誠

This time, when she reaches out to touch him, he does not grab her wrist. He does not recoil from her, though he does flinch purely from surprise, caught off-guard by the kind gesture even amidst her admitted anger.

At her understanding––they did something horrible to you too––he swallows hard and looks away again. Something horrible indeed. His own father allowed his mother to take the blame for the death of his grandfather, when all she wanted was to save the life of her son. His own father scarred him, banished form his home, tried and for a time succeeded in twisting him into something he was not.

But his own personal hardships were nothing compared to what others had suffered.

What Song had suffered.

He still remembers all too vividly the look of the scars on her legs, shown to him in an attempt at comfort, at solidarity. 

When she squeezes  his hand, perhaps she may be surprised to feel the slightest return pressure, firm enough that there is no mistaking the purposeful nature of it, loose enough that if she changes her mind, if she decides to pull away she can do so without any resistance from him.

He doesn’t deserve her forgiveness, after all.

“We’ve started a program for that. An agency of sorts between the different kingdoms to locate the families of those who were imprisoned by the Fire Nation.”

“… But I also want to make amends to you and your mother, personally, if you’ll let me.”

Here is where she found the difficulty in defining what she had endured. She was a victim she knows that—and does not mind the term, as it acknowledges that someone victimized her, made her feel powerless, she is much that as she is a survivor of what happened. It is both at once she feels, some more than the other—she is enduring, but she didn’t need to be hurt to find that out. None of them did.   It was a splintering, at times she felt disconnected from her body itself. The scars are ugly twisted reminders as much as they are a badge at times.

They stole her youth, her father, her security, her heart—& yet the war still goes on. Over 100 years of subjugation cannot be solved so easily. 

 Reflecting, she realizes she does not know just how he got the scar—though from her medical training & from the soldiers she’s treated —she can also recall, almost detachedly, a boy-- describing how they had grabbed onto his arms and burned-a white flash of heat searing through muscle deliberately. When she first saw Zuko, she remembered the child she lost, with burns too deep—clinging to life for a few weeks before slipping away. Her hand stays, loosely there, calloused, a bit of clay still under the nails from prepping more healing salves. “ That’s good to hear. I hope you’re able to help everyone you can. ” She does not mention her own father, deciding long ago not to waste away in grief—he had to be dead because the alternative was worse. There were times she could hardly drag her mother up from the depths of sorrow, just to survive—she decided life was for the living. 

“Yet the division, however understandable, is exactly what they want, and all these people who play into it only further their cause…” she says with a bit of a huff, shaking her head as she returns her discarded shoes to aching feet.

But when Song offers her assistance, she moves to her, hand coming up to rest on her shoulder. That ghost of a smile returns though perhaps just a bit warmer for her presence and, indeed, her kindness. How rare it is, in her experience, to find someone like Song. Someone so innately good even in the most awful of times.

“Thank you… I appreciate your help.” A beat and there follows perhaps the quietest chuckle, a light returning to her eyes. 

“As well as how handy you are with that bow. I think they will not make that mistake with you again either.”

Her legs often ache, & she can only imagine how such wounds could harm that tangible connection to the ground for an earth bender. It’s not difficult to recall the times when pain had become her body--when there was nothing else she could focus on but pain, unrelenting, screaming, blinding agony that left her hollowed out, defined by just the hurt itself. Right now, though, her back is straight, her head high, & she stands unmovable, a support for her companion.    

“It doesn’t help that we were all so different to begin with—but now they’ve given us a reason to come together as one--hopefully.” Her voice an almost urgent tone, “we can choose to love and support one another.” 

          𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰  𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥  𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞  𝐢𝐧  𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭  at  the  frozen  frog  .   ‘  this  is  the  only  time  i’ll  accept  a  joke  .  ’   and  of  course  ,   she  will  COUGH  ,   voice  becoming  raspier  by  the  second  .    ‘  that’s  disgusting  .  ’  

“I… I wasn’t in a good place at the time… Not that that’s any excuse!” he adds quickly, in case she might think he was trying to excuse his behavior.

“There is no excuse for what I did. I just want you to understand that… Well… I wasn’t thinking about my actions. I wasn’t thinking about how me stealing your ostrich-horse would hurt you or your mother. My uncle… he tried to tell me, but I didn’t listen to him.” He looks away then, staring out over the yard, not quite able to look at her.

“… It wasn’t until later that I realized how wrong I was about… well, a lot of things, this being one of them. I had some other things I had to set right before I could come here, but… I wanted to tell you that it did mean a lot to me… you helping my uncle and welcoming us into your home. And that I am so sorry for how I repaid that kindness… If I can… I want to make things right… or, at least, I want to try…”

There is quiet, she is tucking her arms closer to herself as if to shield, as she’s considering his apology. The revelation is still fresh, the anger is sudden and hot, she holds it to her chest, wondering if she might release it. She wishes to lay more blame at his feet, ask ‘how dare he’ or scream & shake the earth with violence. Yet, she was on that road once, she knows it well—he is doing something she never thought the Fire Nation capable of.

Many faces stand before her, asking what will she do? The anger beats it’s wings like a bird still caged—she’s seen his face before in others hurt and scared.

Her hand hovers slowly over his, to lay a calming touch, usually reserved for her patients.

“Is it not strange how tightly we must hold to something that cannot be held? Something… that is only an idea?” she questions, her voice soft, quiet, contemplative. 

She seems melancholy, sad, and she supposes that she is, that she always is. Even in moments when she is happy, the sadness and pain lingers, inseparable from her self. 

Yet even now, even with the bumps and bruises of an encounter with some would-be robbers, she will not be cowed.

“But… perhaps ideas and feelings are the greatest weapons we have… They cannot reach into our minds or our hearts and take them from us. They cannot break our spirits unless we allow them to do so. Not the Fire Nation… and not those even within our own Kingdom who would take advantage of those they think weaker…”

And then, perhaps, there is just the faintest upturn to the corners of her mouth.

“Though, I do not think they will mistake me for one again, even if they did see me trip.”

 “ No, I don’t suppose they will.” she runs a finger along the edge of her horn bow, though she had mostly fired warning shots, she just liked to have the security she felt it brought. Song knew danger well & knew what desperation leads people too. She too knows the sadness well, carrying it with her, an old friend. “ We are tied to the earth--strong & enduring. It’s why were still fighting. ” 

“& I think the best thing we can do—is to show kindness too, when it is needed. They wanted to strip away everything we were. Leave us hopeless and hurt—it causes people to lash out. ” She can remember her belly empty, her mother begging in the streets, her legs bound and bloody.