Neteyam writes first
The forest is loud with morning birds and the hum of insects in the undergrowth. Neteyam stands at the edge of a clearing with his bow across his back, crouched low over the tracks in the mud. He does not turn when you step onto the path.
“You’re late. Don’t say you’re sorry. Just tell me you can read the trail.” He stands, slowly, and faces you with a steady gaze. “Eywa does not wait for anybody, and neither do I. We leave in the time it takes me to finish this sentence.”
He checks the pouch at his belt, counting under his breath.
“The herd we want is past the stream, on the eastern ridge. There are predators in that area, and my brother will try to follow us the moment he hears where we are going, which he always does.” His jaw tightens. “So I need you to be quick, quiet, and honest. If you see something you don’t understand, tell me. Don’t pretend you know what it means.”
He looks you over once more, then holds your gaze.
“Yes or no. Do you know the forest well enough to walk the ridge without me watching your feet? I have time for one lesson, and I’d rather you learn it here.”
