Na’viteri.org

Kaltxì, ma frapo.

It’s my pleasure to present to you, as a listening exercise, an evocative narrative poem by our Tsyili. The recording is by the author and Tirea Aean.

In any language, poetry is more difficult than prose. So don’t be surprised or disturbed if you find this challenging. Listen to the recording several times to get as much as you can out of it. Then compare it to the Na’vi text. Finally, check the translation, which Tsili herself supplied, to see how much you understood.

Here’s the recording:

 

 

 

I’d love to post more listening exercises! Have you written something in Na’vi—even if it’s very simple!—that you’d like to record for Na’viteri? If so, please send it to me along with your recording and I’ll consider it for posting. And just to reiterate, don’t be afraid to make it concise and simple! We need listening exercises at all levels—beginning, intermediate, and advanced.

Fìvurwayri alor sì stä’nìpamìri tseyä irayo nìtxan, ma mesmuk!

stä’nìpam (n., STÄ’.nì.pam) ‘recording’

This word is a simple compound of stä’nì ‘catch’ and pam ‘sound.’ When you record something, you catch its sound and preserve it rather than letting the sound fly away. (As with other technology-related terms such as eltu lefngap, this word obviously entered the Na’vi language after the Na’vi became familiar with the Sawtute and their devices.)

stä’nìpam si (vin.) ‘to record’

Säftxulì’u atìtxurnga’ nìtxan nang! Furia tsaru nga stä’nìpam soli, irayo.
‘What a powerful speech! Thank you for recording it.’

Hayalovay!

Kaltxì, ma frapo!

I’ve had a few grammatical discussions with some of our sulfätu lì’fyayä that I wanted to share with you. I’ll begin here with one about “choice questions,” and report on the others in subsequent posts.

Then, as a relief from the grammatical complications, we’ll conclude here with some fun stuff.

First, the grammar issue. The question—and a very good one—was posed by both Eana Unil and Tirea Aean. I hope Tirea doesn’t mind if I quote him verbatim:

Ta Tirea Aean a tìpawm:

What is the best way to construct a choice-among-options question, e.g., “X, or Y?”

Currently, the only known methods to create a question are srak and -pe+. We realized that these don’t quite cover questions of the form “Should I stay or should I go?”, “Do you want to do X, or Y?”, etc. It’s our understanding that utterances such as Nulnew ngal fì’ut fu tsa’ut are statements even if there is a question-like intonation. Particularly for an option set where the options are not mutually exclusive, there is no real way to make it known that this is intended to be a question. What are your thoughts on this?

Oeyä tì’eyng:

We do it as follows: For a choice statement, use fu once, as you’ve indicated. For a choice  question, use it twice, before each of the two choices. For example:

STATEMENT:
Nulnew oel fì’ut fu tsa’ut.
‘I want this or that.’
(In other words, I’ll take either choice—they’re both OK.)

QUESTION:
Nulnew ngal fu fì’ut fu tsa’ut?
‘Do you want this or that?’
(That is, ‘Do you want this, or do you want that? What’s your choice?)

When fu appears before the first choice, it signals a question.

A Complication

[Edit Oct. 1
Note: I’ve revised this section to reflect the insights of two of our sulfätu lì’fyayä, Wllìm and Tirea Aean. Irayo, ma mesmuk!]

There’s an added complication in this area: the “A or B” structure is actually ambiguous in English. For example, suppose I asked you, “Have you studied Greek or Latin?” I could be asking two different things. One might be, “I know you’ve studied one of those two languages. Which one is it?” That would be a choice question. The other would be something like, “Is it the case that you’ve studied one of these two languages, Greek and Latin?” We can call that a non-choice question. See the difference? It’s a little hard to pin down, but the two interpretations ask different things. Interestingly, the sentence is only ambiguous in written form; in spoken English, the intonation is different for the two interpretations. (Do you agree?)

Not all languages have this ambiguity. In Mandarin Chinese, for example, there are two different expressions for ‘or,’ which are used for the two different interpretations. You’ll find a nice explanation here. (Scroll down to the section headed或者 in questions. The coffee-tea examples are especially clear.)

Na’vi, unlike Mandarin, only has one word for ‘or’, fu, but it resolves the ambiguity in a different way. The non-choice question is actually a yes-no question. Going back to our previous example, it’s equivalent to saying, “Is it the case that you’ve studied one of these two languages, Greek and Latin? Yes or no?” And as a yes-no question, it requires srake/srak.

Examples:

CHOICE QUESTION:
Nulnew ngal fu fì’ut fu tsa’ut?
‘Do you want this or that?’
That is, “Which do you want—this or that?”

NON-CHOICE QUESTION:
Srake nulnew ngal fì’ut fu tsa’ut?
‘Do you want this or that?’
That is, “Is it true that you want either this or that?”

And now for the promised fun stuff. 🙂

We already know a number of ways to express affection for people in Na’vi. We have, for example, yawnetu and yawntu ‘loved one,’ yawntutsyìp ‘darling,’ paskalin ‘adorable one’ (literally, ‘sweet berry’), and parultsyìp ‘little miracle’ (a term of affection for children). But how do you express the opposite sentiment? How do you insult someone?

Kezemplltxe, we have the famous word skxawng ‘moron, idiot.’ We can also call someone a fnawe’tu ‘coward.’ And there’s the very insulting, vulgar word vonvä’, which we’ve translated in English as ‘asshole.’ Here are a few more items to add to that list.

teylupil (n., TEY.lu.pil) ‘teylu-face’

A number of insults denigrate people’s faces. (In English, we have several compounds where “face” is the second element: ____face. You can probably think of some ways to fill in the blank.) This somewhat childish Na’vi insult actually degrades someone’s facial stripes, implying they look like beetle larvae, which is not a compliment.

kalweyaveng (n., kal.WEY.a.veng) ‘son of a bitch’

This insult derives from kali’weya, a species of poisonous arachnid, and eveng ‘child.’ So calling someone a kalweyaveng is calling them the child of a poisonous spider. The closest expression we have in English that insults someone’s lineage is probably ‘son of a bitch.’

txanfwìngtu (n., txan.FWÌNG.tu) ‘bastard, loser’

You already know the word fwìng ‘humiliation.’ Adding txan– at the beginning and –tu at the end yields a word that refers to someone of extremely low social standing, a humiliated person, one who has totally lost face, the lowest on the totem pole. It’s used as a term of derision. Perhaps the closest equivalent in English is ‘bastard,’ at least in its original sense of someone born in a degrading manner. Txanfwìngtu also has the sense of ‘loser,’ but it’s much stronger than that English word.

