tried to sit her cry, with how sharp and fierce her tone had been as she'd nearly shouted them all out of her tent with a harsh, rasping voice. However, she currently could not bring herself to care; she was exhausted, the sickness sapping her strength, and she'd been beset by a horrid cough that wracked her entire body and made her lungs burning like a Fire Thistle rash, as well as a horrible nausea that left her unable to eat much of anything. All she wanted was to sleep, she didn't need to be told to take the usual medicines, she already knew to do so! And she did not need healers half her age hovering beside her worriedly and speaking to her as if she were little more than a baby.
And so, when she heard the shuffling of footsteps entering her home, Mo'at could only hiss in irritation. She did not attempt to turn over in her pallet to look at the intruder, too tired and shaky to wish to even attempt it.
"Leave." She spat, trying to hold back a haggard cough but ultimately failing. "I do not need a nursemaid."
The newest intruder hesitated in the entryway, then,
"I...Didn't plan on being one..?"
Mo'at's eyes blinked open at the young, warm voice. That was not another of the clan's overly-concerned healers, but a far more welcome guest.
"Spider." Mo'at murmured, forcing herself to turn over to see the young human in question standing just inside the entryway, halfway through the beaded curtain. The boy's brow was knotted in concern, but it was somehow different from that which the others of the clan who had come by earlier had shown. Spider clutched the strap of the bag he carried tightly, eyeing Mo'at as if expecting her to raise her voice at him, or perhaps lash out like an irate palulukan. The Tsahik let out a soft sigh, though regretted it as another cough wracked her, making her chest ache.
"I apologize for such a welcome, taronyutsyip. I'm afraid I've had to spend the day sending off several of the clan who seem to think I need to be nursed like a child, and I thought you were yet another."
The white knuckled grip Spider had on his bag eased at the reassurance, and he smiled slightly, shuffling further into the tent, beaded strands falling back into place behind him.
"I almost wish I could've seen that." He mused with a small laugh, eyes crinkling with mirth. "I can't imagine anyone trying to baby you, honestly."
Mo'at grunted, watching as Spider crossed over to sit beside her, the bag that he carried over his shoulder placed on the ground beside him as he continued to speak.
"I guess I get it in a way, though? I mean, I'll admit, I was a bit worried when I heard you'd gotten sick..."
Spider looked somewhat embarrassed to admit such a thing, but Mo'at found that it made her heart warm. Spider's concern was not born of pity or any belief that she was incapable of caring for herself in her older age, as that of the other healers who had visited, but rather of a worry that he would show any other in the clan were they in her position. Spider’s care had always been wonderfully indiscriminate– it was part of what made him such a wonderful assistant to Mo’at as she worked.
"All is well." Mo'at reassured, reaching up to briefly touch Spider's arm, ignoring how the movement made her sore body ache in protest. "I will not be joining the ancestors any time soon."
"I know." Spider replied with a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair, looking far too stressful for one so young. "I know it's not dangerous, for the most part. But I just..." Sad eyes turned to Mo'at as another wheezing cough left her, lips twisting in a grimace as if it pained him just as much as it did her. "The coughing sounds awful, and you look miserable, and it's..."
Spider's voice momentarily tapered off; his eyes, usually so bright and lively, were distressingly dim. Clearing his throat, the boy then soldiered on. "Anyway, point is, I get where they're coming from. And besides, I think they're all just trying to figure out who in the world is supposed to take care of the Tsahik when she's sick, now that Neytiri and Kiri are...well."
Mo'at grunted, grudgingly conceding the point. It was true that in the past, when she had fallen ill, it had been her own family members that would tend to her. Now, with no mate, no family...it was hard to determine who the duty fell to. Just who healed the clan's greatest healer? If Mo'at had her way, then it would be no one. She was capable of caring for herself, even in her current state, it was preferable even when the alternative was having to listen to the simpering voices of well-intentioned but ultimately offensive clan members all day.
"Anyway!" Spider changed the topic, trying to force some cheer into his voice. "I'm actually here for a reason. I brought you something!"
Mo'at raised a brow, watching as Spider rummaged through his rucksack for something. Where usually any basket or pack the boy carried was saturated with the scent of earth and herbs, this time there was nothing so distinguishable for her nose to catch.
"Oh? Not my usual gift of herbs, I assume?"
"Nah, not this time." Spider dismissed, waving a hand idly. "Besides, that'd be a pretty bad gift, sorta would feel like I'm saying 'hey, want to work while you're sick?'"
Mo'at's lips twitched slightly, as close to a smile as she usually got, the heavy line of her brow easing. To think, not so long ago, Spider would have been mortified to ever speak so casually with his Tsahik. His confidence had made great strides since he had begun working alongside her, it seemed.
"I suppose you are correct, in that regard." She agreed wryly.
With a crow of triumph, Spider pulled what he had been searching for from the pack and held it aloft like some sort of prize. It was a decently sized glass jar, likely borrowed from the supplies the local humans kept around, and inside was a thick, viscous golden-amber liquid. Nectar, Mo'at realized after a moment.
Smile full of mischief, Spider set the jar down beside Mo'at, unscrewing the lid. The sweet, heavy scent of the nectar managed to reach Mo'at's nose despite how congested she was, and it made her stomach, empty from how often she'd been vomiting, rumble greedily.
"Lo'ak told me once, back when we were younger," Spider started to explain as he went to retrieve a carved spoon from the nearby collection of dishes and cooking utensils. "That whenever he or one of the others got sick you'd bring them nectar, fresh from a forest comb."
A large lump suddenly settled in Mo'at's throat, a wave of nostalgia and breathtaking gratitude making her, just for a moment, forget how horrid she felt. Whenever her own daughters had been ill, still young and clinging to her and her mate's tails, she had given them nectar as a way to soothe their aching throats and a bribe to get them to take the bitter medicine they so hated. By the time her grandchildren had come along, it had long become habit, and so the tradition continued into the next generation.
Mo'at had not realized that Spider knew of it though, it was such an innocuous thing– a vague detail, something that most would barely pay any mind to or deem worth remembering.
"I got it just this morning," Spider continued to chatter on, unaware of just how impactful his offering was, of how his words somehow loosened a knot that had lingered in the Tsahik's chest since the banishment of her family. "So it's fresh. Not that there's anything wrong with nectar that's a few days old, it's just that Lo'ak said you always brought it to them fresh, so..."
The human moved over to sit beside Mo'at's pallet, feet tucked underneath him, and he glanced at Mo'at a bit shyly, hesitating now that he had the spoon in hand.
"So, uh...What do you think? Do you want some?" He offered hesitantly, holding the spoon up a bit awkwardly.
Mo'at stared up at the taronyutsyip, eyes softening as she took in the tense line of the boy's shoulders. Spider had come in confidently with his gift, but had progressively lost steam, and now was feeling the niggling of uncertainty as he settled at her bedside.
Had this been a gift from someone else, anyone else, Mo'at would have felt it presumptuous. She would've been angry, feeling as if her family's traditions were being intruded upon. But with Spider?
No, she felt none of that with Spider. She only felt a bittersweet sort of joy– felt as if, for just a moment, her family was here and she was not the last of her line remaining among the Omaticaya.
"I will need your assistance, I believe." She murmured, voice scratching at her burning throat.
Spider jumped slightly at the invitation, but then the tension left his rigid shoulders and he beamed.
(For a moment, all Mo'at could see Spider smiling up at her, sanhi lighting up the sides of his throat and Mo'at's shawl swarming him like a shroud-)
Spider shuffled forward on his knees until he was close enough to help Mo'at prop herself up, quite a feat considering the size difference alone, and used a free hand to carefully dip the spoon into the jar to collect some of the sticky, sweet amber dew from inside. Twisting the spoon so that none of the nectar dripped as he withdrew it from the jar, Spider brought it up to Mo'at's lips, carefully feeding her the spoonful.
The sweetness of the nectar burst on her tongue, ridding it of the awful taste that her illness left in her mouth. As she swallowed, it coated and soothed her aching throat, driving away the itchiness that had been plaguing it, and it settled in her stomach far easier than any other food had been able to the past couple of days. It was the taste of home, of her family, of nights spent by tending to her daughters and grandchildren…
"H-hey, what's wrong?"
Spider's worried voice roused the woman from her thoughts, and she realized that her eyes stung with unshed tears. Taking a deep breath to resettle herself, blinking away the wetness that threatened to fall down her cheeks, Mo'at offered a faint smile to the boy at her side as weak fingers gently squeezed the boy's elbow for a brief moment.
"I am merely enjoying the nectar. To have such a lovely reminder of my family..."
Realization passed over Spider's face, followed by understanding, and he said no more. He simply continued to offer her small spoonfuls of nectar, allowing a companionable silence to fall. If Mo'at closed her eyes, she could almost believe it was one of her daughters or her granddaughter beside her, heartbeat a steady thud in her ear where it pressed to a small chest that was warm beside her jaw and cheek.
(But this was Spider, not Neytiri or Kiri or Sylwanin. This was Spider, and somehow...that wasn't disappointing, it was just as comforting as it would have been if it were one of her children-)
"I wanted to come sooner." Spider commented, voice kept low and soft, careful of the Tsahik's sensitive ears, especially while so close. "But I had to wait until there wasn't some worried healer or anyone else pacing outside your door. Everyone's feeling protective of you, right about now. Even with the recent boost in peoples' opinions of me, they shooed me off a couple of times."
If Spider felt any bitterness or sorrow at being driven away, he didn't sound it. Honestly, he seemed more amused than anything. Mo'at scowled, wetting her lips before responding.
"The clan forgets, I am Tsahik and hardly a child. I am more than capable of tending to myself, this is no serious illness. I do not need them to shield me, especially not from you."
Spider shrugged, slightly jostling the woman. He grimaced apologetically, readjusting his hold on her and offering more nectar, which she readily accepted.
"It's hardly a bad thing, though." He mused, more to himself than to Mo'at. "To be loved so greatly."
The somber tone made Mo'at pause, and she peered up at Spider. The boy had a contemplative look on his face, no doubt considering the differences between how others reacted when Mo'at fell ill, and when Spider himself became sick. He had very few who would show him any sort of the care or concern being given to Mo'at now– Even fewer now, with Mo'at grandchildren now living so far away.
Spider was a good reminder, always, that the compassion and love of others should not be taken for granted. Mo'at wasn't quite sure she could even imagine what it was like for the boy, to live with such little care from others in his life.
Spider jumped slightly when Mo'at pressed a hand to the place where his jaw and the seal of his mask met, the closest she could get to touching his cheek. He didn't seem concerned at how close her hand was to the delicate mask he wore, at how easily she could break the seal that was the only thing keeping him from breathing the poisonous Eywa'eveng air.
(The trust was humbling, always so humbling).
"I believe I prefer the method in which you show your concern." She informed him, a slight teasing lilt to her voice and curl to her lips. Spider blinked, then his eyes crinkled as he grinned, and a pleased flush colored his cheeks in dusty pink hues.
"I'm glad." He replied, digging out more nectar from the jar, scraping the edge of the spoon against the small chunk of comb inside to press more hidden nectar free. "I was worried I might be overstepping, to be honest. Or that you'd think I was babying you."
Mo'at hummed a cracked note of understanding. The caution though, while appreciated, was unnecessary.
"If you were babying me, I assure you, you would not be in my home. As for overstepping...You have lived and grown alongside my grandchildren for what may well as have been your entire life, thus far." She mused. Taking the offered nectar, she took a moment to swallow, enjoying the burst of sweetness on her tongue, "If there must be any outside of my family who knows and partakes in this silly little tradition, it should rightfully be you."
From where her ear was against Spider's chest, the Tsahik heard the steady thud of the boy's heart briefly stutter. Lifting weary eyes to Spider's face, Mo'at took note of how his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and his own dark eyes briefly averted themselves. Mo'at kindly did not bring any attention to the tells of vulnerability.
As the teen reached to gather more nectar on the spoon, Mo'at reached out a shaky hand to lightly touch his wrist. The silent message was heard loud and clear by Spider, who had spent more than a few weeks now working alongside her closely and following her instruction, and he set the jar and spoon aside and went about helping Mo'at resituate herself on her pallet.
"Is there anything you'd like me to do while I'm here?" The teen asked, moving to reseal the jar once Mo'at was once more lying comfortably in her pallet. "I don't have anywhere to be, so if you want some help cleaning up in here, or something else..."
