—-
The forest has always been your mother. The forest has always taken care of you, given you what you need. It holds dangers and it holds life, it holds your heart.
It’s hard not to feel small in the majesty of it all, it’s hard to remember what hides in the forest. You know it better then anyone, and still, you like to forget. Neytiri takes you far into the forest, helps you search for items to make beads with, to add to your songcords.
Yours is mostly empty- one for your birth, for meeting Neytiri, for leaving her, meeting her again, Grace’s death- and your death. And your rebirth.
As the bones of your old body fall away and turn to dust, as you go back to the forest- your new body springs with life.
You place a hand on your stomach, barely a bump, but it’s still comforting to do it anyways. Neytiri pulls her father’s- her bow- back and then adjusts. You smile, and she shifts her stance, so you can just barely see her stomach swollen with life.
She huffs, quietly, before she relaxes the arrow and the animal lets out a shriek. She turns to you with a soft smile, and you return it.
This is life- not your human body, not before. You had to die to live, and now you really do live. You really burn.
—-
“He likes you the best,” Jake says. He acts like he’s mad, like he feels betrayed that his oldest son prefers the comfort of your arms and your voice. But, you see the smile on his face.
“No,” you murmur, taking the small wriggly baby from him. He’s so tiny, is what you keep thinking. He’s so small and perfect and yours. How can you be responsible for shaping a life like this?
Neytiri’s voice fills your home, her songcord one you know by heart. She sings it almost every night, like she’s praying, especially after Neteyam’s birth. He was already presented to the clan, held up in the air like he was the brightest fire you have ever seen.
You can tell Neteyam wants to go to sleep, but he’s simply having trouble doing so. You chuckle, and Jake places a hand on the small of your back as you go to stand.
“Careful,” he cautions, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.
“Pregnancy is not a death sentence, Jake.”
“I know,” he huffs, standing so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating off of his skin. “I’m just being helpful,” he grins, placing a hand on your face. He walks past you, to your hammock, leaving you with a drowsy baby who’s starting to get fussy.
“Not helpful,” you muse, beginning to pace slowly around your home.
He throws himself onto the hammock with more force than necessary, but you can only smile. Not even Neteyam is disturbed by your mate’s usual antics.
“Sing loud,” he says. “You sing like an angel, sweetheart.” And you sing your songcord for your baby, until Neytiri comes back inside and watches as you place Neteyam in his crib.
You place your hand on your stomach, much bigger now, and feel Neytiri do the same. You are full of life and fire.
—-
The decision to raise Grace’s baby was an easy one. You spent almost all of your days, especially after Neteyam was born, sitting next to her body, watching her stomach grow like yours- day by day.
She was a few months farther than you, and it’s hurts to think that you could have shared this together. But you can’t, and you never will.
Kiri is the most beautiful baby you have ever seen. She looks so much like Grace, even as a baby, it sometimes hurts but you don’t let it.
Grace once told you that it never hurt to have you there, not when you were a piece of her sister.
Now, Kiri is a piece of Grace. But more than that- she is her own person. She is a bubbly baby, her eyes always open wide. She wraps her hand around Jake’s pinky finger every chance she gets, and smiles so wide you’re sure there must be some crushed up stars on her skin.
You present her to the clan, and she has her first communion with Eywa. Her eyes light up. You place a hand over your stomach and try and hold back your tears.
—-
Neteyam stares at the baby in your arms very intently. You wonder what he would say if he could talk. Would he ask where the baby came from? Why your stomach is flatter now?
You touch your fingertips to his cheek.
“This is your little brother, Neteyam. His name is Lo’ak.” You place a hand on your stomach. “He came from my tummy.”
He looks up at you with wide eyes, before he face breaks out into a soft smile.
“He is too young,” Neytiri says, bringing Neteyam closer to her.
“But he has your mind even now, no?”
“Hopefully, he doesn’t not have mine,” Jake chuckles, wrapping his arms around you, letting you lean back into his chest.
Neytiri told you that birth was hard, but seeing Lo’ak made it all worth it. You would go through that pain a million more times if it meant you could have your family safe like this.
Kiri let’s out a small cry from her blanketed spot on the floor.
Neytiri pretends to roll her eyes, but she’s smiling too hard for it to be true. Jake only laughs, and you burn harder.
—-
“You must be careful!” Neytiri shouts, watching as Lo’ak places a hand on Tuk’s head. You laugh and pull her a little closer, so his wandering hands aren’t tempted.
Neytiri grabs his arm, kissing the back of his hand.
“Be very careful, my son, very careful. Tuk is very tiny and very soft.”
Kiri runs a delicate finger over Tuk’s leg.
“She is soft!” she exclaims, and you laugh, feeling almost lightheaded from another birth. Tuk was not planned- three children were enough. And then you were sick, and a visit to the Tsahìk proved that you were full of life yet again.
“Yes,” you giggle. “She’s very soft, very tiny. One day, she will be able to play with you guys.
Lo’ak’s eyes light up, and you smile, lean forward to kiss his forehead. He scrunches his nose, mumbles that he’s too old, before leaning his head against your arm.
Kiri shuffles anxiously in Jake’s lap, before grabbing a piece of his hair leaning up to whisper in her ear. He hisses, but listens anyway.
“You’re tired, babygirl?” she nods, and then you watch her eyes look fearfully up at you.
“What’s wrong, Kiri?” you ask, shuffling Tuk in your arms.
“You- you can’t sing,” she frets, eyes traveling down to Tuk. “You always sing.”
“Yeah,” Lo’ak mumbles, and Neteyam let’s out a yawn, pawing at your leg. “You have to sing.”
Your heart still belongs to the forest, but you swear the piece of it that’s still left to you, that was waiting for something, is now fulfilled.
“Of course I will sing,” you soothe, and Jake places his hand on the back of your neck.
So, you sing, and your heart is filled with your children and your fire burns for your mates.
—-