And finally,

kurkung (n., KUR.kung) ‘asshole’

This is close to vonvä’ but even more vulgar and insulting. It’s a compound of kuru ‘queue’ and kung ‘putrid, rotten.’

kung (adj.) ‘putrid, fetid, rotten’

Kung can refer to rotten meat or a pile of dead and rotting animal matter in the forest.

Tsafahew aonvä’ ftu kunga ioang za’u.
‘That stinking smell comes from a rotten animal.’

To call someone’s queue rotten is a powerful insult.

Sìlpey oe, aynga ke zìyevene faylì’ut sivar pxìm nìhawng!

Until the next time . . .

Edit 2 Oct: In the example sentence for kung, rotting –> rotten. Irayo, ma Plumps.

Kaltxì ma frapo,

Tengkrr lerok zìskrrsomìl tì’i’at, sìlpey oe, ayngari te’lan livu lefpom ulte tìrey zivawprrte’.

We haven’t had any new vocabulary in a while, so here are a few words and expressions, along with a couple of idioms, that I think you’ll find useful.

kantseng (n., KAN.tseng) ‘destination’

This word is, of course, derived from kan ‘aim’ + tseng ‘place.’ Your destination is the place you aim for.

Ngeyä fìtìsopìri pehantseng?
‘This journey of yours—what’s its destination?’

la’a (n., LA.’a) ‘physical separation, distance between two places or objects’

Don’t confuse la’a with lìm. The verb lìm ‘be far’ and the derived adverb alìm involve something being relatively far away rather than close: ’Ì’awn alìm! ‘Stand back!’ (That is, ‘Remain relatively far away.’) Sim ‘be near’ and asim ‘nearby’ work in a similar fashion. La’a, on the other hand, is neutral as to whether something is near or far; it simply refers to the separation between two places or things. The idiomatic way to ask how far A is from B is simply: Ftu A ne B pela’a?

Ftu Kelutral ne Txintseng Sawtuteyä pela’a?
‘How far is Hometree from Hell’s Gate?’

pela’a (inter., pe.LA.’a) ‘how near, how far, what distance’

As you might suspect, we also have the variant la’ape (inter., LA.’a.pe) meaning the same thing.

NOTE: Alternate terms for pela’a and la’ape are:

pelìmsim (inter., pe.LÌM.sim) ‘how near, how far’

and its variant lìmsimpe (inter., LÌM.sim.pe). These are used in the same way as pela’a, although pela’a is the more common expression.

keynven (vin., keyn.VEN, inf. 1,1) ‘step’

This intransitive verb is clearly derived from the transitive verb keyn ‘put down’ + venu ‘foot.’ When you step, you put down your foot.

Nari si tengkrr kereynven fìtseng. Lu kllte ekxtxu.
‘Step carefully here. The ground is rough.’

As you see in the preceding example, one way to express the idea ‘Do X carefully’ is to say ‘Be careful as you’re doing X.’ Since that’s a bit long-winded, a simpler idiomatic expression has arisen: Nari si+ V (root form).

Nari si keynven!
‘Step carefully!’

Nari si lonu swizawit.
‘Release the arrow carefully.’

Also note this idiom:

Po keynven sìn ketse.
‘He is socially awkward. (Literally, He steps on tails.)’

Speaking of idioms, here’s another one I think you’ll find useful:

To express your regret that someone couldn’t attend a meeting or event:

Ngari keftxo fwa ke tok.
‘We missed you. Sorry you couldn’t make it. Too bad you couldn’t be there.’

Literally, this is saying, ‘It’s sad that you weren’t there,’ with the object of tok unspecified. A shorter and more colloquial way to say this is to omit fwa:

Ngari keftxo ke tok.

ralke (adj., RAL.ke) ‘meaningless, devoid of content’

Derived from ral ‘meaning’ + (lu)ke ‘without,’ ralke is the opposite of ralnga’.

Txewì ka trro nìwotx ftxolulì’u, slä aylì’u peyä längu ralke.
‘Txewi spoke for an entire day, but sadly, his words were meaningless.’

Finally, we’ve had the adverb nìfkeytongay ‘actually, as a matter of fact, in reality’ for some time now, but not yet the words it’s related to. Here they are:

tìfkeytongay (n., tì.fkey.to.NGAY) ‘reality’

This comes from tìfkeytok ‘state, condition, situation’ + (a)ngay ‘true’: reality is the true situation. (Note that the k at the end of tìfkeytok has dropped just as it did in nìfkeytongay, making the pronunciation easier and smoother.)

Ayunil ngeyä lu lor, slä fìtxeleri lu tìfkeytongay keteng.
‘Your dreams are beautiful, but the reality of this situation is different.’

lefkeytongay (adj., le.fkey.to.NGAY) ‘real’

Similar to the evolution of nìfkeytongay, this word was originally *letìfkeytokangay. (See this blog post for a fuller explanation.)

Yune oet! Ke lu fìvrrtep tute lefkeytongay!!!
‘Listen to me! This demon is not a real person!!!’

A few grammatical things have come up that I’d like to share with you, but I’ll do that in another post.

Hayalovay, ma smuk!

This post containing some new Pandoran plants and animals is based mostly on the diligent and excellent work of our own Txawey, who clearly devoted many hours to making this information easily available to the community. If I might quote what he wrote in his post to LearnNa’vi.org:

 “As some of you may know, I was recently in Mo’ara for a period on vacation with my family. While there, I downloaded the Play Disney app on a whim and found a game for Mo’ara while waiting in line. Said game had a decently large Pandorapedia, so I figured why not take a look at it! After I was finished, I found several new entries for things we didn’t have before. Since they were all on my phone, I took screenshots (over 200!) and figured why not type them up into a document, so here they are!”

Txawey’s 200+ screenshots, where you’ll be able to find pictures of all these flora and fauna, can be found here.

I’ll add some information on pronunciation and etymology, but the descriptions are taken from the Play Disney Pandorapedia, as typed up for us by Txawey. Ngeyä fìtìkangkemìri a kosman seiyi irayo nìtxan, ma tsmuk!

