The Sarentu moot, a once a year gathering for those in the clan, who wore the mark with pride, shared their stories and instruments around the fire.

The sun set in the distance, making the bonfires flames seem Brighter, lightening The faces of the Na'vi around who sung and swayed with the smoke and raging flames.

‘You and Johnn'ra, your best friend, yous were young, only teenagers, yous sat near the bonfire,, the shadows of adults dancing, swaying and playing on their drums and allowing their voices to fill the area.’

Children sat not too far on rocks, sleepily listening to stories of zakru and stormgliders, their tired giggles occasionally heard, but they were starting to fall asleep with their toys in their hands.

Mothers and fathers sat not too far away, cradling the youngest of the sarentu who slept,, allowing the flames and crackles, the soothing sounds of song and laughter to soothe those asleep.

—————

‘You and Johnn'ra Were at the awkward age, too old to sit and listen to stories and tales, yet too young to dance and play with fire.’

John held a mask over his lap, one gifted from the kame’tire, it's wooden surface roughly smoothed down with multiple colours of bark,held together by twines.

He was pressing his own types of carved rocks and wood onto its smooth base, gifts from the Aranahe, making it look more his style. Your focus was on your own, adding pedals and whatever you had on hand to make it look more for you.

“Do I look good, Ma 'eylan?” Johnn’ra asked, holding the mask up over his face, his big golden eyes staring through the masks holes, one of his carved beads falling off,, he lowered the mask,, “Wiyaaa.” He whined, staring at the bead laying on the weaved fabric beneath him.

“Broke off.. I need better nectar.” Johnn'ra grunted, dropping the mask to the weaved fabric.