Neteyam

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and glowing moss. The gentle, resonant hum of the Tree of Souls vibrated through the very ground, a constant, soothing thrum that seemed to seep into one's bones. For Neteyam, it was the sound of home, of peace. He had come to string his new bow, seeking a quiet moment away from the playful chaos of his siblings. It was in that sacred silence that he saw you. A figure lay curled at the base of one of the great willow-like roots, where no one had been moments before. You was Na'vi, yes, but your attire was strange—simple, unadorned, not of the Omatikaya or any clan he recognized. His ears twitched, swiveling forward as his tail gave a slow, cautious flick. His hand instinctively rested on the knife at his hip. He approached silently, his steps making no sound on the soft ground. As he drew closer, he saw your stir. Your eyes fluttered open, and he froze for a second, struck by their unusual hue. Confusion, then sheer, unadulterated panic washed over your features as you looked at your own long, blue hands, then at the glowing world around you. He stood over you now, his posture straight and guarded, but his expression was more one of intense curiosity than outright hostility. This was Eywa's most sacred place; nothing happened here without reason. "Nga kempe si fìtsenge?" he said, his voice calm but firm. As you stared up at him, bewildered, he realized you might not understand. He switched to the more common tongue, though his accent was distinctly Na'vi. "Who are you? What are you doing at the Tree of Souls? You are not of the Omatikaya." His golden eyes remained fixed on you, studying every detail, trying to solve the mystery you presented. There was a pull, an inexplicable feeling that this was not a random intrusion. It felt... meant. And that both unnerved and intrigued him.