ᴛꜱᴜʟꜰÄᴛᴜ

Hair.

"Oh, sweetie. It's beautiful. I adore it."

One full of colour. Much like his beloved. The bead added right then and there.

His lips descend to meet her head. His arm curls around her petite little frame, and a smile forms on his lips. A soft tremble in his voice betrays a stoney countenance, staring down as he runs his fingers through her~>

"Songcord sounds about right."

He stretches his immense left arm. A long cord of raven beads show themselves. Each with a Mason rune engraved. One would almost call these a rosary, rather than a more traditional songcord. And so, it is. That that trail of black stone, meets a new segment. ~>

The circle.

The bracelet's around a glaucous leaf. One especially collected to wrap around warm, cheesy croquettes. Delivered to her as he accepts his own gift.

"Oh? Just with bare hands, Srá? Thank you, Ma'yub."

Over his own gift.

A bracelet of tiny dark wooden figures. Her mother, proudly stood alongside her father, both in regal attire of feather and leaf. Her siblings stand at the closure, their arms wrapped around little Vanawm. The closing of the bracelet a papyrus, locked into her arms to form~>

There's a soft sound in the shifting of his great feet on the earth. And a smile. From ear to ear, baring his teeth with a gentle grasp of her head, and his lips lovingly set atop her forehead.

He accepts the gift. Graciously. And in the style, if not the tradition, of gift trading, he hands ~>

It was tradition to offer a fruit salad wrapped in leaves to the one you court. And in the salad, to hide a gift, small enough to be missed unless the other truly savoured their food. Small enough to be missed unless their love was strong enough to make them want to spend time with you during lunch.

The tsahik would, as always, oversee the celebrations and give Eywa's blessings to the young couples. However, Vanawm's mind was to someone else.

During the normal mid-day light worshipping rituals (which also included a long nap under the sun), she walked off in search for her not-yet-mate.

// @spiritmason.bsky.social happy Valentine's, baby <3

₊☆𓂃·₊˚౨ Today in the life of ৎ˚₊𓂃☆·₊

There is nothing better than celebrating connection through Eywa. On this day, the väng tìomum get together to celebrate the mated couples and the offsprings brought up in love and community.

♡ mun is 25
♡ super extra gay
♡ warning for heavy themes, tho I am not actively planning for anything like that
♡ Yes, that is Elizabeth Taylor. No, I am not sorry for using her as a faceclaim she is AN ICON

"Can you blame?

They see in you what strike us and our children down. Is not fair."

He patiently awaits. The Pilgrims move in their own way. Their heavy set bodies don't allow for the same acrobatics.

"Have to give time. And prove your loyalty to them."

He glances up. A tilted head and twitching ears accentuate a grin.

"Not yet moving like Na'vi, kin, Eyle and Saa not teaching?"

"Look it up."

He points with his chin at her tablet, holstering the blade before standing up again, scanning the skies to place himself.

Before dropping down the cliff. His knife sunken to the earth to slow his fall, with a natural motion seemingly practiced a thousand times.

"You don't know it?"

He grins back, sharpening the sword across his lap as his chin points ahead.

"Metkayina territory is that way. Is where Toruk Makto is!"

Ah, Kin! I thought Toruk would never show!

⠀ · ࣪ ⊹ 𓂃 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫 .ᐟ

Vanawm was perched on a branch, her attention drawn to some bark. She was way smaller than the normal Na'vi, but that meant she could be more agile. Despite her serene nature, her ears perked backwards. She could sense 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 was off.

A giant. Hunched over a small fire.

Pale blue, darkened around his eyes as an immense black mane spills over his shoulders, not yet tied in braids. His knife flips the Sturmbeest steaks as he hands half the fried mushroom to his Angtsik. The saddled beast happily wobbling his way to recieve it's~>

Deep sea.

"Easy, nervous Yawntu. Most Na'vi are friend.

Come, sit by the fire, Srá?"

His fingers split a root, sap poured as a condiment upon the steak, spread with the knife as the sharpened stick meets with thin layers of green, red, and a thin sheet of gravy. Offered back to him.

He is tall. A lot, compared to most Na'vi.

But he's barely at eye level with the squatting man. Even at ten feet.

But the golden eyes of the mason meet him, moving calmly, without urgency or anxiety, like a sentient mountain that simply chuckles softly at his statement, his own tone a gentle, ~>

Moyo-Réfful... Mangkwan is bad news, Kin.

𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚
𝙊𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙖𝙨𝙩
𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙞𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩
𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚
𝘼𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩
𝘽𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚
𝙊𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙖𝙨𝙩.

Pov: [READER] touched a statue.

Blue eyes slowly blinking as she held up the creation she had made, a river crystal carved into the likeliness of an Ikran.

It took a lot of work.. but she is happy with the results.

Treat.

His clothes, from the sleeves split open hanging behind him like a cape to the blue sash, brand him a member of the elusive Giant Pilgrims, a kin of masons and craftsmen who wander.