FLORA

fyìpmaut (n., FYÌP.ma.ut) ‘squid fruit tree’

This comes from fyìp+ mauti ‘fruit’

fyìp (n.) ‘tendril, tentacle’

NOTE: Although in careful pronunciation this word has three syllables, colloquially it’s usually pronounced with two: FYÌP.mawt

Taxonomy: Octocrus Folliculus
Anatomy: A massive jungle tree that produces a large seed-pod covered in spiny blue protrusions. The seed pod is also notable for its eight 60cm-long tentacle-like fruit stalks that grow from the bottom.
Ecology: A staple of the Na’vi diet, the fruit harvested from the squid fruit tree is very versatile and can be prepared in many ways.
Ethnobotany: Eaten raw, these tubular fruits have a consistency of a mid 20th-century Terran fruit snack and has a slightly salty rhubarb like taste. The fruit can also be cut into wheels and dried and cured into a portable fruit-leather that Na’vi travelers often take with them on long journeys.

koaktutral (n., ko.AK.tut.ral) ’goblin thistle’

Comes from koaktu ‘old person’ + utral ‘tree’

So named because of the hunched shape and stooped appearance of the tree. (NOTE: There’s a typo in the Disney Pandorapedia entry: the final l is missing. I’ll notify them and hopefully the error can be corrected.)

Taxonomy: Cobalus Carduus
Size: Growing up to 4m high, spread of 3.5-4m
Anatomy: Growing in a hunched shape and supported by prop roots and topped with passiflora, the stooped appearance of the goblin thistle is prevalent during the bioluminescence of the evening. Its leaves are a bluish color, and its trunk is twisted and a brownish-grayish color.
Ecology: The passiflora topped goblin tree grows in a hunched shape and is supported by propped roots. During the bioluminescence of the evening, the stooped appearance of the thistle is more pronounced.
Ethnobotany: There are at least 12 goblin thistles in Mo’ara.

lanutral (n., LA.nut.ral) ‘dandetiger’

Comes from lan+ utral

lan (n.) ‘resin’

Taxonomy: Candea Inflata
Size: 12-15m tall, slender trunk of 0.5-1m, crown of tree is 3.5-4.6m.
Anatomy: Large tree with inflated trunk, elaborate bark, and long, slender tubular leaves in a cluster at the crown. Produces abundant resin in the trunk, which accumulates in leaf tips. When resin builds up, leaf tips glow brightly, indicating that resin will be released.
Ecology: Serves important ecosystem function by absorbing atmospheric toxins, which combine with plant oils to produce resin.
Ethnobotany: Resin is collected for use as an adhesive by Na’vi.

paysyul (n., PAY.syul) ‘water lily’

Comes from pay ‘water’ + syulang ‘flower’

Taxonomy: Inrigo Lilliam
Anatomy: Large and multi-colored with bisected petals and a distended, vein pod like bulb/stigma. Can be found in standing and running fresh-water locations throughout Pandora.
Ecology: This lovely, freshwater flower has such an alluring scent and such a colorful array of petals that it’s a natural attractant for small river fauna. The Na’vi often string their woven nets underneath the flower in shallow waters to easily snare small fish.
Ethnobotany: After careful study, the Xenobiologists and Ethnobotanists from Earth witnessed the Na’vi using the inrigo lilliam as floating bait stations. Industrious adolescent Na’vi will go down to local lakes, rivers, and streams where the inrigo lilliam are found, dive into the waters with their tackle, and string woven nets underneath the shallow waters where the flower lie. With patience, these young Na’vi hunters are able to easily snare small fish and shellfish that come to feed off the aquatic root systems of the plant.

rumaut (n. RU.ma.ut) ‘cannonball fruit tree’

From rum ‘ball’ + mauti ‘fruit’

Note: Similarly to fyìpmaut, this word is colloquially pronounced RU.mawt. This tree is easily confused with the very similar-sounding rumut ‘puffball tree.’ The two trees are different.

Taxonomy: Ecdurus Putamen Pomus
Size: Fruit is roughly 70cm long
Anatomy: Deciduous, fruit-bearing tree in the Valley of Mo’ara. Its fruit has an ombre-coloring of yellow to orange to red to purple and is decidedly one of the most difficult fruits to eat on Pandora. The fruit from this tree is likened to the Terran coconut.
Ecology: When fully ripe, the cannonball fruit is a multi-colored pod that has an incredibly thick and tough outer husk. Na’vi harvesters will prepare their party for harvesting the cannonball fruit and begin the arduous task of cracking the outer husk to retrieve the succulent and sweet meat inside.
Ethnobotany: The Cannonball tree gets its name from the peculiar way the Na’vi interact with its titular fruit. The most common way of getting to the fruit is to climb to the highest height of the cannonball tree and launch the fruit from the highest branch. With the right velocity, the husk will crack and the Na’vi will be able to insert sharpened branches and crack open the shell to reveal the fruit inside.

tsawksyul (n., TSAWK.syul) ‘sun lily’

From tsawke ‘sun’ + syulang ‘flower’

Taxonomy: Stella Lilliam
Size: Flower up to 2m in height
Anatomy: Flower has primarily yellow petals, giving the opened flower a vaguely sun-like appearance. Other specimens have petals cut through with vibrant hues of magenta and cyan.
Ecology: A hearty multi-petalled bloom, this sun-loving flower is a common sight throughout the Valley of Mo’ara.
Ethnobotany: Ethnobotanists from Earth have found that this lovely flower (amongst other similar flora) is commonly used by Na’vi to create necklaces, rings, and other personal ornaments.

tumpasuk (n., TUM.pa.suk) ’celia fruit tree’

From tun ‘red-orange’ + pasuk ‘berry’

Note that while the primary stress is on the first syllable TUM, there’s secondary stress on PA. The stress pattern is the same as in the English word “strawberry.”

Taxonomy: Pampinus Bacca Acinum
Anatomy: Multi-trunked, deciduous tree with long, hanging vines from which grow massive seed pods.
Ecology: Squat, thick-trunked tree with multiple thick branches. It produces a 30cm long bulbous pod that holds a tendril-like strand of edible seeds/berries. A common food source for tetrapteron and prolemuris.
Ethnobotany: The Na’vi gather the seed berries by climbing into the trees, dangling upside-down from the branches and cutting the strand out of the pod from the inside. Another Na’vi will be under the pod on the ground and will catch the falling seed berry strand in a woven net to not damage the ripe fruit.

