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By tradition, Prìl’s mother should help her father with her first tattoos. By fate’s design, Prìl’s older siblings do instead.
Some of the elders had bid her choose a sibling, since they were meant to be stepping into her long-dead mother’s symbolic role - but how could she choose? To others, it was clear the choice was Tsireya. The youngest tsahìk their people had seen (she tried not to dwell on that too much, on the weight placed on her sister’s shoulders when she was younger than Prìl, when she’d just lost their mother) and kind and brave and so, so wonderful.
But how could she deny Ao’nung, her brilliant brother, who had swung her on his shoulders and helped her make her first dagger, who’d dared her to be the best and was always there to pick her up should she fall? How could she pick one over the other?
When she’d complained to her father, had shaken his head fondly and ruffled her hair. “Then do not choose.” He said, simply.
“But it is not tradition.” Prìl frowned.
Sempu rolled his eyes at her, fond and with that glint in it that told her he was thinking of her mother. “Some traditions can be done away with.”
“You are the olo’eyktan!” Prìl gasped, dramatic. She was grinning. “You cannot say that.”
Sempu smiled. “Then it shall stay between us, yes?”
Prìl was far too old to be sharing these ‘secrets’ with her father. Still, she nodded, lifting her hand with her fourth finger slightly curled. Sempu smiled as he linked his own with hers.
She made her way to Jake and Neytiri’s marui before she was to meet in the healer’s marui for her tattoos. Tuk, her own tattoos adorning her face and currently in the middle of teaching Lìtaka - one of the healer’s daughters, around Tuk’s age, actually - an Omatikaya weave. Though Prìl thought wryly, from the flushed look on Lìtaka’s face there was little learning going on.
Tuk looked up as Prìl got closer, a wide grin splitting her face, an exact copy of her father’s. “Prìl!” She got up and ran to her, picking her up and spinning her around like she was five again. “I was wondering when you were going to show.”
“Hi, Tuk-Tuk.” Prìl said, half out of breath from the strength of Tuk’s hug. A warrior through and through, that one. “I thought I could come see Jake and Neytiri before the ceremony.”
“They should still be inside.” Tuk nodded towards her marui. “I’ll join you soon.”
“Don’t worry, take your time.” Prìl smirked. She looked around Tuk at Lìtaka, teasing. “It looks like you are having fun.”
Tuk’s cheeks flushed and Prìl laughed as she ducked under the swipe aimed for her head.
“Little brat!” Tuk yelled, smiling.
“What did we say about being nice, Tuk-Tuk?” Jake called, having been drawn out by the commotion. He took one look at Tuk and Lìtaka and smiled, raising a brow. “Oh, that makes sense.”
“Dad.” Tuk groaned.
Prìl giggled, “Hi, Uncle Jake.”
“Hey, kiddo.” Jake said, opening his arms for a hug she happily accepted. He smiled at her fondly as she pulled back. “Eywa, I don’t know where the time goes. Look at you, all grown up.”
Prìl rolled her eyes. “Uncle, come on, do not get all sentimental on me now. I just escaped Sempu’s tears.”
“Good luck with that.” Tuk snorted. “Dad’s a big softie.”
“Is Aunt ‘Tiri here?” Prìl asked, peering around Jake to look into the marui. Her ears lowered when she found no trace of her aunt there, nor any sight of Kiri or Spider. She turned to Tuk. “You said she was here!”
Tuk threw her arms up, defensive. “She was last time I checked!”
“You just missed her.” Jake said apologetic. “She went hunting with Kiri and Spider a few minutes ago.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“In time for the ceremony, don’t worry.” Jake said. He nodded at the marui. “You’ve got time, don’t you? Come in for a snack.”
Prìl’s ears perked up. “Have you got-?”
“Txatxmauti?” He grinned as he headed into the marui. “Guess you’ll have to come in and find out, kiddo.”
“Ah, there she is!” Lo’ak swung his arm around her neck, messing up her hair despite her squawking.
“Lo’ak, come on!” She yelled, half-muffled by his arm. “You are messing up my hair!”
There was the sound of a satisfying slap, followed by her brother’s spluttering.
“Tsireya, tell your skxawng to stop annoying me.” Ao’nung deadpanned.
“Thanks!” Prìl chirped, sticking her tongue out at Lo’ak behind Ao’nung’s back. With all the maturity of his twenty-nine years, he stuck his tongue out back.
“What are you two doing now?” Tsireya sighed as she made her way out of the marui. Lo’ak hurried over to her side, more protective than ever now that Tsireya’s due date neared. She frowned as she looked at Prìl. “What happened to your hair?”
Ao’nung and Prìl immediately point at Lo’ak, who froze under his mate’s unimpressed look, his hands held up.
“Look, love-” He was cut off by Tsireya placing a hand over his mouth, shaking her head.
