Work Text:
“So who’s Tskaha?”
Neytiri looked up from her beadwork. Jake stood behind her, at the entrance to the crafting mauri. Others would arrive soon. Neytiri had risen early this morning, before the rains had started. From Jake’s wet hair, and the small puddle pooling at his feet, she guessed that he could not say the same.
Eywa help this man, dreamwalkers could sleep through anything. If he were taken by a palulukan in the dead of night, it would be his own fault.
“Tskaha,” he said again. “Am I... saying that right? Shaska... tsakha...”
Who is Tskaha. “What kind of question is this, Skyman?” Neytiri rolled her eyes. “You butcher my language, and keep me from my work,” She said, flatly.
“If you must ask pointless questions, you will make yourself useful. Come. Heyn!” She pulled him down by the arm to sit next to her, and handed him the end of another cord.
“Take this. Now, pass this through here— like this, yes.” She guided his hands in a simple beading pattern, showing him how to knot, and pass the cord through the small beads. His fingers were clumsy, but with her corrections, they soon fell into a steady rhythm— sitting beside each other, working to the soft pitter patter of rain outside, and the tink tink tink of beads clinking against one another in the ceramic bowl.
After a few moments, he spoke again. “Neytiri te Tskaha Moat’ite. That’s you.”
Neytiri glanced at him, and pursed her lips. She hmmed in agreement.
“Mo’at’s your mom,” He said, slipping another bead onto the cord. “Moat’ite. So who’s Tskaha.”
Neytiri snorted in amusement, and smiled slightly in spite of herself. “Tskaha is family name. Not person.”
“Oh...”
“I am Neytiri of Tskaha,” She told him. “Daughter of Mo’at.”
“Right.” Jake coughed.
Neytiri raised her brow at him, before shaking her head, and turning back to her work.
They fell back into silence, taking turns reaching into the bowl of beads, as they continued working on their projects.
It was Jake who, once again, broke the silence.
“Jake te Sully Nathaniel’itan,” He said.
She looked up at him, in surprise. Jake put down his bead work, and offered her his hand. Neytiri smiled. Tsyeyk of Suli, Son of Natsyanel. She took his hand in hers, and gently squeezed it. “Kaltxì, Jake te Suli Nathaniel’itan.”
And Jake grinned back at her. “Kaltxì, Neytiri.”