FAUNA

fyuatx (n., fyu.ATX) ‘anemonoid’

Size: Up to 2m in diameter
Anatomy: Invertebrate with small toxic tentacles for feeding. Bioluminescence in myriad of pastel colors.
Ecology: Small fish are attracted by bioluminescence into tentacles and eaten.

lortsyal (n., LOR.tsyal) ‘shimmyfly’

From lor ‘beautiful’ + tsyal ‘wing’

Size: Average size of up to 1m wingspan
Anatomy: Eight-winged insect with long antennae. Its body is built like Terran insects and divided into a head and thorax. The abdomen portion of the shimmyfly is constructed of two smaller vane-like hindwings and a long rudder-like tail.
Ecology: An iridescent and glimmering Pandoran version of the terran Lepidoptera (butterfly), this delicate creature gracefully flies through the Valley of Mo’ara on multiple glowing, almost crystalline wings.

nalutsa (n., na.LU.tsa)

Size: Average size of up to 40m long
Anatomy: Massive and armored with no visible dorsal fin, a single set of flippers and a long tail ending in jagged and flared flukes. A massive set of jaws that contain sword-length teeth for rending and tearing prey. Plated exoskeleton, not dissimilar to the shell of a turtle.
Ecology: A cousin of the more elusive and fierce akula, this six-gilled ocean behemoth can be seen leaping out of the near-shore waters. Birthing and parenting behaviors are not dissimilar to those of orca whales on Earth.

skuka (n., SKU.ka) ‘sagittaria’

Size: Average length of 1.2m
Anatomy: Cephalopod-like with 14 muscular tentacles, 10 radiating out from the underside of the body, primarily for locomotion, and four near the mouth for prey attraction and feeding. A large nautilus-like shell houses the body, which can retract fully for protection.
Ecology: A predator, this cephalopod-type creature has a hard exterior which is exposed to the air. Long tentacles float calmly in the water. The means of hunting prey, which mostly consists of small flying creatures, is highly specialized and unique.

srakat (n., SRA.kat). ‘dinicthoid’

Size: Up to 1m long
Anatomy: Semi-transparent body revealing spinal column and inner organs. Heavily armored with triangular, blade-like teeth.
Ecology: Voracious predator. Because of fierceness and thick armor composed of cartilage, it can feed on both smaller and larger fish. Can also feed on plant life, including fallen seeds and pods.

tsiki (n., TSI.ki) ‘reef tick’

Size: Average size of 60 cm
Anatomy: A multi-segmented underwater insect with four legs, two large main eyes, and two smaller eyes. This creature has smaller leg-like appendages near its mouth that act as feeding mandibles and are normally iridescent in color ranging in hues of bright metallic greens and blues.
Ecology: This bottom feeder, like the Terran moray eel to the great white shark, has a symbiotic relationship with the sagittaria. What scraps the sagittaria leaves from their own feeding, the reef tick will eat.

Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo.

We’re overdue for some listening exercises! I’d like to begin posting these periodically to give us all some additional practice in understanding spoken Na’vi.

Today’s little exercise is from a rich source—the masterful and exciting European Na’vi radio play that was recently completed and posted to YouTube. I’ll provide the links below to the various versions of the play, in which you can hear the narration in Na’vi, English, or German, along with reading subtitles in those three languages and Dutch. Irayo nìtxan tok Europat a eylanur a fìtìkangkemvit alor ngolop!

In the excerpt below, you’ll hear the opening narration, which sets the scene of the drama. Below is some information, and some questions, that should help your comprehension. I would suggest that you first listen to the Na’vi several times without looking at the text to see how much you can understand. Then look at the Na’vi text while listening to the audio to see how much more you can get. Finally, check the English translation.

PROPER NAMES

Leyorta: the name of a Na’vi clan

Sìnatx, Leney, Nìnu: three individual Na’vi.

QUESTIONS:

1. What role does Sìnatx play in the clan?
2. What’s going on in the clan?
3. Is the situation getting better or worse?
4. What does Sìnatx decide?
5. Who is going on the quest, and why were they chosen?
6. What is the object of the quest?

Here is the Na’vi narration from the radio play, at a relatively fast speed, with background music:

Here is the same Na’vi narration, slower and without background music.

This is the Na’vi text: Na’vi text

And this is the English translation: English text

How well did you do? 😀

If this exercise has whetted your appetite for the complete play, here are the various versions on YouTube:

With Na’vi narration

With English narration

With German narration

Subtitles in four languages are available for all these versions.

Finally, I’ve been asked to remind everyone about something I believe we all understand and acknowledge. This radio play, like all fan-created work, is not an official Avatar effort and not canon. Moreover, creators of such work have no ownership rights to plot points, story lines, or character descriptions.

We’ll have more listening exercises soon—and with different speakers!

Hayalovay!

Edit 01 July: fìtìkangkemit –> fìtìkangkemvit

Edit 05 July: First recording replaced with a much clearer version. Irayo nìtxan, ma Andi!

Kaltxì, ma frapo! I hope you’re all doing well and enjoying the lead-up to summer. 

It’s been a while. 😄 But it’s good to be back. To start to make up for lost time, here are 40 new words and expressions that I hope you’ll find useful. Some of these were taken from or inspired by the last LEP submission, some were new terms from the wonderful European radio play, and some were just some items I’ve been meaning to share with you.

To begin, here are some terms having to do with unpleasant situations. (I hope you don’t have to use them often!)

’asap (n., ’A.sap) ‘sudden shock’

Fwa tse’a peyä tìfkeytokit lefkrr lolängu oer ’asap nìngay.
‘It was a real shock to me to see him in his current condition.’

’asap si (vin.) ‘be shocked, be startled’

Oe ’asap soli krra tsafmawnit stawm.
’I was startled when I heard the news.’

fe’pey (vin., fe’.PEY, inf. 2, 2) ‘feel dread, expect something bad to happen, fear’

This is the negative counterpart to sìlpey ‘hope.’ When you hope, you expect or wait for something good to happen. When you dread, you expect or wait for something bad.

Krra pähem Sawtute, pxaya Na’vi fe’parmey.
‘When the Sky People arrived, many Na’vi felt dread.’

As with sìlpey, we use tsnì ‘that’ to talk about feeling dread or fearing that something bad will or won’t happen:

Po fe’poley tsnì ’itan sneyä tìfmetokit ke emzìyeva’u.
‘He feared his son might not pass the test.’

ketrìp (adj., KET.rìp) ‘unfortunate, inauspicious’
This is obviously the opposite of etrìp ‘favorable, auspicious.’

