That night, Taro prepared a special dinner—something completely out of the ordinary. Though he rarely cooked, tonight he wanted to make it memorable for his sister. He slowly roasted a small, plump wild boar over glowing embers until the skin turned a golden crackle, the aroma tantalizing in the cool evening air.
Footsteps echoed outside, and Taro turned around with a subtle smile. "I know how much you like this," he said softly. "I finally kept my promise."
Yara returned the smile, her gaze fixed on her older brother—his face etched with scars and weariness. "I missed evenings like this. Just the two of us… no rules, no rituals."
"Tonight," Taro nodded, "you're free. Rogg… he's been taken as our sacrifice—but that means you're safe. At least… for now."
Yara's smile faltered as she watched the fire work its magic on the meat. A swirl of emotion crossed her face. "He saved me, Taro," she whispered. "Strangely, he doesn't feel ordinary. I want to thank him."
Taro's eyes narrowed. "Yara, you're always too trusting of strangers. We don't know who he is. He could be dangerous."
Yara bowed her head. "But… he's the only one who saved me. Maybe… that's what humans need—empathy."
Taro exhaled slowly, then nodded. "Alright. I'll watch from a distance. Don't stay long."
First night after Rogg was captured by the Naavi hunters—including Taro, who had tracked him—Yara slipped out among the drunken villagers. She watched as Taro quietly approached the tied stranger. He slipped Rogg a drink, and the man's eyes flashed with gratitude.
Second night, Yara returned, signaled by Taro when it was safe. She brought grilled meat and potent tuak. They spoke few words—languages still a barrier—but their eyes said enough: trust.
Third night changed everything.
That morning, the hunters, elders, and Taro gathered in Gosen Grove for the hunting contest. Yara overheard Taro by the stream, his face lined with worry. "They've decided, Yara. You'll still be sacrificed… even though Rogg's been captured. They want your blood in the pact too."
"What? But I already—"
"There's no logic here! I'm in this hunt… maybe I can win. Then we leave. But if I fail… you run. Promise me."
Yara pressed her lips together. "We go together, Taro. No matter what."
But fate turned against them.
In the hunt, as the Naavi men reveled in the thrill, a pack of Lagosh charged through the grove. Unarmed hunters fell one by one. Taro, at the front, fought bravely but was overwhelmed and captured. Yara froze behind the bushes, her eyes brimming with tears.
When night fell, Yara ran back to the village, exhausted and covered in blood and mud. She tried to warn everyone that the hunters had died—but before she could, one of the Lagosh appeared at the village gates. Panic erupted.
Her nightmare returned as she and Rogg were expelled from Naavi. In the chaos, a Rauh Metutu yelled, "Leave! Both of you—now!" Another elder screamed, "No more excuses! You brought this upon us—the stranger is a curse!"
Yara pulled Rogg through the village's exit, tears blurring her vision.
That night, deep in the damp forest, Yara woke trembling. She gasped for breath, clutching her chest. "Taro…" she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks.
Rogg, woken by her cries, moved to her side. "Yara?" he murmured.
She shook her head, hugging her knees. "He… he got caught. I watched. I couldn't do anything."
Rogg wrapped her in his arms, letting her sorrow out in silence. He understood how deep her wounds ran.
"I'm sorry…" Rogg finally whispered.
"For what?" she breathed.
"For not being strong enough to save him…"
They stayed that way for a long time, the only sounds the night wind and beating hearts.
Yara shut her eyes. She knew life wouldn't get easier—but for the first time, she didn't feel alone.
Since they were children, Yara and Taro had known hardship. Their father, a stubborn drunk, spent more time in the woods than at home. Still, Yara remembered how he once tried to save her from the brutal ritual.
When he was killed by elders and hunters for refusing to hand her over as a sacrifice, guilt haunted Yara ever after. Losing Taro—the one person she trusted—deepened the wound beyond words.
