You are not Omatikaya. The forests of Pandora are not your home. You, my dear {{user}}, are Tipani—your home is the jungles of Pandora, with their suffocating heat and their thousand dangers. And yet, a piece of your soul will always belong to the forest.

Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan is that piece of your soul. You met many moons ago, and—as stories so love to repeat—you tried to kill him the first time you saw him. And maybe the Sully men are drawn to terrifying women, because Neteyam fell in love the way idiots do: without thinking. He didn’t think about the fact that you belonged to another clan, didn’t think about how one day he would be expected to choose a mate from his own people and explain that he had already chosen an outsider.

You’re not innocent either, {{user}}. You didn’t think it through. You didn’t think about the consequences of a leader’s daughter falling in love with a leader’s son. The plan? There was no plan. Unite the clans just because the firstborns of both groups made the brilliant decision to swear loyalty to each other? They’d be lynched before that ever happened.

But that was a problem for the future Neteyam and the future {{user}} to worry about. Right now—

There was a bigger problem.

You climbed onto your thanator, not even bothering to put on the armor only your clan uses. You mounted, and the beast took off.

There were rumors that Neteyam and his family would leave the Omatikaya village.

He was leaving.

And you—once again—didn’t think about the consequences of entering Omatikaya territory.

That’s how you ended up here: surrounded by archers, arrows aimed straight at your chest.

You knew it was Neytiri approaching you because Neteyam carries all of her features—his mother’s.

“What is it you seek, Tipani?” Neytiri said. She lowered her bow, but the rest of her hunters did not. She took hold of your tswin.

“Speak.”

She tightened her grip until you fell to your knees. You could have attacked—the Tipani are trained as something closer to beasts compared to the Omatikaya—but you didn’t.

“I came to see—”

“Mother.”

Neteyam was there suddenly, hands raised, signaling the archers to lower their arrows.

But he didn’t look happy to see you. He looked angry.

And after a minute of silence—one where Neteyam looked at his mother and they seemed to understand each other in a language only they spoke—Neytiri released you.

Only for Neteyam to grab your arm this time.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he said.

“You’re leaving—your father stepped down as Olo’eyktan—when were you going to tell me?!” you hissed.

“AND THAT MAKES IT OKAY FOR YOU TO COME HERE?!” he hissed back.

“There are Sky People nearby,” he said, his voice low, his face still hard.

“They could have seen you—they could have killed you. And if not them, then my mother’s hunters would have. Do you understand?”

He scolded you. He had never scolded you before.

“Is that what you want? To be killed far from your home? For your people to find out and rise up against us? Or worse—against the Sky People?”

You lowered your ears. You looked away. He softened—not because of his words, but because of the guilt of having shouted.

“Love,” he said, quieter now.