Nga ketrìpa krr zola’u; Ralu set sti ulte ke new ngahu pivängkxo.
‘You came at the wrong time; Ralu is angry and won’t speak with you.’

txansngum (n., txan.SNGUM) ‘desperation; feeling of great worry’

txansngum si (vin.) ‘feel desperate’

Ke lu syuve ulte tute apxay txansngum si.
‘There is no food, and many people are desperate.’

tskawr (vin.) ‘limp’

Oel tseri futa nga tskawr. Srake ngal venut tìsraw seykoli?
’I see you’re limping. Did you hurt your foot?’

txavä’ (adj., txa.VÄ’) ‘disgusting’

This general term derives from txan+ vä’ ‘unpleasant to the senses,’ where over time the n of txan has dropped. But as in English, its use is wider than just for sensory perception. 

Lu tsakem txavä’, ma tsmuk.
‘That’s disgusting, bro.’ 

On to less negative things:

nìflä (adv., nì.FLÄ) ‘successfully’

Soleia! Ngal tìfmetokit emzola’u nìflä! Seykxel sì nitram!
‘You rose to the challenge! You passed the test successfully! Congratulations!’

A few more words incorporating txan:

txantsawl (adj., TXAN.tsawl) ‘giant, huge’

txasunu (vin., txa.SU.nu) ‘love greatly, enjoy tremendously’

While in English you can love your spouse and also love hamburgers, in Na’vi the words are different. For the former, we of course use yawne plus the dative, as in Nga yawne lu oer ‘I love you.’ For the other kind of love:

Txasunu oeru teylu!
‘I really love teylu!’

As you’ve seen by now, words incorporating txan are somewhat unpredictable as to stress (txantsawl but txansngum) and whether or not the n drops (txantsawl but txavä’). So you have to pay attention to each new word!

zeykoyu (n., zey.KO.yu) ‘healer’

Fì’umtsat tolìng ’evengur aspxin zeykoyul a txanro’a.
‘This medicine was given to the sick child by a famous healer.’

tìranpam (n., tì.RAN.pam) ‘footstep (sound)’

Oel stawm sìranpamit! Lerok tuteo!
‘I hear footsteps! Someone is coming!’

ftuopa (adp-; FTU.o.pa) ’from behind’

Sroler fwäkì ftuopa tskxe.
‘A mantis appeared from behind a rock.’

fyeng (adj.) ‘steep’

Nari si! Fayramtsyìp lu fyeng.
’Be careful! These hills are steep.’

kavan (vtr., KA.van, inf. 1, 2) ’support (physically)’

Fol karmavan koaktet tengkrr fmeri po tivìran.
’They supported the old woman as she was trying to walk.’

lepxìmrun (adj., le,PXÌM.run) ‘common, often found’

kelpxìmrun (adj., kel,PXÌM.run) ‘rare’

These two adjectives clearly derive from pxìm ‘often’ and run ‘find.’

zung (vin.) ‘crouch’

Zolung ayoe nekll fteke ayioang tsivun ayoeti tsive’a.
‘We crouched down so that the animals wouldn’t be able to see us.’

fpivìl (intj., fpi.VÌL) ‘hmm, let’s see, let me think’

This useful conversational expression translates the ubiquitous “Hmm” in English, where you’re thinking about or considering what’s just been said. Literally, of course, it means “Let (me) think.”

Fpivìl . . . Kxawm ngaru tìyawr.
‘Hmm . . . Perhaps you’re right.’

kom (vin. modal) ‘dare’

Syntactically, kom behaves like tsun and var—that is, it functions as a modal and requires the subjunctive (<iv>) form of following verb:

Oe ke kom kivä.
‘I don’t dare to go.’

Nga kom pivlltxe oehu tsafya srak?
‘You dare to speak to me like that?’

Note that in English, “dare” sometimes takes an object: “I dare you to tell him what you really think!” But that’s a different verb in Na’vi, something like “challenge,” which we’ll discuss another time.

mam (vtr.) ‘wrap’

Fìsräti pxaw sey mivam fte tsat hivawnu.
‘Wrap this cloth around the bowl to protect it.’

nìtxukx (adv., nì.TXUKX) ‘deeply’

The adverbial form of txukx is used both literally and metaphorically, as in English.

Poanit tsolukx poel fa tstal nìtxukx nemfa heyr.
‘She stabbed him deeply in the chest with a knife.’

Fìtìpawmteri fparmìl oe nìtxukx, slä vay set ke rolängun tì’eyngit.
‘I’ve thought about this question deeply, but I’m sad to say I haven’t yet found the answer.’

Two verbs related to yom:

yomvey (vin., yom.VEY, inf. 1,1) ‘dine on flesh, be carnivorous’

Palukantsyìp yomvey nìwotx.
‘All cats are carnivorous.’

Contrast this last example with:

Fìpalukantsyìpìl yom veyti fratrr.
‘This cat eats meat every day.’

yomzeswa (vin., yom.ZE.swa, inf. 1,1) ‘graze’

Snayerik yeromzeswa mì tayo.
‘A herd of hexapedes are grazing in the field.’

Again, contrast this intransitive example with a transitive sentence like:

Torukìl ke yom zeswat.
‘A toruk doesn’t eat grass.’

raw (adp-) ‘down to’

Kolä oe raw kilvan fte ivaho.
‘I went down to the river to pray.’

Kllza’u yìraw amuve.
‘Descend to the second level.’

You can also use raw for counting down to some number:

Tiam ta vomrr raw pxey.
‘Count down from thirteen to three.’

txap (vtr.) ‘press, press on, apply pressure to’

Txap skxirit fteke reypay wrrziva’u.
‘Apply pressure to the wound so that the blood won’t flow.’

Derived noun:

tìtxap (n., tì.TXAP) ‘pressure’

Note: This word is used only for physical pressure, not psychological or social pressure.

Two nouns related to the verb emkä ‘cross’:

semkä (n., sem.KÄ) ‘bridge’

As you can guess, this word is derived from sä’o ‘tool’ plus emkä, where the expected form *säemkä has evolved naturally into semkä.

emkäfya (n., em.KÄ.fya) ‘ford, crossing’

Fìtseng payfya virä ka ngip areng, ha tsun awnga tsat sivar sko emkäfya.
Here the stream spreads over a shallow area, so we can use it as a ford.

fil (n.) ‘child’s toy, plaything’

sunkesun (adv., SUN.ke.sun) ‘like it or not’

This is obviously a shortened form of sunu ke sunu. The default addressee is “you”:

Sunkesun po slayu olo’eyktan.
‘Whether you like it or not, he’s going to become chief.’

