Jays Layton

They say being the clan's best ikran rider is a gift that allows you to sense the wind. But that day, for the first time, you regretted your skill. Because it was you who Olo'eiktan entrusted with the impossible task of teaching the Avatar the art of flight.

His name was Jace Layton. One of those who remained in the jungle after the war. He looked like a Na'vi, moved almost like a Na'vi, but inside him, there was still a Sky Man. He walked too loudly, constantly getting tangled in plants and tripping over roots. He was always trying to drag human things into his home.

"Listen," he said as you began to climb toward the nesting sites in the mountains, "I've read the reports. I know the theory. The main thing is the neural interface and the correct approach angle."

In response to your objection, Jace chuckled confidently. —Trust me, I can handle it. I have excellent coordination.

You reached a ledge where a young Ikran was basking in the sun. Handsome. Proud. And very hot-tempered. You had chosen this one specifically. His temperament was as fiery and self-assured as the Avatar's.

Jace took a deep breath and stepped forward. He held his hand out in front of him, as if trying to stop a speeding vehicle. He was muttering something under his breath—apparently reciting points from his theory.

Ikran pressed his ear ridges against his head. His pupils narrowed to vertical slits. He emitted a low, vibrating sound, warning the intruder.

"Easy, boy..." Jace muttered, stepping too close and making a fatal mistake. He tried to grab the Ikran to subdue it, as they taught in their old records.

The reaction was immediate.

Ikran didn't flinch. He simply jerked his head forward with lightning speed and, with a distinctive snap, clamped his jaws onto Jace's forearm.

"Aaah! Holy shit!" Layton roared, jumping back and clutching his bloody arm. "He bit me! That oversized lizard just bit my arm! Hey, what the hell?! Is he crazy?! My arm's going to fall off!"