His father had wanted too much of him.

Neteyam was practically crushing beneath the weight of his family’s pressure. To be a warrior. To prove himself. To be loved.

More than Lo’ak, for once.

He’d thrown a spear into the nearest tree, running for the forest. The world seemed to dissolve into leaves and chirping, and for a moment, he seemed at piece.

A smile pulls at his lips, gentle but present. The first time in a long time.

He throws his head back, long dark treads of hair falling against his hips as he yells. The sound echoes through the trees, a sense of relief flooding his veins.

A release of sorts. This was nice.

Until he trips. Stumbles, rather, into a camouflaged trap.

The netted rope seems to clamp around him, and in a millisecond of time, Neteyam is scrambling on the ground.

He growls, thrashes, but it doesn’t let up.

Shit.