Mo'at blinked up at Spider, eyelids heavy and mind slowly growing foggy as her illness drained the last of what little energy she'd been running off of from her. For the briefest moment, she could've sworn that she saw the Spider from the dream she'd had so many days ago, with glowing freckles of sanhi decorating his neck as he turned to look at her, but then she blinked once more and Spider was his usual self. The boy's brow was knotted in concern, and the woman realized she hadn't responded to his offer.
Letting out a deep, slightly raspy breath, Mo'at reached out to the boy. Spider quickly took her hand in both of his, folding her fingers within his own. He waited patiently, watching avidly as Mo'at wet her lips to speak.
"Stay with me for a time." The Tsahik finally murmured, taking comfort in the small, warm hands that held hers so carefully. If she closed her eyes and tried hard enough, she could almost believe it was Tuk cradling her hand, if the rough calluses on the boy's palms and fingers were ignored. "Until I am able to fall asleep."
Spider nodded quickly, shifting until he was in a much more comfortable position beside her pallet. Mo'at settled, eyes sliding shut as the boy gently tucked her hand under the blankets that covered her, the warmth of his fingers lingering on her knuckles.
Where the presence of others had been agitating, Spider's was the same balm that the presence of her family members had always provided her with. The steady whisper of each of the boy's breaths, mingling with the hiss of his exopack, was soothing compared to the oppressive silence she'd been experiencing between visitors and the Tsahik found her tense muscles slowly unknotting as she began to drift in the space between the waking world and dreams.
Mo'at wasn't sure how long she lay there, half awake and half sleeping, but eventually she realized that the relative silence was gone. There was singing now– soft and lilting, barely more than a murmur even to a Na'vi's sensitive ears, but it was definitely there.
Eyes cracking open slightly, exhaustion temporarily waning in the face of curiosity, Mo'at turned her head just enough to look at the fuzzy form of the human next to her.
Spider had not noticed her movement, his eyes on the entryway to Mo'at's tent, as if he were a sentry guarding her rest. His lips barely moved, but the way his throat worked beneath tanned skin was proof that he was indeed the one singing. Following a suspicion, Mo'at's gaze fell to the boy's hands, and she was unsurprised to find that he was holding his songcord loosely, fingers absently rolling over each bead in turn.
Mo'at had seen Spider's waytelem before, once or twice, when the child had forgotten to tuck it away into its usual hiding place at his hip. In comparison to the 'cords that the People had, his was a pitiful shadow. There was no bead to signify his birth, nor the usual markers that came with a child's firsts...the song was incomplete and missing some of the verses that all of the People's songs should have. It was doomed to be a discordant mess, and yet…
And yet.
Spider's song did not sound wrong, not as it should have. Certainly, there was a sense of something missing-
(Something achingly lonely, something that no child's song should have).
But it was still beautiful, in the way that all songs of the People were. Perhaps even more so than some others that Mo'at had heard in her many years, as blasphemous as that might've sounded.
Spider's song was not complete, and it was sombre, deeper in tone than most Omaticayan songs. Yet still, something about it called to Mo'at's spirit, made her worries and pain drift away like a leaf caught on a stray current of wind.
Spider's song, warm and soft, alien yet familiar, lulled Mo'at into the deepest sleep she had ever experienced whilst ill.
(Even after she'd recovered, after she was healthy and able to return to her regular duties, Spider's song remained in her mind. It felt like it was written across her very heart).
Celebrations of any kind among the People, no matter the clan or the place they lived, were always a lively affair. "The Na'vi know how to party", as Norm had once said, and the Spider was inclined to agree.
Festivals and other, smaller celebrations were some of the only times that none of the Omaticaya seemed to take any offense to his presence (whether because of the cheerful air or the strong drinks was anyone's guess), and Spider always took full advantage of that. Ever since he was little, he'd always enjoyed dressing up with the help of Neteyam, Lo'ak and Kiri, and later Lo'ak, Kiri and Tuk, and letting his pseudo-siblings pull him into spirited dances. They would laugh and dance and eat good food, and at the end of the night he'd always stumble into bed with a smile, feeling more Na'vi than he ever did.
But the naming celebration for Te'rak and I'naat's little girl was the first the clan would be having since the Sully's had left. Spider woke the morning of the day the celebration would take place and, rather than excited and impatient for the festivities to begin, he felt...lost.
If he had not been personally invited by I'naat, he might've decided to skip the celebration entirely.
(He was still somewhat tempted to, as guilty as such a thought made him feel).
It was just...It felt almost meaningless. Rather than exhilarating, the thought of getting dressed up, all alone, and going to sit at the celebration, also all alone, felt exhausting. Without his friends there to pull him by his hands into the circle of dancers, he would be little more than a shadow, flickering along the edges of the festivities.
Spider sighed as he rolled over in his bed, staring at the plain metal ceiling of his room. Maybe he could fake being sick? Na'vi knew little about human illnesses, even the Omaticaya, despite their close ties to the local humans. He could probably even get Norm or Max to play along-
The door to Spider's room suddenly beeped and slid open without warning, and the teen shot up in his bed, hand flying to the knife he kept on the small bedside table. No one on the base ever entered without knocking or- or something at least, to let him know they were coming in!
Spider was about to yell, to demand what in the world made the intruder think they could enter his own private bedroom without permission, but the words died in his throat when he registered the figure in the doorway.
There, uncomfortably twisted to fit through the door yet still looking as poised and graceful as ever, Mo'at peered back at him with bright amber eyes.
(Spider wondered for a brief, near hysterical second, if he was hallucinating, because none of this was computing for him and he wasn't even dressed, he was sitting here in boxers and practically naked -)
The Tsahik was already dressed for the celebration, skin decorated with angular lines of white, red and yellow paint, heavily beaded necklaces falling about her collarbones and chest. Her shawl, a fluid and silken thing that looked like it must've taken ages to craft, was dyed in hues of red and threaded through with gold to match the paints and beads she was covered in. Her hair, usually spartan when it came to decoration, had small feathers and flowers woven among the many braids.
(She looked like a spirit, like the kind that could reign down wrath or benevolence depending on her mood).
Spider managed to regain his senses, and he quickly raised a hand to his brow.
"O-oel ngati kameie, Tsahik!" He offered, trying to subtly keep the blanket about his waist as he stood. Mo'at's brow twitched upward, amused, because of course she noticed anyway.
"Quite late to be lazing around in bed, is it not?" She asked, tone holding a teasing lilt. Spider blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking shame-faced.
"I-I...Well, I mean..." It took him a moment to gather himself, because the fact that Mo'at was here, in a sky person-made structure, it was...It was really weird.
Mo'at, like all Na'vi, showed a special distaste for the buildings that the humans on Eywa'eveng used. Between the cramped (for Na'vi, at least) quarters, the dull metal walls and the washed-out lighting, most of the People stayed well away if they could help it.
And so seeing the Tsahik of the Omaticaya here, contorting to fit through the doorway and into Spider's room...It really threw him for a loop.
"Not to sound, like...Rude, or anything, but, uh...why are you here?" At Mo'at's raised brow, Spider hurriedly continued, "I-I mean, I know you don't like coming into places like this! With all the metal and tech here and-"
"You are here." Mo'at cut him off, taking pity as he began to ramble. "My grandchildren complained more than once about how you would be lost, dressing for any celebration, were they not there to help you. With them absent, it appears that it will now be my duty to help you."
The red already spreading across Spider’s cheeks grew even brighter, and he silently cursed his friends– of course they'd mention that around the Tsahik, why not?
"I can handle it!" He protested, trying to hide the mortification that crawled up his spine. He wasn't some child incapable of dressing himself! He just...Had trouble figuring out how to dress more formally sometimes. With the intricate weavings and jewelry that the Omaticaya already wore on a daily basis, it was hard to tell the difference between a casual necklace of wooden beads and a formal necklace of painted wooden beads. Spider's focus had always been more placed on practical skills than on clan fashion; survival was more useful than style.
Mo'at waved a hand, dismissing his protests as she carefully maneuvered her way fully into the room. Spider noticed that she carried a bag with her, an unfamiliar one as he by now recognized her medicine bag easily.
"It has been a long time since my daughter or grandchildren have required my help in dressing for a celebration. I find this to be nostalgic, not a chore, taronyutsyip."
Spider blinked, taken aback by the woman's words. There was a fondness in Mo'at's tone that made something warm swell in his chest, and the implication that helping him was not a waste of time made the tension in Spider's shoulders ease.
(Mo'at never made him feel useless or tiresome, but Spider was still learning– learning to feel normal, with anyone other than Kiri and Lo'ak and Tuk-)
Mo'at shifted about, adjusting her position until she was sitting cross legged on the ground so that she no longer had to slouch to avoid hitting her head. She gestured Spider over absently as she began sorting through the bag she had brought along, and so the boy shuffled over, albeit a bit awkwardly. He startled a bit when the Tsahik thrust a bundle of cloth at him.
"Put this on."
Spider unfolded the bundle and found it, to his surprise, to be a tewng. It was longer than the ones he wore daily, more flowy in structure and made of luxuriously soft, woven fabric rather than the more utilitarian tanned hide Spider usually donned. Dyed a deep amber that faded to gold at the edges, there were stunningly red feathers and strings of pearly white bone beads decorating the hips, settled in such a way that they would rest along the outside of Spider's thighs as if to guard them. It was not only beautifully crafted, but clearly made with him in mind, as it was most definitely not made for the tall stature of a Na'vi. It was the fanciest thing Spider'd ever been given to wear, by far.
(He wasn't going to even touch on the fact that the coloring was a very near match to Mo'at's own decoration, no, not even going to think about it-)
But his mind was stuck on the fact it was made just for him. This clearly had taken a lot of time and work, from the weaving to the dying to the adding of the feathers and stringing of beads...And really, there was only one person he could imagine taking the time to make this for him, and she was currently sitting just a couple feet away, sorting through an assortment of even more adornments.
Spider's eyes burned, and he blinked rapidly, trying to banish the wetness there.
"Spider?"
The teen sniffed, shaking his head when Mo'at sent a questioning look his way.
"Sorry, just- lost in thought." He excused himself. Mo'at looked unconvinced, but didn't push, instead turning away once more to give him enough of an illusion of privacy to change out of the undergarments he'd worn to bed.
Growing up among the Na'vi, Spider didn't share near so much the same standards of privacy that the other humans around him had, and so it was no trouble for him go about changing into the tewng, unconcerned that the woman, while turned away, was still in the room.
The fabric was soft, long enough to brush against his ankles, and the feathers and beads settled into place perfectly. Even without the other adornments Mo'at had brought, Spider felt far fancier than he could ever remember feeling.
Mo'at glanced back, gesturing for him to approach when she saw he was dressed. Once Spider was within reach, she took hold of his arm and manhandled him until he stood before her. Even sitting, she was roughly eye-level with him, as nearly all Na'vi were. The Tsahik looked him over critically for a moment, then reached for one of the accessories laid out beside her.
A few long, beaded necklaces were hung over his neck, long enough to fall over his chest. One was of bleached bone that matched the beads on the tewng, another woven with drops of amber, and a third with carved, red-orange wood. Bracelets decorated with the same beads were slid onto his wrists, and an armband of small feathers, similar to the ones that rested along his hips and thighs, was tied around his left bicep.
"Turn." Mo'at instructed shortly, and Spider scrambled to comply, spinning about-face so that his open back was to the woman. The boy tensed, more out of instincts than anything, when long fingers ran through his dreads, but the stiffness in his shoulders quickly eased however, as Mo'at gently went about pulling his hair back into a heavy knot of a bun that rested at the base of his neck, at no point tugging or doing anything that pulled too badly on his scalp.
The hands of a mother, Spider mused idly. Of course Mo'at knew how to style a child's hair without any painful tugging, she'd had two daughters, had four grandchildren…
Once finished with Spider's hair, Mo'at turned him back to face her. Piercing amber eyes looked over the human critically, then the Tsahik nodded in satisfaction. She reached into the bag one final time.
A shawl, soft and more sheer than anything Spider had ever dared worn, dyed in sunset hues with leafy veins of gold, was draped gently over Spider's shoulders. It looked like one of Mo'at's favorites, Spider realized, breath hitching in his throat. The only difference was that Mo'at's own identical shawl was white.
