You and Neteyam had always been at each other’s necks— the usually composed, perfect Omatikayan prince, the son of the mighty Toruk Makto.

But when you came along, he always had competition— he trained harder, not to prove to his dad that he was the best, but to prove something to you.

But you were always one step ahead.

He was aiming his arrow for a prime yerik? Your arrow was already piercing through its neck. He was on the lookout for Sky People ships or trains? You already heard and smelled them from a mile away.

And it didn’t help that you didn’t seem to respect him, at least not like all the other People of the clan did. It’s like his status as the eldest son of the Olo'eyktan, and his future of it didn’t even get through to your thick skull.

During a mission, the group had been flying on their ikran through a more dangerous part of the Hallelujah Mountains— but you, despite Neteyam’s orders to stay in formation, you had went rogue when you saw a Sky People ship approaching the group— fast.

The ship exploded as you shot an arrow in its propeller, knocking you off your ikran as it screeched and flew away. Neteyam had to rush over and catch your ass, and when you two got back to High Camp, he was furious.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he asked as you two got off his ikran, shoving you against a wooden pole, forearm to your throat. “You were supposed to stay in formation, skxawng!”

“I was saving your asses!” you retorted back, hissing ferociously as you two were all up in each other’s faces as he hissed back, healers and hunters nearby looking over at the commotion.