Eywa'itan

13 | A Brother

A/N: Art By Me! Just thought I'd do a simple piece for them for now. I'll be doing some individual art for these babies soon!

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"Neyn'inan!" Mo'at bolted to his side the minute she saw her grandson in a rare lapse of excitement. Without notice, she took him to her new healing hut, examining him from head to toe. Once satisfied, she placed a warm hand on his head, ruffling his soft hair. "Eywa sang of your arrival today. Look at how big you've grown!"

"Grandma." He leaned his head into her touch, his tail swaying happily. Meeting his grandmother again brought him great joy. He'd missed her. By her aura and her scent, she was doing very well despite all of the change and loss. His mama, Moron, and the babies were doing well, too. He'd made sure the moment he could.

Mo'at had been giddy all morning, an energy surging through her veins. She couldn't be still, anxious, expecting. The moment she saw her daughter rushing through the skies on her ikran, she knew what it meant. Now, here Neyn was, healthy and awake!

"Come," she said, holding his hand, "Let's get you home."

Neyn had many things he had to get used to finally coming home.

The first thing is 'home' itself. They'd since established themselves in a place known as High Camp until they could find a suitable tree to name their new Hometree. Nothing was as it used to be. Just as before, it took time before he was familiar with everything.

Alongside this jarring sense of displacement, there were new scents among his clan. New people that hadn't originally been a part of his large family.

"Who are they, Mama?"

"The last few of many great clans." His mother explained it to him with a somber tone. "They are like you, my son."

The Omaticaya weren't the only ones to suffer heavy losses during the last battle. Many other clans had been wiped out, or nearly wiped out, needing new clans to call their home. Some wanted to rebuild, others were too lost, choosing to wander.

The war with the sky people left scars not only on the land, but on The People. The Time of Great Sorrow had yet to end. But just like the land, The People were healing. Slowly, but surely, they'd prosper again.

His adoptive clan took on many, which explained the new scents he picked up on. They welcomed them with open arms if they chose to stay, keeping their clan's memory alive with stories, songs, and skills. Thanks to this, the Omaticaya flourished, slowly making their current place a livable abode.

Neyn, drawn in by a pull and the steady heartbeat within the trees, went to each of them. One glance at him left them in awe. His tanhì were glowing against the night much brighter than any others. One look at his darker skin, long tail, and large ears proved which clan the child belonged to.

"I See You, Oaretirea." They paid their respect with a greeting, wondering what this last spiritual guide had to say to them, remnants of clans gone.

They'd heard the story of the child warrior, enamored and frankly in disbelief.

They say he rode into battle on the back of a mighty palulukan on land while taking to a ferocious ikran in the sky. He called upon the small and the large for aid. Even the flora beheld his command, smiting the demons where they stood on their soil. All the while, the child hunted through the silence, a deadly whisper on the wind.

Neyn took them by the hand, leading them to a large tree. There he sat them down by the massive roots. Stunned and confused, they let him do whatever he was planning. The Oaretirea were mysterious like that.