(Spider remembered being little, staring in awe as he watched Mo'at conduct a ceremony in that shawl, white as a cloud and as delicate as a moth wing, like a shroud of light-)
"These colors, some would say, embody fire. Destruction." Mo'at mused aloud, fixing how the fabric settled about Spider's shoulders. Spider's heart sank at her words, a lump growing in his throat.
Destruction was associated with humans. They'd brought fire along with their metal, had burned the original Home Tree to ashes with it. Sure, Mo’at was often clad in shades of amber and gold, but Mo'at was Tsahik and so her wearing the colors was one thing, what would the clan think when they saw Spider in these colors-?
"But ma Sylwanin," Mo'at continued, voice soft and containing something bittersweet as she gently smoothed down the gauzy fabric and brushed her fingers along its veins of gold. "These were her favorite colors. She always said that wearing them made her feel as vibrant as txon’ong. Through her, I grew to love these colors just as she did." The woman met Spider's gaze, and her eyes crinkled at the corners in one of her hidden smiles.
“They suit you well."
Spider felt his cheeks grow warm, and he looked down at himself, fiddling with the beads over his chest nervously. The beads clacked together in a soft, whispering cacophony, and while an unfamiliar weight on his chest, the light press of them on his skin somehow soothing.
"I-" Spider's voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat, looking a bit mortified. "Is it really okay? For me to wear all this, I mean. It's all so..."
Mo'at tilted her head, brow raised.
"Is it not to your liking?"
"No-! I mean, yes- I-!" Spider tripped over his own words, trying to say several things at once. Mo'at looked amused, and Spider pouted once he realized this. "You enjoy making me act like this, don't you?"
"Sometimes." Mo'at replied, tone light and teasing. "I find it does good to keep one humble."
Spider huffed a laugh, ducking his head to hide a shy smile. He sobered a moment later, peering back up through his lashes.
"I don't think I've ever owned clothing this nice. They’re so fancy. I can't imagine how long it took to craft them, especially on such short notice. I just..."
Mo'at watched him fidget for a long moment before taking pity on him.
"You fear how others will react, to see you dressed so. Ceremonial attire is different from your usual tewng and paints, and you worry it will only incur more trouble from those in the clan that are only beginning to see you more favorably, that they may begin to accuse you of overstepping or greed."
Spider nodded in agreement, shoulders slumping slightly, relieved and crestfallen in equal measure.
(Mo'at understood, she always understood him, without him having to say a word. Sometimes it was a relief. Sometimes it was just plain frightening).
Spider jumped slightly when delicate blue fingers tucked under his chin, gently tilting his head up until Spider was once more meeting Mo'at's eyes. The woman's expression was calm, placid as it near always was, but by now Spider knew her well enough that he could see something far more fierce in her gaze.
"You soothed both I'naat and Te'rak during the birthing process, helped ensure that both mother and child survived...You of all people deserve your place in the naming celebration." Fingers leaving his chin, Mo'at brushed back one of the loose dreadlocks she’d left free to frame his face, the gesture so tender that Spider’s mind went blank for a split second. "Furthermore, you have since then aided me in healing our clan nearly each and every day. You will stand by my side, tall and proud, because that is your place. You are Omaticaya, Spider. Your place is with us."
(The 'with me' was left unsaid. Spider still heard it).
"Now." Mo'at shifted back into a crouch, straightening up as much as she was capable of in such a small room, looking like a queen despite how her head nearly touched the ceiling. The authority in her voice made Spider's spine straighten as well, more from instinct than anything else because when the Tsahik spoke to you in such a tone, you’d better damn well listen. "We will go to the naming ceremony. You will walk beside me proudly– not staring at your feet, and you will witness the naming of the child you helped bring into our clan. You will enjoy warm food, made specifically so those among the festivities that are human can still partake, and you will sit with me as you eat, and bicker with the other healers over the best way to harvest Rawp or some other silly thing. You will enjoy the dancing, for while Kiri and Lo'ak may not be there to pull you into the circle, I have no doubt that I'naat will be eager to enjoy her newly unencumbered body and drag you along with her." Mo'at tilted her chin defiantly, voice laced with steel as she added with finality, "And I will ensure that no one dares to suggest, for even a moment, that are overstepping in dressing so finely, or that you do not belong."
If this were anyone but Mo'at, the words would sound silly. No one could be so certain about how things would commence, and to act as if they did would be foolish. But with Mo'at...Well, Spider knew better than to doubt her. He was fairly sure that the Tsahik could manifest whatever she decreed, regardless of what anyone else had to say about it.
Spider took a deep, steadying breath. If he was to walk by Mo'at's side today, to take up the empty space left at her elbow that had once been occupied by her daughter or granddaughter, then he would not shame her. He would not shuffle around, slouched and meek like a wilted flower; to do so would shame not only himself, but the Tsahik as well.
And so, forcing his shoulders back, Spider did his best to adopt the easy confidence Mo'at carried. He could not mimic her grace, but then again, no one could, so he didn't feel too bad about it.
Mo'at, seeing his change in demeanor, or at the very least in posture, nodded approvingly.
(On the way out, Norm saw them and was so bewildered to see the Omaticayan Tsahik in a human building that he gaped like a fish. Apparently, while he'd known that Spider had been spending time with her more often recently, he hadn't expected the woman to be willing to enter a human facility to retrieve him. Spider hadn't laughed so hard in ages).
(Mo'at was right, like always. The naming celebration was amazing).
Spider loved the clan children, he really did. They lacked the wariness and dislike that the adults and elders regarded humans with, and were always excited and willing to play. Spider had spent more than one day wrestling around and laughing with the little ones, smiling until his cheeks ached and his heart felt light.
(Even when their parents eventually came by and pulled them away, some casting Spider looks as they did so, he couldn't stop smiling).
And even the parents who showed a rather keen dislike of Spider (far fewer in number than before, but still there all the same) couldn't deny the sheer amount of care he showed the children, and thus would, if a bit reluctantly, give in to their children when they begged to join Spider on another 'adventure'.
Which was why Spider now found himself sitting in a small clearing in the forest not far below High Camp. He had a decently large group of kids today, all of varying ages, and so while Spider sat with the little ones and weaved bracelets and crowns of grass and small flower blooms and feathers, the elder children occupied themselves by playing about in the trees surrounding the clearing. Spider kept an absent ear on the elder childrens' giggling voices for anything amiss, any little spats or scraped knees, but otherwise left them to their games.
"Spider! Spider, look!"
Offering the little girl before him a smile, Spider arranged his expression to look suitably impressed as he took the offered bracelet and examined it.
"This looks great, Nerru." He praised, carefully running his fingers over the shakily woven grass, surreptitiously tightening a few knots as he did so. "Is it for you? Or your little brother?"
Little Nerru giggled, shaking her head, sending her beaded braids clattering.
"It's for you, silly!" She corrected, amber eyes bright as she stared up at the human, nearly vibrating with excitement and looking rather proud of herself.
Spider felt his heart twist, and his smile softened as he reached out to place a hand atop her head, ruffling her braids affectionately.
"It's beautiful." He enthused, carefully tying the bracelet around his wrist. It was too small for any full grown Na'vi, but for children or for a human? It fit just right.
Nerru preened under the praise, dimples creasing her cheeks adorably, making Spider melt a little. He was far from immune to the charms of children, something Kiri had always teased him about.
"Why don't you make another one for your mother?" He suggested, nudging her back towards the others, hoping to keep her entertained for a while longer. "She'd love it if you made her one."
Nerru nodded with a chirped agreement, joining back with the other younger kids who were gathered around a pile of gathered odds and ends they were using as trinkets for their jewelry. Spider rested back on his hands, content to observe and bask in the mid-day sun. His bow lay beside him, strung just in case, and a basket sat empty nearby as well, all of the fruit and other goodies it had once carried consumed by hungry little mouths. With the sunlight warm on his back, and the wind storm from a few days ago long past, it was the perfect day to enjoy time away from High Camp.
(Of course he had to jinx it, Spider would later curse himself for the optimism).
"Spider!"
The frantic tone had Spider immediately on alert, hand shooting over to his bow as he lifted himself into a crouch, turning towards the voice calling out to him.
One of the older children, Kar'iku, broke through the treeline and rushed towards Spider. The panicked expression on his face set Spider on edge, and he fully rose to his feet and strode forward to meet the boy, eyes darting briefly over the treeline in search of trouble.
"Kar'iku? What's wrong? Is someone hurt?"
Kar'iku stumbled to a stop, nearly bowling the Spider over in his haste had the human not caught him by the shoulders. He shook his head frantically, one of his dreads’ nearly whipping Spider in the eye.
"No! No, its- its Mahtun and Li'mani!" The ten year old stammered out, tail lashing around behind him agitatedly. "I tried to tell them! I-I tried, but they didn't listen!"
"Alright, alright, slow down." Spider implored, rubbing his hands along the boy's arms to try and calm him, adopting the tone he used when Tuk would come to him in tears after an argument with her siblings. "Kar'iku, where are Mahtun and Li'mani?"
The boy's bottom lip wobbled as he met Spider's eye.
"They went to the old palulukan den."
Spider felt his heart all but stop, and his face went white. He was drenched in ice-cold fear, and his head spun.
The old Palulukan den was supposedly abandoned, but on Eywa'eveng caves rarely stayed empty for long, and palulukan were known to follow the scents left behind by their own kind to find good hunting grounds or shelter. Every so often, one or two of the great predators would make their home in the nearby cave– not for long, never for long, but it was to be regarded as dangerous at all times, whether or not it was in use. Everyone knew this, the children knew this!
But Mahtun and Li'mani were a willful pair; the twins often enjoyed daring one another to do any manner of foolish things. It was not so outlandish that they may have turned venturing into the old den into another one of their ridiculous tests of courage.
Spider turned to the trees where the other elder children were, some still playing, others watching curiously. The young man let out a loud, barking whoop, a sound that all the clan's little ones knew by heart, and the children quickly scrambled out of the trees or abandoned their current projects on the ground to come running at his summons.
"Everyone, back to High Camp, now!" Spider ordered, tone leaving no room for argument. He turned to the eldest of the group, a twelve-year-old named Siharin. "You and the older kids are in charge, get the little ones back to Camp as fast as possible and get help. Tell the hunters that the twins went to the old dens."
Siharin's eyes widened, and he nodded quickly, rushing to herd the others back towards camp. Spider bolted in the other direction, trusting the older kids to get the younger ones home safely in his stead.
As he ran, Spider's world narrowed down to nothing but the path before him, mind focused solely on getting to the pair of wayward siblings as quickly as he could.
(The den was abandoned right now, right? It had to be, it just had to be, if it wasn't then-)
The usual grace he held, born from years of practice and struggle, died in the face of Spider's overwhelming fear. Caution was cast to the wind, and Spider couldn't feel the branches that left bright red welts on his skin as they clawed at him, nor the bleeding cuts torn into his calloused feet as he clambered over boulders without seeking the cushion of moss on them as he usually would have.
An earth shaking roar split the air. Spider knew the sounds of each beast in the forest by heart, and this one was no exception.
Palulukan
Spider's heart twisted so painfully he could've sworn it was being strangled. He ran faster, even as his lungs burned and the muscles in his legs screamed in protest.
The den itself was not all that far, but what was only a five minute run felt more like hours to Spider's panicked mind. He skidded to a halt on one of the branches of the trees just outside of the entrance to the cave.
Two small blue forms were huddled together behind a large boulder a few dozen feet to the right of the cave entrance. Little Li'mani and Mahtun were doing their best to hide from the sharp eyes of a palulukan that was slowly stalking along the left most perimeter of the small clearing.
The palulukan was large, more so than the (admittedly few) others Spider had seen in his short lifetime. It had undoubtedly seen more than its fair share of fights, judging by the heavy scarring that covered its body. It hadn't seen the kids, not yet at least, but it could clearly smell intruders in its territory and was prowling closer and closer to the hiding place they were pinned behind.
Spider knew that he stood little chance against most of the predators Eywa'eveng had to offer on his own, let alone a palulukan. Even most full-fledged and full grown hunters of the clan would struggle with one this large, and they were twice Spider's size and stronger to boot. Spider's every instinct was alight, telling him, screaming at him to run as fast and far as he could before he was seen by the beast below.