Yara sat beneath a tree, her body still, but her face revealed a sorrow she couldn't hide. Rogg sat nearby, watching in silence. He recognized that sadness—it was the same grief that had long taken root in his own heart.
"I know that feeling," Rogg thought. "That hollow pain of loss, like when Robb disappeared during the eruption. I never got to say goodbye. I don't even know if he's still alive. But the worst part… is not knowing anything at all."
He looked at Yara, trying to read her thoughts. He knew how close she and Taro had been. Even when Rogg had been tied to the sacrifice post, he could feel someone watching from afar—and he knew it had been Taro. Now, Yara was alone. And Rogg understood the weight of that solitude.
The next morning, Yara woke later than usual. Her eyes were still puffy from tears. As she opened them, she saw Rogg sitting cross-legged near a small fire, offering her a cup made of coconut shell.
"You're finally awake," Rogg said softly, his voice flat but caring.
Yara nodded weakly and took the water without saying a word.
Rogg pointed toward a fish roasting on a hot stone beside some peeled fruits and forest tubers.
"For you," he said plainly.
Yara touched the fish gently. Her stomach was empty, but her heart still felt too heavy. She chewed slowly, silently. It had no taste, but she knew her body needed it.
Rogg kept his eyes on her. Inside, he was still trying to figure out how to communicate. But it wasn't easy. Robb, his brother, had always understood through hand gestures and eye movements. But Yara? She mostly stayed silent, or spoke in a language he didn't yet understand.
As she finished the last bite, Rogg moved away and began sharpening his spear.
Yara tilted her head and glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then smirked.
"Are you mad?" she mumbled in Naavi.
Rogg turned his head, not understanding. But the mischievous curve of her lips gave him the feeling she was teasing.
Yara lifted the leftover food slightly, as if to show off.
"See? I'm the only one who's full," she said with a quiet giggle.
Rogg sighed. He knew she was trying to lighten the mood. But he was too tired and hungry to play along.
"I don't know what you're saying," he muttered, turning his gaze away.
Yara huffed softly. She knew he was annoyed, and strangely, that made her feel a little more alive.
When the sun rose higher, they packed up. Rogg, once again, gathered Yara's belongings. He knew she was exhausted and carrying too much. Without a word, he took her bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"Hey, I can carry that myself!" Yara protested. No reply.
Rogg just kept walking south. Yara followed, pouting, though secretly, she was relieved.
Their path led them further away from the Naavi village, into forests neither of them had seen before. The air grew warmer, the ground drier. The animals changed—giant lizards, massive birds, and unfamiliar sounds echoed from the underbrush.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks, into months.
They slowly began to understand each other. Yara taught Rogg simple Naavi words—water, fire, food. Rogg, in turn, taught her words in Rhazab.
"This… is jalan," he said, pointing at a path.
"Zhalaa?" Yara tried, mispronouncing.
"Zhal…lan," Rogg corrected, smiling slightly.
"Zhallan," she repeated, this time more accurately.
Rogg nodded. "Good."
And so, they began building their own vocabulary—a mix only they could understand. Over time, silence became less frequent between them.
Deeper into the wilderness they went, into untouched lands where trees stretched skyward and gentle beasts watched them from a distance. One day, they stumbled upon a crystal-blue lake so clear, it seemed otherworldly.
Yara ran to the shore, dropping to her knees and splashing her face with cold water. Rogg sat behind her, laying down his spear, staring blankly at the calm waters.
"Will we keep going like this forever?" Yara asked suddenly.
Rogg turned to her. "What do you mean?"
"Wandering. With no real direction. Looking for something we don't even know."
"It's better than dying somewhere we do," Rogg replied quietly.
Yara was silent for a moment, then smiled faintly, gazing into the flowing water.
"Then let's keep walking," she said. "Until we find a place we never want to leave."
Rogg nodded. "Yeah. Until then."
And once again, they walked on—two souls no longer strangers, bound not by words, but by something deeper.