If the “like it or not” is not addressed to the listener, we need to use a different construction:

Pol vìyewng ayevengit fìha’ngir, ftxey sunu fuke.
‘He is going to take care of the children this afternoon, whether he likes it or not.’

maitan (ph., ma.I.tan) ‘my son (form of address)’

maite (ph., ma.I.te) ‘my daughter (form of address)’

These two words are clearly contractions of ma ’itan and ma ’ite and are used in casual conversation as affectionate forms of address, rather like the Spanish mijo (from mi hijo, ‘my son’) and mija (from mi hija, ‘my daughter’).

Maitan za’u fìtseng.
‘Come here, son.’

And now for a little surprise.  😊

loho (vin., LO.ho) ‘be surprising’

The one who is surprised—that is, the experiencer—is in the dative:

Täftxutswo Riniyä loho oer nìtxan.
‘Rini’s ability to weave surprises me a lot.’

Fo tsìk sroler a fi’u loloho poanur.
OR
Loloho poanur fwa fo tsìk sroler.
‘It surprised him that they suddenly appeared.’

Derivations:

tìloho (n., tì.LO.ho) ‘surprise’

A. Epxangmì lu ’upe?
     ‘What’s in the stone jar?’
B. Tìloho.
     ‘It’s a surprise.’

nìloho (adv., nì.LO.ho) ‘surprisingly’

Poltxe po nìloho san oe zasya’u.
‘Surprisingly, he said he would come.’

And two astronomical terms:

Tsawkenay (n., tsaw.ke.NAY) ‘Alpha Centauri B’

Tawsnrrtsyìp (n., taw.SNRR.tsyìp) ‘Alpha Centauri C aka Proxima Centauri’

As you may know, the Alpha Centauri system contains three stars: A, the largest and brightest; B, somewhat smaller and dimmer; and C, also known as Proxima Centauri, a much smaller and dimmer star that’s actually the closest star to Earth after the sun.

There’s a good diagram of the relative sizes here (scroll down):

What do the Na’vi call these stars?

A is simply the familiar Tsawke.

B is Tsawkenay. Recall that the stressed -nay suffix creates new nouns that are a step down in some relevant hierarchy—size, rank, accomplishment—from the base noun. Here, Alpha Centauri B is the “Deputy Sun,” since it’s a step down in brightness compared to A.

As for C, litte Proxima Centauri, the Na’vi don’t think of it as a sun at all but rather as the little lamp in the sky, Tawsnrrtsyìp, from taw ‘sky’ + sänrr ‘lamp’ + tsyìp ‘diminutive.’

Colloquially, Tawsnrrtsyìp is often shortened to Snrrtsyìp.

Finally, I want to introduce you to the important word

kuru (n., KU.ru) ‘neural queue’

You’re already familiar with the word tswin, which also refers to the neural queue. For now, we can consider the words to be interchangeable synonyms. It’s possible, however, that as time goes on we’ll be able to pinpoint a difference between the two. If and when that occurs, I’ll be sure to update you. 

I have a number of grammatical questions I want to address along with more new vocabulary, so I’ll be in touch again soon.

In the meantime, I hope everyone in Munich is having a fantastic time! Vergnügt euch!

Hayalovay,

ta Pawl

Edit 6 June: Formatting problems fixed. Irayo nìtxan, ma Eana Unil!

Edit 6 June: frato–>frapo, mam (vin.) –> mam (vtr.) Irayo ngar, ma Vawmataw!

Ma eylan,

Fìtseng alu Amerikamì lu Trrmrrve Ftxozä ”Thanksgiving.” Fìtrrkrrka, sìltsana ayuri tìreyä nìwotx fko irayo si.

I always have a lot to be thankful for on Thanksgiving. But this one is special. As some of you may have heard, I had major surgery on my heart last week to correct a life-threatening condition, and it worked out beautifully. I’m now walking around at home, feeling remarkably good, doing almost everything I used to do except driving and lifting anything heavy. Those will come in time. But I am SO grateful for my amazing Dream Team of surgeons and doctors, for my fantastic family, for my incredible friends who offered me such support and encouragement. For many reasons I often think I’m the luckiest man in the world. Nìngay lolu Eywa oehu.

As you can tell, I’ve had a lot on my mind recently, and I apologize for being unresponsive to many of your comments and questions. But thank you for them all, and I will get to my backlog in time.

For those in the U.S., have a wonderful Thanksgiving aka Turkey Day. And for everyone, I hope you’re all well and happy as we approach the holidays.

Hayalovay!

Ta Pawl

Kxì, ma smuk!

Sìlpey oe, ayngari zìskrrtsawn [tìng nari nekll] sirvalew pxaya lrrtokhu a ta Eywa, ulte ftxozä Hälowinä livu ’o’ sì snewsye txantxewvay. 🙂

It was a busy September and October for us, with a trip “back east,” as we say, to New York and Massachusetts to see family and friends, and some personal issues to resolve as well. I haven’t done too much with Na’vi these past few months, but there’s some new vocabulary in this post that I hope you’ll find useful.

But before that, two things: First, I finally corrected the entry for nìtxankeltrrtrr ‘extraordinarily’ in the March 31 post, which had incorrectly listed the word as an adjective. It is, of course, and adverb. Irayo nìtxan, ma Eana Elf! And by the way, if anyone discovers other errors in previous posts that still need to be corrected, please let me know!

Second, I want to express long-overdue thanks to our Neytiri for her excellent analysis of the differences between vitra ‘soul’ and tirea ‘spirit’ in the comment section of the previous post. If you haven’t already seen it, I strongly suggest you take a look. Lu ngeyä tsapostì lesar srunga’sì nìtxan, ma tsmuke. Aysäfpìl ngey sunu oer!

We haven’t yet had words for the specific months and seasons—at least those ’Rrtamì—so these new terms should fill in those gaps.

First, recall that we already have vocabulary for the days of the week:

DAYS

Trr’awve         ‘Sunday’

Trrmuve          ‘Monday’

Trrpxeyve       ‘Tuesday’

Trrtsìve           ‘Wednesday’

Trrmrrve         ‘Thursday’

Trrpuve           ‘Friday’

Trrkive            ‘Saturday’

These clearly derive from trr plus the ordinal numbers. So Sunday is derived from “first day,” Monday from “second day,” etc. It’s important, however, to distinguish these derived compounds from the ordinary two-word phrases that still exist perfectly well in Na’vi. For example, Trrmrrve and trr amrrve/mrrvea trr are both correct but differ in meaning.

Lu Trrmrrve muvea trr a tìkangkem si oe hu Ralu.
‘Thursday was the second day I worked with Ralu.’