But he could not, would not run. Running meant that two children, children he had been trusted to protect, would die. And they would die– predators such as this did not differentiate between child and adult, they only saw prey or threats to their territory, and would not show mercy.
And so he would not run. He would fight. He would stall the palulukan as long as he could, so that either the twins could escape, or the hunters he'd sent the others to fetch could reach them in time.
Letting out a slow, shaky breath, Spider adjusted his position until he was better braced, and pulled an arrow from the quiver he carried on his back. Compared to the arrows of the Na'vi, his own were small, tiny things. They were barely more than twigs in appearance, and were often a source of amusement for others in the clan.
But they were sharp, each and every one, crafted by Spider's own careful hands, and Spider was too proud to let them be anything less than perfect. And more recently, Mo'at– clever, brilliant Mo'at, had shown him how to coat his arrowheads in the toxin of Prt'sim, a poison that could slow most anything down. Even a stubborn old palulukan.
None of it would ensure his survival, no…
But, well. It wasn't his survival he was concerned about.
Spider's heart pounded against his ribs, a bird trying to flee its cage. His lungs burned from his frantic running, as did his muscles. His arms were steady though, despite it all, as he nocked the arrow. Forcing himself to breathe in deeply, the young man barked a sharp note out, loud enough for the sound to echo in the clearing. It sounded close enough to the call of some of the local wildlife that it went largely unnoticed by the palulukan, whose only indication of having heard it was the twitch of a frill, but the twins both perked up at the sound. They knew the sound well, had learned just like all the other little ones early on that it was a call to attention, and large, wide golden eyes searched the trees frantically for a moment before falling on Spider up in his hiding place. The human adjusted his hold on his bow so that he had a free hand, and quickly signed a couple of brief signals everyone in the clan had learned from Jake.
’Quiet. Stay low. Will distract. Run for cover.’.
Young though they were, the twins understood well enough, and they nodded eagerly, looking so relieved they might cry. The sheer hope in their eyes was enough to embolden Spider, and he adjusted himself into a steady position before he lifted his bow and drew the bowstring back.
The fletching of the arrow brushed his cheek. His knife, heavy at his hip, was a comforting weight. His songcord swayed slightly in the gentle midday breeze, tapping against his thigh.
One final deep breath.
He fired.
Mo'at was there, speaking with a handful of the clan's weavers when the children had first ran into camp like their tails had caught fire and there had been a brief panic. Was it the sky people? Had they not been drawn away by the Sulli family leaving?
But no, the little ones were rambling on about Spider and the old palulukan den and the twins wouldn't listen, why wouldn't they listen-?
It had taken a few minutes to calm the children down enough to make sense, but when they did…
Mo'at was moving before she fully even registered it, rushing to grab her bag of healing supplies and her bow before calling for her dear Telisi. She could faintly hear protests behind her, some of the others of the clan trying to stop her, insisting they could handle the situation, but it was all static to Mo'at ears.
(The den, it wasn't abandoned now, the hunters all knew that, why had no one told Spider or the children-?)
She was in the air before anyone else, before some of the hunters had even gathered their own weapons. The Tsahik's heart was thundering in her ears, and her mind taunted her with visions of blood and destruction– that of both the children and Spider. She spurred Telisi to fly even faster, as fast as the ikran could manage.
Several others, both hunters and healers alike, caught up with her quickly on their own ikran, grim faced and determined. Any arguments they'd had against Mo'at going to the den were now silenced, her stiff posture and thunderous expression making it clear that she would not turn back, and no one brave enough to risk her wrath.
On ikran, the trip itself was quick, but even so Mo'at didn't even wait for her ikran to land, jumping off while still a dozen or so feet off the ground. Almost immediately the stench of blood hit her nose.
Near the den entrance, the palulukan that had been making use of the cave lay dead; nearly so, at least. Its chest heaved with wavering, haggard breaths, and it seemed incapable of moving any longer. Over a dozen short arrows, familiar arrows, stuck out of the beast's body at odd angles, one having even found its home in one of the palulukan's eyes. The faint scent of Prt'sim oil reached Mo'at's nose, confirming that these arrows belonged to Spider. She'd been the one to teach him how to use the oil, after all. The palulukan's inability to move now made sense– between the Prt'sim oil and the several deep, bleeding knife wounds that interspersed the arrows, the large creature would be left too weak to do much at all.
It was not a clean kill, not nearly as merciful as all in the clan were taught, but in this case Spider could be forgiven, considering the threat posed to their children and the sheer difference in size between Spider and the beast– the palulukan was large even by Na’vi standards, a clean and quick kill would have been impossible.
But that was not her current concern. Head whipping about, Mo'at's eyes searched the shaded clearing wildly, and behind her the others of the rescue party called out the twins' names just as desperately.
A choked sob caught Mo'at's ear, and she turned, sharp eyes landing on a large boulder. Darting forward, the Tsahik checked behind the jagged stone, a hand hovering by the knife at her hip cautiously.
Mahtun and Li'mani were bowed over a prone form, Mahtun weeping as his sister shook the body's shoulder desperately.
The body was small. It was pale.
Spider.
Mo'at was suddenly swamped with dread, and she lurched forward, carefully pushing the twins back to give herself space, absently calling to the rest of the group that she had found the children. She left them to care for the little ones, her own focus solely fixed on the small human before her.
Spider lay on his front, face turned away from her. A deep gouge had been carved over his shoulder; a second, slightly shallower wound on his leg. Blood, his own and likely that of the palulukan as well, stained his skin and hair a deep crimson. The places not covered in red were a motley of black and blue bruising so vivid that it made Mo'at's own body ache with sympathy.
Reaching out, Mo'at felt a sense of dread as she went about carefully, oh so carefully, turning Spider over onto his back. He was too still, his body colder than usual.
Settling the boy once more, Mo'at's eyes turned to Spider's face, hoping to see the boy's eyes open at least, or some sign of consciousness, but all that was forgotten in a single breath, all thoughts of healing and tending wounds vanishing, because it was not Spider's amber eyes that greeted her.
Spider's mask was shattered.
His chest was still.
Mo'at barely managed to bite back the wail that bubbled up into her throat, but it was a close thing.
(No, not Spider, not her taronyutsyip, had she not already lost enough family? This wasn't right, it couldn't be true-)
"Tsahik? What is- oh..."
One of the others, a young healer named Ru'wa, came to a halt a few steps back, taking in the sight before her. Mo'at did not dare to lift her head, to rip her eyes from Spider's scratched and dirty face. The woman was faintly aware of the tears that dripped down her cheeks, droplets of water falling from her chin to land on Spider's chest, washing away traces of grime and blood. Reaching up, Mo'at gently pulled the now useless mask off the boy, setting it aside before cupping Spider's cheek. Her hand, so big compared to such a small being, encompassed the entirety of his jaw and stretched all the way to his temple. There was not a twitch of movement; his face remained still.
"Oh taronyutsyip..." Mo'at breathed in a wavering voice, bowing forward to press her forehead to the young man's, eyes squeezing shut. "Oh ma Spider."
Behind her she could hear the rest of the rescue party murmuring. Several bowed their heads mournfully, knowing it was only because of Spider's brave actions that the twins had escaped the palulukan unscathed. His actions here were honorable and worth the utmost respect, even from those who disliked him.
Oh, how badly Mo'at wished to scream. She wished to rage over the unfairness of it all, wished to sob until she had no tears left to spill, because Spider did not deserve this. Not the boy who had stayed by her side for so many weeks and months, whose compassion and joy over even the smallest kindness shown towards him lightened Mo'at's grieving heart, who was so uncertain of his place and yet acted as a true member of the Omaticaya should.
(Shamefully, a part of her felt bitter that it had taken so long for others in her clan to See Spider, only for Spider to die before they could truly come to appreciate him and show him the level of care owed to him).
"T-...Tsahik..." Ru'wa hesitantly spoke up, kneeling on Spider's other side, her own voice slightly choked and wavering. Mo'at could remember how she and Spider had had a spirited debate only a of couple weeks ago, during the naming celebration. The younger woman had seemed impressed by Spider's knowledge, and had been openly friendly with him since. "We should...We should bring his...his body. Back to the other humans. He deserves a burial..."
She was right. Of course she was, Mo'at knew this well. But still, it took her a few moments more before she could bear to pull back from her
taronyutsyip, her hand sliding from the boy's cheek to his shoulder, to his still chest, then finally pulling away fully.
"Of course." Mo'at managed, voice barely more than a haggard whisper, another tear sliding down her cheek.
He would have a proper burial, she would make sure of it. Not burned into ash, like she'd heard the humans tended to do; no, Spider would be buried the Omaticayan way, nestled among the roots of New Hometree, his waytelem sung aloud and life honored by the People.
(She didn’t know the words to Spider’s song, had never even thought to ask, had thought there would be so much time and that she would pass long before her little taronyutsyip...But she knew its rhythm. The song’s ebb and flow, the pitch of its notes, and that would be enough).
(It had to be enough).
Slowly, Mo'at stood, hand clenching tight around the pack of medicinal supplies she'd brought with her, knuckles pale. All of it was useless, her tonics or tinctures would do nothing for Spider now, could not bring the breath back to his lungs or force his heart to beat. It felt as if she were moving through a dream, Mo'at mused, or perhaps more aptly a nightmare. Each movement felt sluggish, and her mind was foggy at the edges. The last time she'd felt this way had been when Old Hometree had fallen and her mate had been lost. Even when her family had been banished, she at least knew they yet lived, could find some measure of comfort in that fact. Spider, on the other hand…
A hunter came up beside her, gesturing to Spider's body in silent offer when the woman could not bring herself to lift the child, waiting until Mo'at nodded tersely to step forward to retrieve the boy's corpse. Mo'at had to turn away as the hunter passed her, swallowing around the lump in her throat as she tried to force her tears to stop. She needed to regain some semblance of composure; she was Tsahik, her People needed her to remain calm and in control, always. She could weep and scream and wail later, once she was able to find some place private and far from camp, could fully mourn the child who she had grown so very close to, who she saw as her family...as her-
A yelp made the entire rescue party jump to attention, and Mo'at whipped back around to the offending voice, a snarl on her lips when she realized that it had been the hunter who'd gone to retrieve Spider that had squawked like a startled yerik. If he'd dropped the boy, had somehow disrespected or desecrated his body, Tsahik or not Mo'at would not be merciful!
But this was not the case. The hunter hadn’t even had the chance to lift the small body, instead sprawled on the ground, seemingly startled by something, staring with bewilderment at the human before him. Mo'at's gaze followed his, and her breath caught in her throat.
An atokirina, smaller than most but still bright as a star, lazily drifted just above Spider's bare face. It bobbed there for a moment, ponderous, as if examining the human child, and no one dared move. To break the moment of utter stillness felt as if it would be sacrilegious in the worst of ways.
Slowly, daintily, the tiny sprite floated down, resting lightly on Spider's brow. Together, with how the boy's blonde locks spread around his head like a halo of gold, the sight was almost...ethereal. Beautiful in a painful, bittersweet way that was indescribable.
The burn of tears renewed in Mo'at's eyes, to see Spider acknowledged so by Eywa'eveng herself.
The atokirina, seemingly done with whatever it had intended, lazily lifted back into the air, drifting away on a stray breeze. The group watched it solemnly, no one wanting to be the first to break the silence, to speak.
In the end, it was not any of the gathered Na'vi who shattered the quiet– it was a rasping, wheezing breath from Spider.
Mo'at was at the boy's side in the time it took to blink, her hands cupping his face as she stared down at him, eyes wide with shock and painfully desperate hope. After a moment, a second breath followed the first. It was shaky and shallow, but it was there.
As the gathered Na'vi whispered to one another, confused and shocked, Mo'at hurriedly pressed her ear to Spider's chest. There, she found a slow, steady heartbeat, accompanied by the rasp of each breath that made his ribs expand and retract.
He was Blessed. Spider had been Blessed with the ability to breathe Eywa'eveng’s toxic air, that was the only explanation. Mo'at would not question it, she would be thankful for it, would forever be thankful for it and would not squander this chance.
Mo'at's face was again wet with tears, but these were born of relief and joy. Pulling back, she looked over Spider again, this time with the eyes of a healer with a patient, rather than a grieving mother.
