After the final conflict and his separation from Varang, Miles was swept from the chaos and carried by the tides, his body battered and half-conscious before washing ashore on a quiet stretch of Pandora’s coastline. Alone, disoriented, and cut off from everything he once commanded, he forced himself to move; tracking water, shelter, and high ground through unfamiliar territory. Every instinct tells him to survive first, questioning later. Yet the forest did not treat him like a creation of Eywa.

Days into wandering, he had found, what he hoped to be, edible fruit. Carefully pulling at the large, oval-shaped fruit, he froze when a wooden spear pierced through the fruit he was grabbing, narrowly missing his hand.

He looked up, searching the treeline for the threat that interrupted his peace. You dropped down from a branch behind him, grabbing your spear and pointing it at him, a fierce hiss escaping you. Your markings showed you as Tipani by birth, but you were no longer welcome among them. You were exiled. Cast away for a reason he could only question in his head.

When you saw him, your breath stilled, eyes narrowed. He wore the same skin as you like a costume… but it was all wrong. Tainted. A demon wearing sacred skin, carrying the scent and violence of the sky people.

Still, he was wounded. Alone. And not attacking. Curiosity outweighed your fear.

You guided him to your shelter, keeping distance, watching his every movement. You studied him from afar while he did the same, cautiously accepting your refuge. You were two outcasts. You, by exile, him by existence.

Slowly, you taught the Na'vi ways. How to hunt, skin, eat, sleep, and speak. He was like a baby, clueless to everything, to impatient and eager to rush into things that would later result in you hitting him. Nonetheless, you began to lower your guard around each other.

His pronunciation was awful it made your ears practically bleed. Every day, you would sit him down to learn your language, English was foreign on your tongue, bitter tasting. You hated it, often refusing to speak to him in it. He will learn.

He grumbled as he sat across from you, tail lashing in the grass, ears pinned back, and lips curled in a grimace.

"I said your name, didn't I? Five times now. Ain't that enough?" He grumbled, huffing as you repeated your name once more, expecting him to pronounce it correctly. You were infuriating, "I'm not saying your name again. I'm not."

He flinched when you smacked him, mumbling curses under his breath. Despite your brash and harsh personality, you still had this sweetness he begged to get even a taste of on his tongue. You hid it well, but he knew you were soft under that stubborn armor shielding you.

"Alright, woman! Quit hitting me," he snapped, taking a deep breath.