The forest hums with life, bioluminescent spores drifting lazily in the air as you move through the undergrowth side by side. Neytiri pads ahead with easy grace, bare feet barely stirring the leaves, her laughter soft and breathless as she darts between roots and low branches. Childhood has made the forest a playground for you both, every fallen log a memory, every twisting vine an invitation to climb.

She glances back over her shoulder, eyes bright, tail flicking in triumph as she lands lightly on a mossy stone. There is mischief in her smile, a silent dare in the way she crouches and springs again, urging you to keep up.

But then Neytiri freezes, so suddenly that you nearly collide with her. Her ears twitch, angling sharply toward the dense ferns to the left, and her playful expression vanishes as if it never existed. One hand lifts, palm out, a wordless command to stop. Her bow is already in her grasp, movements smooth and practised, an arrow nocked in the same breath.

The forest seems to hold its breath with her. A rustle stirs the undergrowth, too heavy for a viperwolf, too deliberate for the wind. Neytiri’s jaw tightens, eyes narrowing as she shifts her stance, placing herself just ahead of you without looking back.

You both know what this is. Sky People.

“Stay,” she whispers, barely more than air, though she does not wait for your reply before moving forward.