Spider was breathing, his heart was beating, but he was still in bad shape. Just like on the back of his shoulder and leg, his torso was littered with bleeding wounds and colorful bruising. His left shoulder was dislocated, and his ankle was badly swollen, possibly broken. It was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't lost any limbs– he must've been moving fast, not fast enough to fully dodge the palulukan's claws, but enough so that the predator had only been able to land glancing blows. Quickly reaching into her bag, Mo'at set about stemming the flow of blood as best she could, Ru'wa hastily joining her to assist in turning Spider over to get to the wounds on his back.
Mo'at's gaze briefly wavered on the column of Spider's throat, where on either side, a pair of staggered lines of sanhi curled along his jaw, throat and collar bones, seemingly having appeared from nowhere, faintly glowing like distant stars. Physically visible evidence, aside from the lack of a mask, that Spider was surely Blessed. The Tsahik quickly shook herself (later, there would be time to think over this all later), and finishing the hasty bandages, she scooped up Spider in her arms, swift but careful of his wounds.
"We need to take him back to the humans." She snapped, voice brokering no argument as she hurried towards Telisi, where she had landed a few yards away. "Take the children back to High Camp. Dennatu, deal with the body of the palulukan. Ru'wa, G'razi, with me."
As the rest of the group scrambled to follow her orders, Mo'at pulled herself up onto the back of her ikran, cradling Spider to her chest as if he were but a babe. They took to the air, and the woman looked down at the prone form in her arms.
"I have you, mah Spider." She promised, tucking him as close to her chest as she dared with his many wounds. "Stay strong just a little longer."
The entire ride, Spider's breath never faltered.
When Spider first awoke, he wasn't actually all that sure that he was awake.
His mind felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and his body felt numb and floaty. It took him too long to realize that he recognized this feeling as the side effects of some heavy pain medication; he'd felt this way only once before, after a nasty fall when he was nine.
Had he fallen again? He didn't think he had, it had been years since he'd suffered any sort of tumble that left anything more than a few scratches.
(Man, if he had fallen and hurt himself that bad again, that was beyond embarrassing...)
Slowly, Spider managed to crack his eyes open. He immediately regretted it as bright, piercing light stabbed into his eyes, directly through his skull it felt like, making him slam his eyes back shut with a groan. Ugh, medbay lights. The bane of his existence. Even worse, he was now aware of the annoying humming sound of machinery just to his left, which was just as irritating as the lights.
"Ma Spider?"
Spider frowned, confused by the breathless voice in which his name was spoken. There was a clamor of movement, making Spider flinch at the suddenness of it, then there was another voice cursing in English.
"Shi- hold on a second, Spider, I'll get the lights!" This voice was deeper, and masculine where the first was feminine. Names to match to the faces though– those were still escaping him.
After a second, the bright light that lit up the backs of his eyelids dimmed significantly. Warily peeking an eye open, Spider let out a breath of relief when he found the light above him had indeed become a warm, dim glow as opposed to the burning sun it had been moments ago. Spider had to blink a few times still before the spots fully cleared from his vision, and he found himself staring at the plain ceiling of the medbay.
Spider's brow furrowed. He was in a bed in medical, but...he knew he hadn't fallen, somehow he was sure of that. So why...?
Oh.
Oh!
Oh!
A spark of panic raced through Spider, and adrenaline shot up his spine, making the teen lurch to try and sit up. Immediately, pain burned across his body from multiple places, and the machines beside the bed screamed a protest. Loud voices overlapped each other, sounding frantic, and human-sized hands pushed at his chest to get him to lay back down.
Spider looked up at the panicked faces before him, and finally names came to him. Norm and Max were the ones trying to get him to lay back down, looking more frazzled than Spider had seen them in quite a while. Behind them, Mo'at of all people was hovering, her face pale and drawn and so...un-Mo'at-ish that Spider did a double-take.
(Had he ever seen her look like this? Sad, yes. Angry, yes, mostly when someone did something incredibly stupid. But this? This strange, haunted look?)
(No. No, he hadn't).
"Wh-what-" Spider's voice cracked in his throat, making him realize just how thirsty he was.
Max hurried to the sink in the corner to fill a cup for him, while Norm...well, was Norm.
"What were you thinking?!" He demanded, rushing to shut off the machines that were still rioting rather loudly. "Throwing yourself at a Thanator like that?! Do you have a deathwish?! I have half a mind to-!"
As the older man ranted on, Max returned and offered Spider a cup half-way filled.
"Drink it slow." Max warned, managing a half-hearted smile. He looked exhausted, face haggard and his grin shaky at best. Spider, deciding it better not to ask about, just nodded and took the offered cup. The water had to be the best he'd ever tasted, despite its tepid temperature, and it took a surprising amount of willpower to resist the urge to just chug the cup's contents. With his throat now slightly clearer, the teen tried again to speak, cutting Norm off.
"The twins?" He asked looking right past Norm and Max to Mo'at, because if anyone knew the answer to this, she would. "Are the twins okay? They weren't hurt or-" Spider couldn't finish the question.
(Dead. Were they dead, had he failed, had it all been for nothing-?)
Mo'at looked briefly startled, but then her gaze softened into something warm, and she eased past the two human men before her, kneeling by Spider's bedside. She took hold of Spider's hand, fingers curling over his so very delicately.
"They are healthy and whole, thanks to you." She reassured, thumb rubbing over each knob of Spider's knuckles. The gesture was gentle and warm, and the tight knot in Spider's chest loosened.
He hadn't failed, then. Somehow, by some miracle, he'd managed to protect them. Even more miraculous, he was alive...When he distinctly remembered his mask being shattered.
Not just cracked, shattered, into a hundred tiny glass fragments. The palulukan's final throes of resistance had thrown him into a boulder, causing the delicate mask to break like the fragile shell of an egg. He could remember his lungs burning, how no matter how he struggled he could not draw breath, how the twins had knelt over him weeping and begging him to stay awake, how panic had flooded his veins, followed by resignation...
He had broken his mask. He had suffocated on Eywa'eveng’s air, his blood seeping into the earth beneath him. He should be dead.
Wetting his lips, Spider looked between Mo'at, Max and Norm, trying to figure out how to word his question.
"How...I mean, my mask broke, I remember it did." Spider's brow knotted in confusion, something unpleasant twisting in his belly when Norm and Max winced at his words. "I couldn't breathe, so how..?"
For a couple moments, a heavy silence hung over the room. It made the little hairs on the back of Spider's neck rise, and the hand that was not currently held by Mo'at fisted in the blanket laid over him. He watched as Norm and Max shared a look, and for a moment both were gesturing at one another, having a silent argument of some sort. It was a familiar sight for Spider– they'd done the same thing when it came time that someone had to give him the "birds and the bees talk" (he still didn't get why it was called that).
Mo'at was the one to break the silence, shifting slightly and bringing Spider's attention to her. Her expression was serious, but also...there was something so breathless, and awed there, in a way Spider had never seen.
"You remember correctly. Your mask was all but destroyed, and you were exposed to the air. But it would seem that you, taronyutsyip, have been Seen, and Blessed."
Her words did little to clear anything up for Spider, as he stared up at her in confusion.
He remembered hearing all the stories of course, of those who were Blessed. Few in number, with the last having been over a century ago, those who received a Blessing from the spirits were regarded highly and often viewed as beings with a sacred connection to Eywa'eveng itself. They were often spoken of with the same breathless awe reserved for beings such as the atokirina.
Hearing his own name and the title of Blessed in the same sentence...it didn't compute for Spider. That word should never be spoken in regards to a human, especially not him…
Seeing him struggling to understand, Mo'at lifted a hand, placing it gently to Spider's chest and bringing his attention down to it.
Spider froze, breath catching in his throat.
There, dotting the skin just above the woman's hand, were glowing freckles of light. Sanhi.
Lifting a shaking hand, Spider lightly touched one of the faintly lit spots. He felt nothing there really. There was no raised bump or pockmark in his skin; it was just like any other freckle or beauty mark, flush with the skin.
"Th-this...They're..."
Spider looked up at the room's other occupants with a pleading look, some part of him afraid that he was hallucinating, or that he was somehow misunderstanding what the spots of light were. That this was all some wonderful, terrible dream. Max managed a grim smile, trying to be reassuring, and Norm (who rarely lacked words) began trying to explain.
"We're still running some tests, but the current theory is that you, being born here on Pandora, may have wound up being born with some form of mutation that allows you to breathe Pandoran air."
Spider frowned up at the older man.
"But wouldn't you guys have noticed that kind of thing before now?" He asked, fingers absently rubbing at the newly developed sanhi on his collarbone. "I mean, I've had plenty of medical check-ups over the years..."
Norm nodded along with his words as he spoke, acknowledging and agreeing with him.
"You're right, usually we would've seen something on your scans ages ago. We think that maybe that the mutation was dormant in your body before now, and only really expressed itself when your mask broke and you had prolonged exposure to Pandora’s air." Norm sighed, rubbing the back of his head. Spider noted that he looked just as exhausted as Max, bags under his eyes and face unshaven, and Spider felt a pang in his heart. He must have caused so much worry... "We're still trying to figure out how it developed so quickly, and how the sanhi are connected to it all– I mean, really! How does a sudden physical mutation in the respiratory system even relate to bioluminescence?! Sanhi have no sort of connection in the slightest with-!"
Max coughed pointedly, cutting Norm off mid-rant, and the taller scientist deflated with a sigh.
"Right. Sorry. Not important right now." Norm grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he forced himself back on track. "Point is: somehow, you can breathe Pandora's air now, but at the moment, the exact details of how that's possible?" He seesawed a hand in a so-so motion. "Are a bit shaky."
By Spider's side, Mo'at scoffed, looking mildly disgruntled. Considering how the general Na'vi population viewed human science, medicine...Anything human-based, really, it wasn't much of a surprise that she wasn't satisfied with Norm's explanation.
"As I have told you many times, the 'how' does not matter. He has been Blessed. That is all there is to it." Mo'at's gaze softened as the hand she had on Spider's chest lifted to brush back Spider's hair and tuck it behind his ear. It was only now that Spider realised his hair was not in its usual dreadlocked style, and instead fell about his shoulders in its natural curls. It felt foreign, far lighter than the usual dreadlocks he sported. "We should be grateful for it, not questioning it."
"Right, right." Norm hastily agreed. He'd always been a bit twitchy around Mo'at; a lot of the humans that lived on Eywa'eveng were similarly intimidated by the towering Na'vi woman, to be fair. Spider would've laughed at how flustered Norm was as he went about disconnecting some of the now unnecessary equipment that was hooked up to him, but the teen couldn't bring himself to look away from Mo'at.
Her expression was just…
The Tsahik, always so composed and regal, rarely looked little more than stoic. Spider had seen her smile on a few occasions, yes, and had seen her angry, but even then her expressions always held some sharp, hard edge to them. Something distant always separating her from whatever was going on around her by a marginal degree, always leaving her seeming just a bit detached. Here and now though, in a building Spider knew the woman hated, around machines that she couldn't stand the sound of, among people who, despite their change in loyalties and aid in the fight against the RDA, she always kept a distance from...There was none of that. She looked at Spider as if he was a miracle, as if she couldn't bear to look away from him, as if Spider might disappear if she averted her gaze for even a second. Spider couldn't remember anyone looking at him like that in...Well, ever, really.
"But I died." Spider couldn't help but voice, confusion coating his hoarse words and crinkling his brow. "I remember, I couldn't breathe, and...and everything went black, and cold."
Norm briefly fumbled the scanner he'd picked up, and Max had gone from pale to a bit grey as Spider recounted what he last remembered. Mo'at looked a bit strained as well, the joy in her eyes flickering like a flame. After a moment, Norm cleared his throat awkwardly.
"It seems you were...technically dead, for a couple of minutes. But that was all! Five minutes tops!" He tried to reassure, forcing an unconvincing smile onto his face. It did little to comfort Spider, as his heart tripped over itself briefly.