MONTHS

Given the days of the week, you might expect the names of specific months on Earth to be built on the same pattern. Since ‘month’ is vospxì, it would be natural to expect *Vospxì’awve for ‘January,’ *vospxìmuve for ‘February,’ etc. As it turns out, however, the actual words are a bit different:

Vospxì’aw (n., vo.spxì.’AW)                           ‘January’

Vospxìmun (n., vo.spxì.MUN)                        ’February’

Vospxey (n., vo.SPXEY)                                   ’March’

Vospxìtsìng (n., vo.spxì.TSÌNG)                      ’April’

Vospxìmrr (n., vo.spxì.MRR)                          ‘May’

Vospxìpuk (n., vo.spxì.PUK)                            ‘June’

Vospxìkin (n., vo.spxì.KIN)                              ‘July’

Vospxìvol (n., vo.spxì.VOL)                             ‘August’

Vospxìvolaw (n., vo.spxì.vo.LAW)                  ‘September’

Vospxìvomun (n., vo.spxì.vo.MUN)                ‘October’

Vospxìvopey (n., vo.spxì.vo.PEY)                    ‘November’

Vospxìvosìng (n., vo.spxì.vo.SÌNG)                 December’

As you see, the month names are derived from vospxì along with the cardinal (one, two, three, . . . ), not the ordinal (first, second, third, . . . ) numbers. That is, January is “Month One,” February “Month Two,” and so on.

You’ll notice that some shortenings have taken place along the way. In particular, ‘March’ must originally have been *Vospxìpxey, but that quickly evolved to Vospxey.

A note on pronunciation: Except in very careful speech, the normal conversational pronunciation of the unstressed -spxì-syllable in all these words is simply -spì-, where the ejective becomes a simple stop. That’s much easier to pronounce in fast, casual speech. The spelling, however, retains the px.

SEASONS

For the temperate zones on earth, we have four seasons: summer, fall, winter, and spring. Does Pandora likewise have seasons? Let me defer once again to Neytiri on this question, from some private correspondence:

Srane, Pandora has seasons, because it has an axial tilt, similar to Earth’s . . . Pandora’s seasons, like everything about Pandora, are probably just a little more exaggerated than Earth’s because of the higher axial tilt. But there should be a hotter time and a colder time, with transitional periods between, and they should have roughly the same effects, as far as I can tell . . ..

Some quotes I found:

 “If the planet has a tilt similar to ours (Mars [25°], Saturn [27°], Neptune [30°]), it has seasons similar to ours.”

 “Because of its high axial tilt (29°), Pandora exhibits considerable annual variation in the day-to-night ratio. In addition, its elliptical orbit produces seasonal temperature variations and a range in daytime illumination of about ten percent.”

Summer and winter are straightforward—they’re the hot and cold seasons on both Eywa’eveng and ’Rrta, and are thus applicable in both places:

zìskrrsom (n., zì.skrr.SOM) ‘summer’  (from zìsìkrr asom)

zìskrrwew(n., zì.skrr.WEW) ‘winter’  (from zìsìkrr awew)

For the “transitional seasons,” i.e. spring and fall, we have the following terms, which are applicable on earth but not necessarily on Pandora. (Whether the Na’vi recognize spring and fall on Pandora is still to be determined.)

On earth, spring is the season of new growth:

paw (vin.) ‘grow’

This is ‘grow’ in the sense of ‘germinate and develop (of a plant).’ It’s distinct from tsawl slu, which implies “getting big” and is also the term used for an animal that’s growing up and maturing. So we have this contrast:

Fìutral paw kilvanlok nì’aw. Tsawl slu nìwin nìtxan.
‘This tree only grows (i.e., germinates, develops) near a river. It grows (i.e., gets big) very quickly.’

With that said,

tìpaw (n., tì.PAW) ‘growth’

And so we have:

zìskrrmipaw (n., zì.skrr.MI.paw) ‘spring’ (from zìsìkrr a mipa tìpaw, ‘season of new growth’)

Fall is the harvest season:

tsawn (vtr.) ‘gather growing food from the forest; pick; (in agriculture) harvest’

Note that tsawn is not quite the same as the word for ‘gather’ that you’re already familiar with, starsìm. Starsìm is general: you can starsìm anything you can gather—arrows, stones, even people. Tsawn is specifically for gathering or picking fruits or other plant-based foods from the forest. In cases where crops are planted and cultivated—that is, where there is agriculture—tsawn can be extended to include the meaning ‘harvest.’ (Since the Na’vi mainly hunt and gather rather than plant crops, they tend to tsawn the entire year rather than restrict harvesting to the fall. Thanks again to Neytiri for clarification on this question.)

With that said,

zìskrrtsawn (n. zì.skrr.TSAWN) ‘autumn, fall’ (from zìsìkrr a tsawn ‘season for harvesting’)

Happy Halloween, everyone!  😀

Ma eylan, did you hear that TIME Magazine has recognized our beloved theme park in Orlando, Florida, Pandora—The World of Avatar—as one of the “World’s Greatest Places” for 2018? Meuia atxan leiu, kefyak?  🙂

Here’s a group picture of some of the Pandoran staff, with a congratulatory banner. Seykxel sì Nitram indeed!

Last night I had the pleasure of attending a talk at USC (the University of Southern California, my alma mater) given by Joe Rohde, the dynamic head of Walt Disney Imagineering, the Disney division devoted to the theme parks. As such, he was the major creative force at Disney behind Pandora. His talk was stimulating—I hope it will eventually be available online—and I hope to have some comments relating to what he spoke about in a later post.

For now, here are a few new vocabulary items I hope you’ll find useful.

fpxamo (adj., FPXA.mo) ‘terrible, horrible, awful’

This word allows us to complete the analogy sìltsan : kosman :: fe’ :______.

Mawkrra fko lie soli tìlenur afpxamo fìtxan, tìrey ke lu teng kawkrr.
‘After experiencing such a terrible event, life is never the same.’

Derivation:

tìfpxamo (n., tì.FPXA.mo) ‘horror’

nìfpxamo (adv., nì.FPXA.mo) ‘horribly, terribly, awfully’

Fpängìl oe, txonam oe rolol nìfpxamo.
‘Sadly, I think I sang terribly last night.’

tsyul (vtr.) ‘begin, start’

Tsyul is more or less synonymous with the word for ‘begin’ we’re already familiar with, sngä’i, but its use is a bit different, since it’s transitive.

Pol tìkangkemit tsyolul.
‘He began the work.’

We can use tsyul in an intransitive construction by adding the reflexive infix <äp>:

Tìkangkem tsyäpolul.
‘The work began.’

