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It was always the beach, thought Matau.

The Turaga of Fire sat quietly on a flat stone, watching the waves crash against the shoreline like he was studying an ancient scroll. A normal sight, although Matau confessed to a hint of surprise when he saw that Vakama had a smile on his face; rare for the Elder of Ta-Koro.

The Turaga of Air cleared his throat, causing Vakama to turn.

“Ah, Matau.”

“You’re in a well-jolly mood,” Matau remarked, with a grin. “Sea-watching, again?”

Vakama shrugged, turning back to the massive ocean in front of him. “I always find the time for pause.”

“Ha! When Ash-Bears fly, Fire-Spitter.”

Matau made himself comfortable next to his fellow Elder, and together they surveyed the ebb and flow of the waves. Above, a flock of gulls circled enthusiastically, waiting for the fish below to reveal themselves and provide them their meal for the day.

“Mighty-Lewa has told me about what has transpired with Fire-friend Tahu,” Matau said. “Well done, flame-brother. With Tahu back on his light-feet, Toa are true-certainly tight-bonded now.”

Vakama nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

The Elder of Le-Koro paused, before adding, “True-honestly, I am stun-shocked that you gave Tahu that edict of departure. Did you really believe that Fire-Toa was going to lose-shun his Duty?”

“Not for a moment, brother,” Vakama replied, matter-of-factly. “Tahu is better than that. For all his sulks, the flame of leadership burns in his heart. And besides, that was not an edict I gave him.”

Matau stared at his fellow Turaga, blankly.

“Sometimes, it helps that the Toa of Fire has such an aversion to reading,” explained Vakama, with a chuckle. “It is so helpful, in fact, that he failed to notice the recipe for Liver-and-Root stew that you gave me last week, which I bound with a particularly lovely ribbon before slipping it into his grasp.”

The Turaga of Air rolled his eyes. “Very funny, Mask-Melter. You are luck-fortunate that everything turned out in your good-favour.”

The pair of Turaga continued to contemplate the scene before them. The gulls flew overhead for about an hour more, until the flock decided that their hunting endeavour would be rewarded elsewhere.

Vakama let out a sad sigh. “We never had that, did we?”

“Had what?”

“That friendship. That bond, that the Toa have,” Vakama said. “Not in our day.”

Matau thought for a moment.

“No, Vakama. No, we did not.”

“There was never enough time. We had to make things up as we went. I don’t think that was what our mentor intended.”

The Turaga of Le-Koro always believed that humour could resolve a sombre situation and was about to make light of Vakama’s comment until he saw the regret in his brother’s eyes. Instinctively, he knew what was on the mind of the Turaga of Ta-Koro. It was a time long past.

A cursed time. A time where brother turned against brother.

“Why do you talk-speak as though there is no time left, Vakama?” Matau asked, simply. “As if we have not learned from our past-life? Look at you and hammer-headed Onewa, no longer at each other’s throats. Or Earth-Learner and Ice-Whistler, working together now!”

“Call it the fancy of an old one, but I wish we didn’t take so long. It might have saved us a lot of heartbreak.”

Matau chortled. “What time has not allowed us, humility quick-easily makes up for. Humility has slow-taught us to make top-full use of our lot. True-trust me, Fire-Spitter. We would not be here if it were not for humility. Great Spirit knows I could have used it in my heyday.”

The Turaga of Fire blinked once. He did not hear Matau speak like this very often. He had forgotten how wise his brother had become.

“You speak truthfully,” Vakama affirmed. “And thank you for being my friend, Matau. After all these years.”

Matau grinned, then playfully knocked Vakama on the shoulder with his hand.

"Now let us get something to eat, Flame-Brother," chirped the Leader of Le-Koro. "Heart-promise, no roots-and-livers this time!”

Description
It was always the beach, thought Matau.

The Turaga of Fire sat quietly on a flat stone, watching the waves crash against the shoreline like he was studying an ancient scroll. A normal sight, although Matau confessed to a hint of surprise when he saw that Vakama had a smile on his face; rare for the Elder of Ta-Koro.

The Turaga of Air cleared his throat, causing Vakama to turn.

“Ah, Matau.”

“You’re in a well-jolly mood,” Matau remarked, with a grin. “Sea-watching, again?”

Vakama shrugged, turning back to the massive ocean in front of him. “I always find the time for pause.”

“Ha! When Ash-Bears fly, Fire-Spitter.”

Matau made himself comfortable next to his fellow Elder, and together they surveyed the ebb and flow of the waves. Above, a flock of gulls circled enthusiastically, waiting for the fish below to reveal themselves and provide them their meal for the day.

“Mighty-Lewa has told me about what has transpired with Fire-friend Tahu,” Matau said. “Well done, flame-brother. With Tahu back on his light-feet, Toa are true-certainly tight-bonded now.”

Vakama nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

The Elder of Le-Koro paused, before adding, “True-honestly, I am stun-shocked that you gave Tahu that edict of departure. Did you really believe that Fire-Toa was going to lose-shun his Duty?”

“Not for a moment, brother,” Vakama replied, matter-of-factly. “Tahu is better than that. For all his sulks, the flame of leadership burns in his heart. And besides, that was not an edict I gave him.”

Matau stared at his fellow Turaga, blankly.

“Sometimes, it helps that the Toa of Fire has such an aversion to reading,” explained Vakama, with a chuckle. “It is so helpful, in fact, that he failed to notice the recipe for Liver-and-Root stew that you gave me last week, which I bound with a particularly lovely ribbon before slipping it into his grasp.”

The Turaga of Air rolled his eyes. “Very funny, Mask-Melter. You are luck-fortunate that everything turned out in your good-favour.”

The pair of Turaga continued to contemplate the scene before them. The gulls flew overhead for about an hour more, until the flock decided that their hunting endeavour would be rewarded elsewhere.

Vakama let out a sad sigh. “We never had that, did we?”

“Had what?”

“That friendship. That bond, that the Toa have,” Vakama said. “Not in our day.”

Matau thought for a moment.

“No, Vakama. No, we did not.”

“There was never enough time. We had to make things up as we went. I don’t think that was what our mentor intended.”

The Turaga of Le-Koro always believed that humour could resolve a sombre situation and was about to make light of Vakama’s comment until he saw the regret in his brother’s eyes. Instinctively, he knew what was on the mind of the Turaga of Ta-Koro. It was a time long past.

A cursed time. A time where brother turned against brother.

“Why do you talk-speak as though there is no time left, Vakama?” Matau asked, simply. “As if we have not learned from our past-life? Look at you and hammer-headed Onewa, no longer at each other’s throats. Or Earth-Learner and Ice-Whistler, working together now!”

“Call it the fancy of an old one, but I wish we didn’t take so long. It might have saved us a lot of heartbreak.”

Matau chortled. “What time has not allowed us, humility quick-easily makes up for. Humility has slow-taught us to make top-full use of our lot. True-trust me, Fire-Spitter. We would not be here if it were not for humility. Great Spirit knows I could have used it in my heyday.”

The Turaga of Fire blinked once. He did not hear Matau speak like this very often. He had forgotten how wise his brother had become.

“You speak truthfully,” Vakama affirmed. “And thank you for being my friend, Matau. After all these years.”

Matau grinned, then playfully knocked Vakama on the shoulder with his hand.

"Now let us get something to eat, Flame-Brother," chirped the Leader of Le-Koro. "Heart-promise, no roots-and-livers this time!”