Dead. He'd been dead. He'd been prepared to die of course; if it meant the twins survived, it was a more than worthy trade in Spider's eyes. But to hear that yes, he'd been dead...It made his stomach churn like he'd just tumbled over a cliff. And not only had he somehow actually survived, he was in some ways better than he'd been before. Sure, he was cut and bruised, and he no doubt had a few broken bones judging by how badly his body ached and how his ribs and ankle burned, but he could breathe Eywa'eveng’s air. Once he healed, he could live the rest of his life without a mask, free to take in the scent of the earth beneath his feet, of the tantalizing food being cooked on the cook fires, of the bitter herbs he and Mo'at worked with. He could gaze upon Eywa'eveng without a glass pane acting as a barrier, and never would he again have to fear that his exopack would run out of battery, or that he may accidentally breathe in the air while eating.
Spider's whole body itched with a sudden burst of adrenaline, wanting to go go go. To go outside, to breathe the air, to feel it fill his lungs and senses and-
Swallowing once, then twice, Spider found his voice once more.
"How bad is it?" At the questioning looks shot his way, he clarified, "How badly was I hurt. Besides the, y'know. Dying thing."
Max coughed, trying to disguise a laugh. Norm's eyes rolled upward as if to plead for patience from some higher being, muttering under his breath.
"'Dying thing', of course you'd..." Shaking his head, Norm went back to running the scanner over Spider. Max was the one to provide an answer this time.
"You're honestly much better off than I'd expect any human to be, after fighting a Thanator all by yourself and the whole ‘dying thing’. You did lose a decent amount of blood, and we had to give you many, many stitches on your shoulder, back, leg and chest. There's bruising on most of your body, we had to set your left shoulder, and you fractured your ankle. You cracked three of your ribs, too, you're lucky none of them are broken."
As he nodded along with Max's explanation, Spider idly mused that he was grateful it wasn't Norm explaining all this. He loved the man like an uncle, but Norm was horrible at dumbing things down enough for others who were not scientists like himself. Max had always been better at that sort of thing.
"By some miracle, you didn't suffer from much internal bleeding, though you bruised your kidney. Other than that, you got a few scratches on your face from when your mask broke, but...that's it." Max sounded slightly awed by this fact, eyeing Spider consideringly, as if he could get an answer just by staring at him long enough. "You, buddy, are insanely lucky. Five minutes may sound short, but most people whose hearts restart after that long sustain brain damage of some sort, the fact that you haven’t…”
Spider nodded slowly. He'd never thought of himself as being lucky before now, not with who his father was, with the fact that he would forever be tawtute with a small, human body and no kuru. Now, it felt like he was getting all the lucky breaks due to him all at once, between surviving a palulukan, having no lingering ill-effects from his brush with death, and now being able to actually breathe.
"He is now awake." Mo'at's voice drew Spider from his thoughts, and he looked up to find the woman now staring at Norm and Max with a hard expression. By her tone, it seemed as if she were reminding the other two humans in the room of something, although Spider wasn't sure of what. Honestly, things still felt a bit fuzzy, thanks to the painkillers they'd no doubt pumped him full of.
(He was glad for it, even if it dulled his senses. He could remember the pain when he'd first received the wounds, the burning burning agony so much pain-)
Norm looked a bit pained, trying to avoid meeting Mo'at's eyes.
"There's still a chance that- that there's some damage we've missed, or-"
Mo'at scoffed, waving a hand as if to bat away the man's protests.
"I am Tsahik, I know what signs to look for should there be trouble within his body or mind. I have been a healer longer than either of you have been alive!"
Spider blinked, bewildered. He wasn't so proud that he couldn’t admit he'd completely lost the thread of conversation now. He looked to Max, hoping the man might correctly understand his expression and explain. Max, good ol' Max, seemed to read his mind, and as Mo'at and Norm argued, he shuffled around to Spider's other side.
"Tsahik Mo'at wanted to bring you back with her to High Camp, where she could look after you, once it was determined you were out of the woods." He explained in low tones, unwilling to disrupt the other two's argument. Spider's brows raised as he regarded Max with surprise, and the older human shrugged. "Apparently 'sky people' medicine isn't good enough for you, in her opinion. We made a compromise with her, and told her once you were awake and could give consent, she could take you back with her to High Camp. We thought by then she'd relax and maybe even let the idea go if she saw how our own medical procedures helped you, but..."
Spider briefly considered telling Max that that had been a stupid hope (because very few had the sheer stubborn will that the Tsahik and her bloodline displayed and the idea that anyone or anything could change her mind was ridiculous), but opted not to. It would be rude to, since Max was at least explaining what was going on and trying to make it all a bit less confusing.
Not to say it wasn't still throwing Spider for a loop. In the past, when he'd been sick or hurt, Mo'at had never shown this level of concern, had never demanded that she be the one to tend to him.
(He knew why, deep down. Knew that before, Mo'at had her family, had never had a reason to connect with Spider, like she had these past months. There had been no bond, as there was now, and he hadn't been Blessed with this new found gift to breathe-)
"We called Jake, by the way." Max said, turning his eyes away from the argument before them to look down at Spider. "Let him and Neytiri and the kids know what happened, with the Thanator and..." He waved a hand, gesturing encompassing all of Spider. "This. The breathing thing, and the sanhi."
Spider felt his heart trip over itself.
Contact with the Sully family was purposefully sparse, to avoid any chance of the RDA tracking the signal that accompanied radio calls. The only acceptable reason to take such a risk was if someone's life was in danger, or vital information needed to be shared. He never thought that he himself and his wellbeing would be considered ‘vital’ in any way.
Then again, a human being able to breathe on Eywa'eveng probably counted as highly important information, if only because if the RDA realized it was possible, then they may figure out just how to make that possible for others. And if the RDA could find a way to roam freely without fear of suffocation...Yeah. That would be bad.
"Are they doing okay?" Spider asked, shoving away those unpleasant thoughts for the time being. Max shrugged casually, lips lifting into a smile.
"As well as they can be, all things considered. Kiri was pretty ecstatic though, when she heard about your new physiology. You know, once she got over panicking about your brief stint with death." The man's smile quirked into a wry grin, "I couldn't really hear her that well, she was in the background, but I think she was saying something along the lines of 'see mom, I told you so', or something like that."
Spider, so startled by this, couldn't withhold a bark of laughter. Yeah, that sounded like Kiri. She was probably beyond smug right now, taking Spider's new and improved lungs and pretty sanhi as proof of her constant claims that he was of Eywa'eveng, just as much as any Na'vi.
"I'm betting Neytiri wasn't too happy with her?" He hazarded. Max shrugged again.
"Eh, I didn't hear anything from her, but if I had to guess..?" He trailed off, raising a brow meaningfully, and the pair of humans laughed.
It wasn’t that Spider thought Neytiri would wish death upon him– for all that she may dislike him, she would never think such cruel things regarding any child. It was her child deciding to loudly gloat that would really test her patience, and Kiri was rarely quiet in her opinions. The thought of Neytiri sending her daughter a long-suffering look over the cook fire as she loudly and repeatedly proclaimed Spider as one of the People was something Spider couldn’t help but grin over.
Mo'at and Norm, evidently done with their bickering, turned to Spider and Max. With a sigh, Norm crossed his arms, looking completely and utterly done with everything. Through her stoic features, a hint of smugness came through on Mo’at’s own face.
"Alright. Spider? You okay with this?"
Spider hesitated, eyes flicking between Mo'at and Norm briefly.
"I...Guess that depends on what 'this' is?" He asked warily. "Would I be staying in the healing tent, or..?"
Mo'at scoffed, as if offended by the very idea, shaking her head, beaded braids clattering with the motion.
"And leave you to be gawked over? That would hardly be any better than if you remained here. No, you will stay in my home, where I may oversee your recovery myself."
Spider felt a great warmth engulf his chest at the woman's assertion. There was an edge of protectiveness to her words that Spider was unused to hearing from anyone other than his pseudo siblings, and for a moment he had to swallow around a lump in his throat, struggling for words. He wanted to agree immediately, of course he did! But Mo'at was Tsahik, and he was a single human kid…
"I don't want to get in the way of your work." Spider managed to choke out, averting his gaze. He fiddled absently with the blanket covering his lap. "You already have so much to do as it is-"
"Bah!" Spider jumped as the woman waved away the concern, looking so much like Neytiri for a moment that it honestly startled Spider. "I have been Tsahik for many years, taronyutsyip. I know my work well, and know just how many burdens I am capable of carrying. I will delegate, if I must." Her amber eyes, hard as stone and bright like fire, pinned Spider in place. "At this time, you are my greatest concern."
The words, confident and unapologetic, made Spider's eyes burn. How often had he dreamt of such words? Of someone valuing him so greatly? Only Kiri and sometimes Lo'ak had ever treated him so, and the care of a teenager was different than that of an adult. Forcing a deep breath through his lungs, ignoring how his battered ribs throbbed with the action, Spider bowed his head and said the only thing he could say in this sort of situation.
"As you say, Tsahik."
Even after a few weeks of recovery, Spider still somehow found himself often reaching to check a battery pack that no longer sat at his hip. He supposed, though, that a near ten year long habit was a hard thing to break. Honestly, most mornings he still had trouble believing he was actually outside, mask-free and breathing…
Recovery had been a somewhat slow and arduous process, his bones needing time to fully mend, and days became weeks. Just as Mo'at had said, Spider stayed in her home, with his own pallet on which to sleep and a large basket for his belongings, and it was a bit frightening how domestic it felt, but Spider didn't say a word. Some part of his mind, deep inside and hidden among cluttered and dusty memories of a lonely bedroom on base, whispered that any word on it would end this strange, lovely dream.
(Home, was this home? Was this what home felt like?)
Much to Spider's chagrin, he was strictly kept off his feet while his fractured ankle and stitched-up leg healed, requiring someone to carry him if he wished to go somewhere. Strangely though, there seemed to be no shortage of volunteers willing to offer their assistance. Whether it was the sudden development of his new-found Blessing, his risking his life to save the children, the slowly growing respect he'd been gaining as Mo'at's assistant, or a mixture of all three, just about the entire clan was far more open and social with him. Any whispers he heard behind his back now were not about how he was tawtute or about how suspicious he was, but rather about the Blessing he had received and what it might mean.
Spider wondered if it had to mean anything, other than that he got to live on Eywa'eveng without fear of death by suffocation.
Unable to go hunting or gathering, Spider, in a desperate bid to not be driven crazy by way of boredom, kept himself occupied with whatever chores could be done while sitting. Of course he still assisted Mo'at in making medicines and ointments, that was already now one of his regular chores while in High Camp, but now that he was staying in her tent he also offered his help when it was time to cook meals (he was lousy at the actual cooking part, but he could chop up ingredients with the best of them), which Mo'at allowed with good humor. Spider now wasn't all that infrequent a visitor among the clan's weavers as well, his small hands very useful for more delicate, simple work, like picking out tight knots and sorting smaller beads. The weavers welcomed him into their fold easily, and Spider more often than not found himself joining into the chorus of their work songs, ones crafted specifically to allow gossip to be interwoven into its refrain, just as they wove the threads and beads of their work, without breaking rhythm. Spider learned more about the private lives of the clan's people than he had in the decade or so he'd been walking among them, though he wasn't sure whether that was a gift or a curse– the weavers could talk the ear off a pa'li if given half a chance.
Staying in Mo'at's home was...an experience. Not a bad one, not at all, but it was definitely strange. While he did technically share a space with other humans back at base, this was different. Humans were distant creatures, evading one another's personal space unless necessary or given explicit permission to approach and touch. Spider had his own room on base, and was left to his own devices more often than not; he had become used to being on his own, when not with his friends.
With Mo'at though, there was rarely a time that he wasn't sharing space with her. Spider was slowly becoming accustomed to sleeping, eating, living in High Camp with a constant presence at his side, elbows and hands bumping on occasion as they existed in one another's space. Sometimes, Spider would catch Mo’at staring intently at him, as if trying to memorize every inch of his face, or she’d idly run a hand over his shoulder or along his beaded hair as they spoke in friendly contact she rarely shared with anyone beyond her own family. While others might be off put by the lack of privacy and sheer amount of physical contact, Spider found himself craving company more than ever, relishing the warmth that had settled like a glowing ember in his chest ever since the first morning he awoke not to a small, empty room with metal walls, but rather curled up in a comfortable pallet a few scant feet away from Mo'at.
(Why did Lo'ak and Kiri always complain about having to share space? To fall asleep, not alone, to wake up not alone– it was wonderful).
Spider knew though, of course, that this would not last. He knew he lived here, alongside Mo'at, only for as long as it took his wounds to fully heal.
