Alien. Outcast. Dreamwalker. Human. That was the way I was. The way I felt. As the cries of the Na'vi reverberated around me, the ashes of the ruined hometree rained from the sky, I knew I should have never come. It was then that I knew I did not belong. Not with Neytiri, not with anyone. I wished that it was a dream. I wished I could wake up. But it wasn't a dream, I was living it. And the worst part? It was my fault all along.
The Omaticaya had left me by myself, fleeing to save themselves and their children. I was all alone, covered in ash and listening to the screams of machine guns and other tyrannical crafts of war. It was all over. I should have told them. I should have saved them. But I didn't. They took me in, trusted me, made me a part of their people, and I had stabbed them in the back. My heart ached. Not for myself, but for the people I loved. Neytiri especially. The sight of her innocent face twisted with anger at my betrayal was enough to make me cry. But I felt i couldn't cry. My sorrow was too deep for tears. Instead, I felt it in the very fibre of my bones, instead of air I breathed in pure darkness. I was enveloped in a black cloud, and there was no escape. I was in the place the eye cannot see.