AVATAR TWOW: Torn between the 2

Chapter iii| Mermaid boy

N E T E Y A M
Mermaid boy
PT1

THE FOLLOWING MORNING I scamper to the forest, swinging from tree to tree and leaf to leaf, and into the pond beyond massing trees and bushes, hidden from every view. My hiding spot.

I crouch over the clear pond and meet my blurry reflection. I make out blue eyes, and soon a head pops up, water tricking down his face like rain-pour as a white layer blinks his eyes. It's creepy. I am almost startled.

"Morning," I grin, patting his head. An impulsive urge I didn't mean for, but it seems like he doesn't mind as he does or says nothing about it. There's no scorn or irritation on his face. So my hand rests there. "How's ur bruising?"

"Fine," He replies, peering up at me through his damp lashes with droplets. "You know, this spot isn't too bad. I like it."

"See? I told you it wouldn't be bad," I cackle.

He rolls his eyes. He grabs onto the edge and hops out of the pond. Water pools down to his feet. I scoot away, shielding myself from the flicks of water that smack my skin cold.

"You should've stayed in," I say with jest. He flicks his long fingers and water darts at my eyes—the cooling sensation blinking my eyes with mild tears. I shut my eyes. For a brief minute I hear him chortle...and it's warm just as it is deep. With depth like the tremendous dive into the open sea. It is bubbling and carefree. I open my eyes, stricken by the view of his pearly long fangs and his eyes crinkled nearly shut.

"Again with your staring problem," He remarks with amusement. I scratch my head and sigh.

"You're annoying," I say deadpan, rising to my feet, and meeting his azure eyes—electrifying and I can almost distinguish the faint lines within them that mirror ripples. I also can see the slight hue of green within those eyes.

"I came to see how you were—seems like I'm not needed. I was afraid you'd be out and about crying for comfort."

He snorts, his eyes darting to the side, his shoulders, and hefty chest bouncing a tad as he cackles lowly. "Me? Cry? You've got something wrong, Forest boy."

"Forest boy?" I cock my head.

He shrugs uncaring, "Why not? You dive through trees like a mon—Monkey boy will do!" His lips pull into a snide smirk. His tone is cheeping, high, and with delight.

I shake my head, my braids swinging, "I like forest boy better," I breathe out in reply. I hadn't meant for it to come out the way it did, but for some oddities, the air had failed to ease my lungs.

He rolls his eyes, "Do you ever not urge to trim those braids? They smack you left and right."

"So you've noticed?"

"'Course I have. I may look like a dimwit, but trust that I'm very reserved and keen...keen to things of interest that is."

"So I'm of interest?"

"Keep dreaming, Forest boy," He says with a slight playfulness to his dull tone. I grin, my ears flicking the slightest. My stomach puddles with fun as a giggle shove past my lips. It is short-lived and soft, hushing into the air as soon as it comes.

"I brought breakfast," I blurt, my hands rummaging through my pouch. I hand him the wrapped meal of sturmbeest meat and some steamed and chopped fresh veggies.

"How about you? Do you not eat?" He asks me.

"I already ate," I lie.

He hums. "You're clueless," He says, stepping toward me, his eyes inspecting every corner and every inch of my lithe frame. "And not a very good liar."

"I eat later. I like to eat in family," I assert, looking past his shoulder, my dangling beaded braid coming to view. I tuck it behind my ear and back away, motioning him to sit. I sit too.

"You know, that food you gave me yesterday was awfully sweet. It wasn't bad, but I just wasn't used to it," He explains as he munches on the chewy meet of sturmbeest. He twirls a piece around his fingers, eyeing it. The meat is really oily on his fingers, and perhaps the taste is foreign (again) as he seems to ponder.

"What do you guys eat back home?" I ask, my lime eyes flickering with interest.

"Fish, clams—sea life," He replies.

I hum. "Do you miss your family?"

He stops eating; his arms fall on his lap and he looks at me, his blue eyes transparent as if I am looking at that same pond with crystal clear water. His eyes are glossy, though his sadness is faint. He looks like he is sucking it up.

"Yeah, I do..." He trails, biting the veggies with idle. "We left on a bad note—my parents and I. That's why I gotta go back and mend things right. I miss them...my sister especially."

"Why on a bad note?"

He smiles bitterly, "I'm the son of the Olo'eyktan, and I'm what he deems a disappointment. I roll with it—but I hate that I'm always the cause of something terrible."

"So you're hectic?" I laugh.

"Yeah," He joins, his laughter harmonizing with mine. It is as if we are drunk. Father often tells me his Earthy stories, because I like to ask. It's fun listening to him and his past lifestyle that differs so vastly from his now in Pandora's. He says drinking is relieving. Intoxicating. And that you feel like the hugest idiot, and that everything turns funny at the moment. He says it makes you stupid and careless. Very careless.

My face falters to a stern one. "...It's not uncommon, you know...to live under your father's shadow. I do too, and heck, I'm sure that we'll strive higher than anyone—"

"You're exaggerating," He cuts me off, though he displays a wide grin that seeps with ease.

"I'm going to be the next Toruk," I chirp, my eyes crinkling as I beam.

He laughs, "You? Toruk? C'mon, be realistic," He sneers.

"If my father could, I can too."

I watch as he opens his mouth, ready to jab, but his face falters to that of surprise and realization. His small ears twitch and his eyes widen. "Hold on...your father's Toruk Makto? The Omatikaya Olo'eyktan? The savior? The half-blood?"

I nod, smiling smugly. "No other mightier warrior than me," I joke.

He shoves my side. His eyes linger on me as he offers me his fist. "Truce between responsible sons?" He asks. I almost laugh, jabbing fun at the word responsible, because how can a word slip past his mouth when he is anything but. At first glance, I recognized he is a handful. A sneaky and childish handful.

"Truce," I say, bumping my fist into his. "Mermaid boy."

He tilts his head and frowns. "What?" He asks.

I shake my head, "You wouldn't know anyway."

"I would if you tell me. I'm surprisingly smart."

"Mmh, I don't think so," I chortle.

3