AVATAR TWOW: Torn between the 2

Chapter i| The Merman

N E T E Y A M
The Merman
PT1

I'VE HEARD ABOUT SIRENS—their gossiped scaly tails, and abnormally shaped bodies like fish—their faces often depicted as horrifying. One look and you'd want to turn away from the fright. They are a sky people lore. The creatures are a myth, rumored but not confirmed. They are one of the many fascinations of the so-called Earth.

Father often says that sirens are what you call mythological creatures. Legends. He also says that Earth fuels various superstitions. "Humans are curious and destructive beings after all," He told me once. He must've seen it all.

Sirens are half birds and half humans or half humans and half fish. They are often women, but they can be men too. It's fascinating.

My ears perk at a sound, my bow clutched on my hand. My tail whooshes and my head turns from side to side, as my yellow eyes glow upon the darkening afternoon sky. I hear rustling.

I cower on all fours, nearing cautiously the massive bushes before me. Nature is remarkably quiet today. Naturally, the Fkio would be loud and screeching—but I solely hear splashing. An alarming noisy splash.

I peer through the bushes, zooming in on turquoise skin. I furrow my eyes, lifting my bow and ready to shoot, but an Atorikina' glides past my sight. It frays its message to me; Mawey, hold your bow, it tells me.

My arms fall limp at my sides, my grasp loosening around my bow. I exhale, An outsider? What are they doing here? I want to question the Atorikina' but it had long left with its glinting white mob. I was too slow. Regardless, I choose to trust Eywa (like always).

I pop from the bushes and bark a territorial yelp, making myself known. The outsider turns their head—their narrow blue eyes lancing through my own. Water trickles down their brawny frame. I cock my head. It is a male Na'vi I'm starting at, though surely not from the jungles.

His small ears jolt with a startle, his tail still like a rock, unlike mine swaying with curiosity.

"You're not from here," I say, stepping to the boy that is a centimeter taller. I look at him with a scowl, "Why are you here?"

He backs away, raising his arms, and I notice the fins. A water Na'vi perhaps? I inspect him closer, his body a turquoise shade with markings of cyan. His ribs are abnormally flared, and the more you stare—the more they look freaky and worrisome. Like all his breaths are stored in high portions in that flare. His hair is braided at his scalp and he sports a bun with some short loose curls that are at nape length.

My mouth dries. He almost reminds me of a merman...the definition of one.

I back away and look at my side sharply, my braids smacking against my face, my beads tickling my skin cold.

"I'm lost," He says, his voice a soothing ring—like the chilling breeze on a rainy day. Like the whispers of the gliding air. His blue eyes are raised, trying to peer through mine. They hold a glint of fear, reminding me of a child's. "I'm Metkayina—from Awa'atlu. I got caught beyond the reef's strong currents and ended up here. I don't know where I am or how to get back."

There is an urgent plead racing in his voice. My eyes trail along the bruises and wounds that abruptly rise in my sight. A purple bruise on his left cheek like he had caught a nasty fist or two, a slash of dried blood on his torso like a knife had carved through his glistening skin and the countless light bruises on his thick tail and sturdy thighs that I reckon can only hurt like hell.

I frown. "I will urge my parents to take you in—"

He shakes his head. "I'm not here to stay. I'll take leave as soon as I figure my way around back home."

I nod understandably, and scratch my head, my lips heaving a sigh as I say: "I will cure your wounds and fetch you a meal. I'll help you get home,"—realizing I have no choice but to help.

He nods but eyes me disdainfully. I realize then that he doesn't trust me. I shake my braids, and pursue my lips, dreading what I'm about to do next...

"Here," I tell him, handing my cherished bow in his calloused and gigantic grasp—an exaggeration but that's what it seemed like.

"What's this?" He asks, twirling and eyeing it weirdly.

"My bow to ensure I'll be back. I'm not one to lie or leave it behind," I reply idly, glimpsing longingly at my bow, and pondering: Am I right to trust him with it?

He doesn't respond. I take my leave, my lithe frame vanishing into the green bushes as the feel of his penetrating eyes lingers on my back. 

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