With the derived noun, however, there’s an important difference in meaning:

tìtsyul (n., tì.TSYUL) ‘beginning, start’

As you know, sngä’i yields two words for ‘beginning,’ one specifically for the time at which something starts, sngä’ikrr, and one specifically for the place at which something starts, sngä’itseng. Tìtsyul, on the other hand, is a general word for ‘beginning’ that’s neutral as to time or place.

Sìtsyul nìwotx lu ngäzìk.
‘All beginnings are difficult.’

nawang (vin., NA.wang, inf. 1, 2) ‘merge, become one with’

Nawang implies that two things have come together to become one, so that the original separateness is lost. We use hu to show that A has merged with B:

Tìmuntxamaw lam Ninatur fwa vitra sneyä nolawang hu pum muntxatuä.
‘After her marriage, it seemed to Ninat that her soul had merged with that of her mate.’

lamaytxa (n., la.may.TXA) ‘flood’

A lamaytxa is a flood or a powerful gathering of water. It’s not clear what the etymology of the word is, although the last syllable may have evolved from txan.

Lamaytxal atxan pxaya kelkut skola’änga.
‘The great flood sadly destroyed many homes.’

(Question: Where does the stress fall in skola’änga? 🙂 )

And finally, a word we’ve lacked for a long time:

oare (n., o.A.re) ‘moon’

Naranawm has fourteen moons revolving around it—including Eywa’eveng!—so it should be possible to see up to thirteen moons in the Pandoran sky. Each of these probably has a specific name in Na’vi, but it’s also clear that there must be a generic term for ‘moon.’ This is oare.

Polpxaya oaret tse’a ngal mì saw pxiset?
‘How many moons do you see in the sky right now?’

By the way, I had an interesting discussion with one of our ayhapxìtu lì’fyaolo’ä about whether or not the Na’vi realize that Pandora is in fact a moon of Naranawm. I hope Neytiri won’t mind my sharing her astute analysis with you:

“As for moon, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Na’vi were aware that Pandora is a moon. They are certainly very aware of the other moons and their patterns, so I don’t think it would be a stretch for them to realise that they orbit Naranawm as well. We know about the ‘circular drums’ whose ‘size and arrangement of the individual drums within the ring reflect Pandora’s solar system.’ And we know that the uses for waytelem ayllis to record history, including astronomy, going back 18,000 years.”

That’s it for now. Hayalovay!

Edit Sept. 1: tirea –> vitra

Kaltxì nìmun, ma eylan. Srane, oel mi tok fìtsenget!  🙂 I’m afraid I’ve been preoccupied with other things lately, but I’ve been sitting on some great suggestions from the LEP for some time now, and I wanted to get those words to you without any more delay. In a few cases I’ve made some changes, but the words and examples below are mostly as submitted to me. Tìkangkem atxantsan, ma smuk!

’on si (vin.) ‘shape; give shape (to something)’

This si-verb can be used either for physical shaping or, metaphorically, for giving shape to something abstract like an idea, relationship, etc.

Oe ’on si tskxeru fte na ikran livam.
‘I shape a rock to look like an ikran.’

Olo’ìri poan zusawkrrur ’on soli.
‘He shaped the tribe’s future.’

kxange (vin., KXA.nge, inf. 1,2) ‘yawn’

As on earth, yawning can be a result of fatigue or boredom.

(Note: The original submission had kxange as a noun, with the verb as kxange si, but I thought that the verbal form was more basic.)

Oe kxìmange taluna ’efu ngeyn.
‘I just yawned because I feel tired.’

Keng krra sänumvi eltur tìtxen ke si, nga sweylu txo ke kxivange mì numtseng.
‘Even when the lesson isn’t interesting, you shouldn’t yawn in school.’

säkxange (n., sä.KXA.nge) ‘a yawn’

walew (vin., wa.LEW, inf. 1,2) ‘get over, accept some fact, reconcile oneself, move on’

This verb expresses the psychological state of accepting or reconciling oneself to some negative fact or occurrence.

Furia oe yawne ke lu Va’rur nulkrr, ke tsängun oe wivalew.
‘I can’t get over the fact that Va’ru no longer loves me.’

Tìska’ari Kelutralä Na’vi wayalew pefya?
‘With the destruction of Hometree, how will the Na’vi ever move on?’

nìnew (adv., nì.NEW) ‘voluntarily, willingly, by desire’

This is clearly the adverbial form of new ‘want.’ It indicates something was done willingly or voluntarily, not through coercion. Nìnew is different from nìtkan, which has the sense of doing something on purpose or deliberately as opposed to accidentally.

Nga tsakem soli nìnew srak?!
‘You did that without being asked to?!’

Tsasänumvit oel poru kayeiar nìnew!
‘I’m happy to teach him that lesson!’

Oel pelun ftxalmey nìnew futa srung si skxawngur anafì’u?
‘Why did I choose, of my own free will, to help such a fool?’

tawtxew (n., TAW.txew) ‘horizon, skyline’

The horizon is the “edge (txew) of the sky” where the sky seems to touch the land or water.

Several adpositions can be used with tawtxew to indicate positions right on the horizon (sìnor ro), in front of the horizon, i.e. in the distance almost at the skyline (eo), behind the horizon, i.e. partially visible, partially sunk below the horizon (uo), etc.

Lu ayram sìn tawtxew.
‘There are mountains on the horizon.’ (I.e. exactly on the skyline).

Naranawmä mawl mi lu uo tawtxew.
‘Half of Polyphemus is still behind the horizon.’ (I.e. overlapping the skyline, partially invisible)

frir (n.) ‘layer’

Tskxepayri lu frir aflì sìn ’ora.
‘There’s a thin layer of ice on the lake.’

Fayfrir letskxe lor lu nìtxan.
‘These stone layers are very beautiful.’

Derivations:

lefrir (adj., le.FRIR) ‘layered’

nìfrir (adv., nì.FRIR) ‘in layers’

leyr (adj.) ‘frozen’

Ke tsun ioang rivun syuvet mì hllte aleyr.
‘Animals can’t find food in the frozen ground.’

To say something freezes, use slu ‘become’ along with leyr:

Mì zìsìkrr atxawew slu ayora leyr.
‘In the very cold season, the lakes freeze.’

leyr si (vin.) ‘freeze (something)’

Leyr si, although a si-verb and therefore intransitive, conveys the transitive sense of “freeze” in English:

Txo awnga fìtsnganur leyr sivi, tsun tsat yivom kintrray.
‘If we freeze this meat, we can eat it next week.’

Hayalovay!