Mo'at carefully rotated Spider's foot, eyes shifting between watching his face for any expression of discomfort and looking for anything that may shift beneath the skin of his ankle that was not meant to do so. The ache that had permeated it for the past few weeks had died away, and only a lingering stiffness was left as a reminder that it had once been injured.
"Any discomfort?" The Tsahik asked, thumb absently running over the ball of Spider's ankle. The teen shook his head, shifting slightly to get more comfortable where he sat on his sleeping pallet.
"No, nothing. I think I could run, even keep up with the kids again." He joked, trying to hide the tension he felt slowly crawling along his shoulders. Mo'at gave him a wry glance.
"Let us perhaps begin with simply walking before you return to chasing the children, hm?"
Spider laughed, grinning at the woman, and Mo'at's own lips briefly twitched, though she remained stalwart. Adjusting her position, her hands moved to rest over his sides, fingers fitting along his ribs.
“Breathe deeply.” She commanded, eyes on his middle. Spider did so without complaint.
It would be nice, to be able to move about on his own without having to be all but babysat, to walk on his own two feet rather than be carried like a babe, and return to some of his regular chores that were a bit more active than working with the weavers…
On the other hand, once he was healed, he would no longer have any reason to live in High Camp with the clan. He'd be sent back to the cold, plain metal walls of the human base. He could visit the camp of course, as he always had, but having truly lived among the Omaticaya, having spent each morning waking to the sounds of Mo'at starting her day, going to sleep each night hearing the distant murmur of singing and laughing, it was so...different.
Returning to base, to the scientists and the tiny halls and bland food...It felt like he was about to be stuffed away into a small, ill-fitting cage. The base had always felt restrictive, of course, but now? Now the thought of returning to it made him feel sick to his stomach.
"You are quiet."
Spider's eyes darted up to Mo'at's face. The Tsahik's eyes were on his middle still, but it was clear her attention had shifted to Spider's sullen demeanor. The teen tried to force a convincing smile.
"Shouldn't you be happy to have such a willing patient? I mean, compared to Lo'ak..."
Mo'at raised a brow at him, looking mildly amused but mostly unimpressed with his attempt at deflection. Spider sighed, wilting where he sat, though quickly straightening back up when Mo’at tsked at him for slumping.
"Just...I guess I'm pretty much all better, huh?"
The regret in Spider's tone seemed to catch Mo'at off guard, as the Tsahik lowered her hands from his ribs, frowning at him with a considering look.
"Are you not glad to be able to return to walking? To running, to climbing?"
"Of course I am!" Spider quickly assured, offended that anyone would think otherwise. "I'm sick of having so little to do, it's so boring just sitting around!"
Mo'at did not respond, merely staring at him, patiently waiting for him to continue. Spider fidgeted under her sharp, near all-knowing gaze. Biting his lip, Spider looked down at where his hands now rested in his lap, running his fingers over one of the new scars he'd gained from the palulukan that crossed the length of his forearm.
"I just...I've enjoyed living here, is all. Compared to back on base, it just feels...it's more..."
Spider's cheeks were slowly growing redder by the second, and his fidgeting became more obvious as embarrassment began taking hold.
"I like it here, that's all. Going back to living out of the base, it's really...it'll suck. I'll really miss it, y'know? It just feels a lot less lonely, with the clan around and stuff." Spider scowled to himself, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thought. "I know, I know– it's stupid! It's not like I won't be back every other day like always, it's just a bit of a hike away, really I'm just being-"
"Spider."
As always, Mo'at's voice, calm but firm, caught Spider's attention with ease. His words stuttered to a halt, and the boy looked up at the woman with wide eyes. In this moment, dwarfed by the woman even as she was kneeling before him, Spider couldn't help but feel foolish and small.
Slowly, each movement telegraphed, Mo'at reached out. Spider twitched slightly, eyes averting as a large hand gently encompassed the side of his head, cradling his jaw in a gesture far more tender than Spider was used to receiving. Mo'at waited until Spider's eyes returned to hers before she spoke.
"You are not being 'stupid', taronyutsyip." The human term sounded so strange coming from the Tsahik that Spider had to bite back a hysterical laugh. Amber eyes searched Spider's face a moment longer, then, "Oel ngati kameie, mah Spider."
Spider's breath caught in his throat as the words fully registered in his mind. The sanhi dotting his skin flared slightly, and he knew his expression surely must look as if he'd been gutted– he felt like he’d been gutted!
Those words had only ever been spoken to him once, by Kiri. When she had said them to him, Spider had wept and buried his face in her shoulder, had nearly shaken apart in her arms as she had held him close. Here and now, he did not cry. He did not shake, and did not seek to tuck himself into the arms of the woman before him.
But oh, how he wanted to. His eyes burned as he blinked back tears that fought to escape, and he had to twist his fingers together to try and abate the tremble in them. He felt if he moved an inch, he wouldn't be able to resist reaching out, begging to be held.
Mo'at had to have seen how those words hit him, how they reached into his chest and gripped his heart, but she was kind enough not to bring any attention to it. Instead, her other hand came up to the other side of his head, and her thumbs swept softly beneath Spider's wide eyes.
"You are not foolish for wishing to stay in the place that your heart and spirit have claimed as your home."
Spider squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate bid to keep his composure, but it was a losing battle; the hands on his face were so gentle and kind, the words spoken so warm and soft.
(Home. He wanted that, he wanted a home, wanted a place that wasn't just somewhere to sleep, but a place to live and feel loved-)
"I can't stay though." Spider managed to choke out, voice haggard. He feared the warm palms cradling his jaw, brushing into his hair, would vanish when he spoke, but they did not. He felt pathetically relieved. "I was brought here to heal, to get better. Now I am, so..."
Mo'at hummed, sounding a bit dubious.
"And you do not believe you can ask to stay longer? To stay forever, if you wish? The clan owes you a great debt for saving our children." Even as she offered the thought, Spider was shaking his head.
"No, I can't do that. It'd be wrong, a person shouldn't be accepted into the clan because the clan feels they owe it to them. They should be accepted into the clan because the clan wants them."
"And you believe you are unwanted? Even after all you have done for the Omaticaya? The good you have done assisting me as a healer, protecting our people?"
Spider grit his teeth, steeling himself, and pulled away from the hands on his face. His dark eyes turned to his own pale, scarred fingers. He couldn't bring himself to meet Mo'at's eyes any longer, not with the shame boiling in his chest.
"Then you'd be known by all the other clans as the ones who've accepted the son of their greatest enemy, the son of Miles Quaritch, among them." He spat the name out with such a level of venom that only Neytiri could ever hope to match. "It would bring the clan shame, Tsahik. It'd strain the relationships the Omaticaya hold with the other clans, and it's just...it's not worth it. I'm not worth it."
A heavy silence fell over the tent, pressing on Spider like a stone on his chest. He knew, in the end, there was only one way this could go. But he would be okay, it wasn't as if this would be a banishment. He could still visit, as he always had, and could still spend hours by Mo'at's side, helping her with her healers' duties. He just...couldn't stay.
(He wanted to stay. He wanted that more than anything).
"It is true that you are the son of one of the Peoples' greatest enemies." Mo'at broke the silence, so sudden that her voice was like a crack of thunder, making Spider twitch. There was something strange in her tone, though, that made Spider look up. There was a pensive expression on the woman's normally composed face. "And though you have taken on the last name of your mother, she too fought to destroy our home."
Spider winced at the reminder, biting the inside of his cheek. It was true, however much he did his best to forget it, that his mother had been among those who had fought in the final battle all those years ago. As much as he wanted to believe she'd been a good person…
"But what if you were to carry the name of not only a tawtute, but of another as well? Of one who is of the People."
Spider blinked owlishly, taken aback. It took him a moment to fully comprehend what Mo'at was suggesting, but once he had, he scoffed.
"No one would take a human as their tirea'itan." He laughed, the sound harsh and grating even to his own ears. "The clan may like me now, but not enough for anyone to offer adoption."
Mo'at raised a brow at him, looking somewhat displeased with his tone, and Spider automatically ducked his head apologetically, properly chastised without a word having to be said.
"You are wrong." Spider frowned, bewildered, scrambling to try and remember if he'd recently spoken with anyone among the Omaticaya who seemed to think him worthy of becoming their child.
Certainly, people were considerably more fond of him in recent weeks, as well as more receptive to his presence and accepting his help in the form of healing, he even had people he could start to see as friends in some small way, but no one spoke to him or treated him with the same overwhelming warmth that all parents showed their children. He just couldn't imagine anyone in the clan taking him in in such a way, treating him as Jake and Neytiri treated Kiri…
His eyes had wandered as he scoured his memories, and Mo'at reached out, large hands cupping Spider's face again and lifting it until he was once more looking at her. Her expression was so solemn, yet so soft, and it made something inside Spider twist almost painfully.
(It was a good ache though, the kind he felt when Kiri hugged him, when Lo'ak would pull him into a gentle headlock, when Tuk would hang off his shoulders and chatter about her day-)
"I know this to be true, for I wish to claim you."
Spider’s racing mind went blank.
Mo'at did not shy from his wide eyes as they searched over her face, looking for any sign of deceit. She continued to hold Spider's face in her hands as if he were the most delicate, precious thing in the world. Like he was everything to her.
(For a split second, he felt like he was).
It took a few long moments before Spider was finally able to wheeze out a haggard breath and speak.
"Wh-what..?"
Mo'at's thumb swept over his cheek, the gesture tender. It made his eyes water, and he had to blink to prevent any tears from escaping.
(When was the last time he’d nearly cried so often in so short a time? He felt like such a baby, it was embarrassing-)
"Ma Spider, allow me to become your tirea sa'sem. I wish to tie your spirit to mine and those of my family and my ancestors. To add your bead to my waytelem, your verse to my song."
Spider's throat was drier than any desert, and he had to swallow twice before he could finally speak once more– though his words tumbled out in a mess, like pebbles spilled across the ground.
"B-but you can't-....I mean, I'm not-! And the clan-!"
Spider forced his jaw shut, teeth knocking together with an audible click. He wasn't making sense like this, he knew. He was babbling, hardly coherent to even himself let alone Mo’at. So, forcing himself to take a deep, rattling breath, he made himself try again.
"Tsahik, I'm honored by your words, but- but if I were to become your tirea'itan...Do you not know how insane that sounds?! For the child of the clan's Tsahik to be tawtute, people will think you’ve lost your mind, I’d be a stain on your reputation-!"
Mo'at scoffed at this, cutting Spider off.
"My reputation is not so easily damaged– I have lived far too long and garnered far too much respect for it to be so delicate a thing. Even if that were not the case, I find after almost having lost you…” Brow knotting, Mo’at lifted a hand, running it over the dreads that fell over Spider’s shoulder in a gesture that could only be called near-reverent. “I find I cannot bring myself to care what anyone else thinks. I have lost a daughter to death, another to exile…If I were to lose a third child, the one I now realize I see as a son, to death or self-imposed isolation, it would break my very spirit.”
Spider went to speak, but no words came. He opened and closed his mouth a few times more, trying and failing to find something, anything to say. But what could one say when faced with such a bold, honest admission?
(What could Spider say when, for the first time, it felt like someone was putting him before everything else?)
After a few seconds of mental flailing and trying to desperately formulate something actually coherent, Spider croaked out,
“You…see me as a son. Your son.”
Mo’at dipped her chin, both in acknowledgement and agreement, her steady, solemn gaze never leaving Spider’s.
“I do. I did not realize it until I held your body, until I was faced with your death and felt my heart breaking…But I believe I have seen you so for quite some time now.”
Spider bit his lip, fingers curling tightly into the tanned hide of his tewng, knuckles bone white. A stone had lodged itself in his throat, making it near impossible to swallow. Somehow, he managed a shuddering breath.
“You say you don’t care what others would think, but what…What about Neytiri? You know how she feels about humans, about me. Even in exile, she’s your daughter.”
Mo’at’s eyes narrowed– thoughtfully rather than maliciously, though it still made Spider twitch a bit to be under such scrutiny (no one was more intimidating than Mo’at, no one). After a moment, the woman hummed, conceding the point with a tilt of her head.
“It is true that she will be displeased. She will question my decisions, perhaps even my sanity. But mah Spider,” Reaching down, Mo’at carefully uncurled Spider’s fingers from his tewng, holding his hands gently but firmly, preventing him from digging his nails into the tender meat of his palms. “I will defend my choices. I will defend you.”
