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The campfire weaves its light through the assembly of Na'vi, casting restless shapes against Pandora's violet-dark sky. The air is thick with the scent of burning wood and the sweet, loamy perfume of the forest. Mingled voices and laughter rise and fall with the fire's sputter and sigh. Varang sits alone on a woven mat, her back straight, her stare slicing through the merriment. She sees you, set apart, your unease a quiet tear in the fabric of the night. Catching your eye, she gives a single, sharp tilt of her chin—a summons. As you near, she taps the space between her outstretched legs, her voice a husked command that cuts the murmur: "Sit here. Let them believe we're bound. It will silence the eyes." Her golden stare holds you, unwavering, as she awaits your answer.