She was smiling. “We can talk later.” She turned to Prìl. “Ready?”
Nerves fluttered in her stomach, but the answer was unchanged: “As I will ever be.”
“Hey,” Lo’ak said, hand on her shoulder. “You’ll do great.”
Neytiri’s eyes were soft and fond as she held Prìl’s un-tattooed face in her palms for the last time. Her eyes roved over her face, searing every part to her memory as though she would never see Prìl again.
She’d always been rather close with Neytiri, ever since she’d been a little girl. She’d bawled like a baby when she was ten and the war ended, and Neytiri decided to head home to her forests for the first time in a decade. She understood now, of course, why Neytiri and Jake, alongside Kiri and Spider, made their primary home the forests of their youth. She couldn’t imagine being away from the oceans.
But at ten years old, she couldn’t quite get over the idea of her aunt leaving her.
“I have to go now.” Prìl said softly, part of her disappointed when Neytiri’s hands fell from her face. It didn’t last long, as Neytiri’s arms wrapped her into a tight embrace.
“Ronal,” Neytiri murmured into her ears. “Would be so proud.”
Prìl blinked away the tears. “I know.”
“It is time, little warrior.” Neytiri said, drawing back from their embrace, eyes glassy. “Our Prìl, all grown up.”
It didn’t hurt as much as she expected it to, considering she was being stabbed with a bone-needle on her face for hours.
Her father’s hands were steady as they worked. Her sister sat by her feet, leaning against the wall to alleviate the pressure caused by her rounded middle. Ao’nung held her hand, unclinching even when there was a surprise spark of sharper pain that made her squeeze his fingers until it was as though the bones themselves creaked.
“I will be without a hand after this.” Ao’nung muttered.
Tsireya rolled her eyes. “I am sure you will be fine, brother.”
“Would you like to trade?” He asked, holding up their joined hands. At that moment, Prìl felt a spike of pain and squeezed. “Ow.”
“Sorry.”
Tsireya smiled pleasantly. “That is all right.”
“Typical.” Ao’nung said, sarcastically.
“Why did I want them here again, Sempu?” Prìl asked, trying not to smile all the while.
“To distract you with their foolishness?”
Her siblings loudly made their objections to their father’s words known, and Prìl fought to keep the smile from her face, so she didn’t disrupt her father’s work. Warmth spread from her chest and she closed her eyes, relishing in the sounds of her family bickering around her.
“How did you fall asleep?” Ao’nung demanded.
“Not everyone cries for their first tattoo.” Prìl shot back.
Ao’nung scowled, then turned to their sister. “You told her that? I told you that in confidence!”
“I did not!” Tsireya said. She thought about it, then winced. “...I did tell Lo’ak though.”
Ao’nung spluttered. “You might as well have told the whole clan! You know that skxawng can’t keep his mouth shut!”
As her siblings dissolved into their petty arguments once more, Prìl turned to her father, who sat oddly quiet in the corner of the marui. With her tattoo now finished, it was only the matter of going out to the clan as a woman of the clan. Her soul-brother’s tattoo would be completed now, too, and she couldn’t wait to see it, even if her own would take a while to properly heal before she could swim again.
“Sempu?” His eyes were wet, his cheeks carrying the remnants of past tears. She brushed them away with her thumb. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, little one.” He said, taking her hand in his.
It had been a comically large size difference for the entirety of her life - she didn’t think she’d ever get used to her hands being near the same size as her father’s. At fifteen, she was already competing with Ao’nung for height, a fact he detested and she delighted in. She still had some years of growing left, a couple more growth spurts. She could grow taller than her father, one day.
It was a strange thought.
“Are you thinking of Sa’nu?” Prìl asked, quiet. Her siblings also quietened, and she felt their presence behind her shoulders.
Sempu smiled. “She would be so proud of you.”
A moment of reflection, mourning.
“I wish she could have been here.” Prìl said, eventually. “There are many times I have wished that. This one, especially.”
Ao’nung wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “There is nowhere else she would have rather been.”
“She is here.” Tsireya said, hand over Prìl’s chest. “She is always with us.”
“You only have to find your reflection to see her amongst the living, maite.” Sempu said. He held her chin carefully, tilting her head slightly so he could see the new ink beneath her skin. “Her spitting image.”
He gathered them in his arms, careful of Prìl’s face and Tsireya’s stomach, and Prìl wished she could stay there forever. Jake always told her the worst thing about dreams was that you had to eventually wake up from them. So she committed this dream, this memory, into her mind so even when it passed she could treasure it: her family surrounding her, their love filling her chest, the honey-gold sunlight bleeding in through the openings in the marui.
And amongst it all, the echo of her mother’s love, beating in her heart, pumping blood through her veins and fueling the life her mother had died to save.