A sudden flash of frustration lit in Spider’s chest, making his expression twist. Mo’at was Tsahik, she was strong and brilliant and fierce, but even she wasn’t above reproach– especially not from those outside of the Omaticaya. She was being so stubborn, his concerns just rolling right off her shoulders.
“And when it's someone from the other clans? When it’s another Tsahik, or an Olo’eyktan who demands to know why you’ve adopted a tawtute?” The boy demanded boldly, fierce dark eyes meeting Mo’at’s. “You, who are Tsahik, who must protect the clan and its interests; can you honestly say you defend me even if it might risk the relationship the Omaticaya share with other clans?”
Spider grit his teeth, preparing to be scolded for showing such impertinence to his Tsahik, to be told that of course she could not, because the wellbeing of the clan came first.
(The clan always came first, and Spider could respect that).
(That didn’t mean he didn’t want to be put first in someone's eyes, just once).
When Mo’at’s teeth flashed in not a snarl but a grin, and a warm, deep laugh left her throat, Spider almost found himself questioning his own sanity, rather than the woman’s. Mo’at did not laugh, she was too dignified for such a thing, and yet…
“Ma taronyutsyip, if a decision so personal as one’s choice of tirea'itan is enough to bring ruin to our friendship with the other clans, then they are very poor friends indeed.” Laughter fading, Mo’at sent an amused look to the somewhat flustered human before her. “Dislike it though they may, it is not anyone’s place to question another’s decision on who they accept as tirea'itan– Tsahik, Olo’eyktan, or otherwise.”
Spider licked his lips nervously, trying to tamp down the hope that had been steadily building in his heart throughout the conversation.
“Even if the tirea'itan is tawtute?”
Mo’at scoffed, waving a hand idly as if to bat away the very notion.
“Tawtute? You are of Eywa'eveng, and any who cannot see that are blind, especially now.” She nodded at the sanhi dotting the boy’s skin indicatively.
Spider’s eyes fell to the ground, a pleased blush coloring his face. Mo’at’s eyes crinkled with mirth and she reached up to briefly swipe a knuckle over one of his red cheeks. For a few minutes, silence fell over them, heavy but not all too oppressive. Mo’at did not push for Spider to speak, instead letting the young human turn her words over in his head, look at them from every angle he could. She would not rush him. Not when it came to this.
“And this…This isn’t just because I’m Blessed now, is it?” Spider asked, voice barely more than a whisper, feeling as if breaking the silence may disrupt what felt like such a wonderful dream.
The offended look that came to Mo’at’s face made the teen jump, and he hurriedly tried to apologize, but was cut short when the woman’s tail snapped around to lightly smack his leg in chastisement.
“Do you truly see me as one so easily swayed? No, taronyutsyip, as miraculous as your Blessing may be, my affection is not so simply earned.” Spider grimaced apologetically, rubbing at his smarting leg as the Tsahik continued, “It is not the child who received a Blessing that I have grown to love– It is the boy who brought me herbs in an attempt to ease my burdens, who happily assisted me with even the smallest task, who nursed me when I was ill and who risked his own life for the clan’s children that I hold dear.”
“But anyone would’ve done those things in my position.” Spider insisted. Mo’at snorted, a wry smile curling at her lips.
“Boy, I’ve seen full grown tsamsiyu with less fire in their veins and stone in their spines. To face a palulukan, alone, with nothing more than a knife and a bow is a far more daunting task than you make it out to be.”
“I had the Prt'sim poison, too.” Spider weakly protested, as though it made a difference. Mo’at sent him an exceedingly unimpressed expression, making him cringe. Clucking her tongue, Mo’at shook her head.
“My point stands; very few would have been willing to do such a foolish, brave thing. Nor would many have shown the kindness you have in the past towards those who once shunned you, or taken the time to help them.” Reaching out, the Tsahik pressed her hand over Spider’s chest, over his beating heart. “My love has nothing to do with your blessing, and everything to do with this. This strong, kind heart.”
Spider looked down at the hand that rested on his chest. Took in the contrast of his tanned skin against the woman’s own blue, one of the differences between him and the Na’vi that he’d always so loathed. Somehow though, with Mo’at’s hand warm at his breast, her sanhi so those that dotted his collarbone…it didn’t hurt. It didn’t make him feel so different.
(With Mo’at, he hardly ever felt different).
(Standing by her side, he felt like they were the same).
Mo’at could see the conflicted emotions in Spider’s eyes, and in return refused to falter. Her conviction was strong, always, in all things, and this was no exception. She would not allow her taronyutsyip any room to doubt her or her choice. Her eyes remained steady on his face, her hand firm on his chest, as she willed him to See her.
After a long moment, Spider’s hand lifted slowly, so painfully slowly, to rest over Mo’at’s own at his chest. His small, blunt fingers wrapped around her own digits, and he hesitantly turned dark eyes up to meet her gaze.
“And…And you’re sure about this?” Spider asked, voice barely more than a whisper, looking so very wary yet so very hopeful. “You want me, even with my, you know…everything?”
The corners of Mo’at’s eyes crinked with the sheer breadth of her smile. It was such a foreign expression on her face, but Spider thought it strangely fit her all the same. Hands shifting to the boy’s shoulders, the woman carefully tugged him into her chest, arms wrapping around him even as his body went stiff in alarm. Long fingers gently carded through messy dreadlocks, and after a moment, Spider released a soft breath and his shoulders loosened as he sagged into her arms. A shudder shook his small frame briefly, touch-starved skin acclimatizing to the warmth of another wrapped around him. Mo’at relished the embrace, for it had been so long since she’d last held a family member with such joy in her heart.
“Never have I been so certain, ma’itan.”
The Vitraya Ramunong, the Tree of Souls, never failed to steal the breath from Spider’s lungs. There was something about it, about simply approaching it, that settled over the boy’s shoulders like a blanket, weightless yet warm. When in its presence the air felt richer, the glow of the surrounding plant life looked even brighter, the press of anxiety from the return of the RDA felt feather light and far away. To feel this as a human…Spider had wondered more than once what it must feel like for the Na’vi, who could connect with the tree itself in a way he could not.
(That thought didn’t hurt, not like it used to).
And now here, kneeling at its roots, closer than he’d ever been before, Spider felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of awe and peace.
It had been many years since there had been a Vitra’awstengyem– Kiri had been the last to go through the Na’vi adoption ceremony, and even then the ritual was different for an infant than it was for an older child, more similar to simply welcoming a child of blood into the world. Spider was pretty sure it hadn’t been so intricate for his best friend as all this…
Sitting among the roots of Vitraya Ramunong, knees brushing Mo’at’s as the woman mirrored his position, Spider felt overly extravagant. His skin was painted, not in his usual blue stripes, but in twisting patterns of white that covered him from head to toe. His dreads, nice and neat after being painstakingly redone the day prior, were decorated with dozens of beads and styled into the heavy bun at the base of his neck that Mo’at seemed to favor seeing him sport recently, save for a single long braid reminiscent of a kuru that trailed over his shoulder. He wore a tewng of buttery-smooth hide dyed pale to match the paint on his skin, with braids of colorful feathers at his hips and tiny beads painstakingly embroidered into delicate patterns on the front and back. His arms were heavy with the many bracelets that clan members had offered him, traditional signs of well-wishes.
(Him, they were offering him, of all people, wishes of wellbeing, and wasn’t that odd-)
As if to stake a claim on the boy, Mo’at had thrown her favorite shawl of white over Spider’s shoulders, and taken a strand of red beads from her traditional Tsahik mantle (and oh, how horrified Spider had been at first, to see her so casually rip a piece from such sacred clothing) to tied about his neck as a necklace.
Spider felt over dressed. Spider felt like he had at least three pounds of jewelry on.
Spider felt beautiful.
Like the beauty of syuratan, like the beauty of the sun lifting above Ayram Alusing in the morning, like the beauty of Mo’at’s hands sweeping through the gestures of a sacred ritual.
It felt weird.
(It felt nice).
Mo’at, as the one adopting Spider, could not head the Vitra’awstengyem as the Tsahik usually would. As such, it was one of the clan’s elders, Ts’pani, who stood above Spider and Mo’at and spoke the ancient words needed to bind them in a reedy but clear voice, just loud enough for the gathered observers to hear. While mostly a gathering of Na’vi, Spider caught a few brief glimpses of Max and Norm in the crowd, as well as a few of the other scientists on base who’d always been kind to him. He was surprised to see them, but also grateful. As great as he’d felt the disconnect between himself and other humans had always been, it wouldn’t have felt right to not have them here.
Spider jumped slightly as a hand settled atop his head, but it was only Ts’pani, signalling they’d reached the final step of the ceremony now. He’d been so lost in his own head that Spider hadn’t heard a word the elder had been saying, Spider realized with mild embarrassment, and looking up at Mo’at it was clear that she was well aware of this too, judging by the amused glint in her eyes. Spider had to fight not to pout, turning his eyes up to Ts’pani when the clan elder bent slightly to meet his gaze.
“Spider, are you willing to accept Tsahik Mo’at as your tirea sa’sem, to allow her to tie her spirit to yours, to add your verse to her song? To allow her to provide the love and care to you that is every child's due?”
Spider nodded for a moment before remembering a verbal answer was needed and turning red.
“S-Srane, leiokoakte.”
A smile creased the woman’s weathered face before she turned to Mo’at, hand touching the Tsahik’s shoulder.
“Tsahik Mo’at, do you offer your word that you will cherish Spider as you would a child of your blood, to love and accept him for who he is no matter his strengths or faults, to teach him all you can and protect him from whatever may cause him harm? Do you willingly tie your spirit to his, and add his verse to your song?”
Spider’s eyes flickered to Mo’at’s, a brief flash of fear that she may change her mind passing through his head. Mo’at was not looking at Ts’pani, but instead down at him. Her gaze was warm, joy dancing in the twin pools of amber, and the knot in Spider’s ribs released.
(She wouldn’t change her mind. She was his mother).
“Srane.”
A hushed murmur of joy and excitement stirred in the gathered crowd, though it quickly fell into a respectful silence once more. Ts’pani nodded, satisfied, and shuffled a step back to give them space.
“Then let those of us gathered here act as witness to your first connection.”
This was the part Spider had originally been worried about, when first told how the Vitra’awstengyem would proceed: the first connection, where the parent would form tsaheylu with their new child to solidify the bond as tirea sa’sem and tirea’itan. The problem was that such an act relied on the fact that the participants had kuru, which Blessed or not, Spider did not have. He’d nearly panicked at first, seeing all hopes of having a loving family member turning to smoke before his eyes, and Mo’at had to spend a good several minutes soothing and reassuring him that the Vitra’awstengyem could still proceed.
Mo’at reached up, pulling her kuru over her shoulders with a hand while her other reached out to gently bring up the braid she’d painstakingly woven in his hair the prior night. If one didn’t know any better, it could be mistaken for an actual que.
Spider held his breath, watching as the Tsahik brought the ends together, the tendrils of her kuru wrapping around the end of his braid. There was no actual connection, no rush of memories and feelings, no sensation of a second presence in his mind, but Spider could’ve sworn he felt a tingling sensation dance along his sanhi.
Once the hold of her kuru was solid, Mo’at released her hold on their braids and lifted her hands to cup Spider’s face in her calloused palms, such love on her face that Spider’s eyes stung with tears. Leaning down, the woman pressed her brow to Spider’s, and for a moment they simply sat there, sharing air and space. All was quiet.
Slowly, both woman and boy pulled back, the tendrils of the kuru releasing dark blonde locks. Above them, Ts’pani was beaming, and she threw her arms up into the air with far more energy than someone her age should possess.
Whatever words she spoke were drowned out by the roar of joyous cheering; for all Spider knew, she could be offering blessings or cursing them out, though judging by her too large grin it was probably the former.
As Spider took in the sight of the laughing, cheering and whooping crowd, Mo’at leaned forward, wrapping her arm about his shoulders.
“Oel ngati kameie, Spider te Socorro Mo’at’itan, ma’itan.”
Spider beamed as she whispered in his ear, wrapping his own arm around her middle and burying his head in her shoulder.
“Oel ngati kameie, sa’nok.”