#tribespirit

IT  WAS  PEACEFUL .      the  last  thing  felt  was  a  familiar  hand  in  his  own ,    insisting  wordlessly  to  stay ,   stay ,   stay .       he  was  no  stranger  to  this  side  of  reality ,   but  he  greeted  it ,  now ,    with  a  sadness   he  was  not  familiar  with .       he  knows  the  moon  spirit  without  words .   he  does  not  turn  to  greet  her .      ❝  you’ll  watch  over  her ,   WON’T  YOU  ?  ❞

IT  WAS  NOT  TO  SAY   her  words  surprised  him .   they  were  KINDRED  SPIRITS  that  way .     the  bridge  and  the  moon’s  daughter .      the  tie  the  successor .     they  could  sit  in  silence  for  hours .    they   could   speak   without   words .        storm  grey  eyes  blink  curiously .    huh .     ❝  no ,  i  totally  get  it .  ❞     a  shrug ,  calloused  fingers  push  pai  sho  tiles  aimlessly .      ❝  nomads  aren’t  even  taught  the  word  marriage .  ❞

❝  how  about  him ?   he’s  kinda  cute .  ❞    he  has  been  lying  on  the  floor  for  what  felt  like  hours .     scrolling  his  phone  had  become  more  of  a  habit ,    but  occasionally  he  turns  his  screen  to  her  to  display  RANDOM  BOYS .        until  he  hears  her .     ❝  wait ,  no !  don’t  cry !   i  was  joking !  ❞

❝  don’t  tell  her !  ❞     he  speaks  of  his  affections  too  freely ,   it  had  always  been  his  flaw .     princesses  were  astute ,  evidently ,   and  the  dark  blush  that  greeted  katara  at  all  times  was  apparently  noticeable .    ❝  we  -  we  have  training ,   and  i  wouldn’t  wanna  distract  her ,   and ...  ❞

❝  MAYBE  i  can  run  away  again  !    miss  another  hundred  years .  ❞     jittery ,    practically  vibrating .    pacing  for  what  felt  like  hours ,   with  the  same  pendant  he’d  held  to  desperately  for  close  to  three  days .     ❝  if  she  says  no ,   i’ll . . .  i’ll  change  my  name ,   grow  some  hair .   YEAH !  avatar  who  ?  ❞

a burst of light, excruciating pain, falling, katara, nothing.    all things, absent, void of feeling, of sound, of sensation.    azula ?    his waking is abrupt, forcing his lungs to claw desperately for air, his hands to feverishly inspect his torso, his arms, the floor around him.       the spirit world.        he clambers to his feet: i didn’t come here by choice. oh no.     ❝ wait. ❞    speaking to no one, to anyone.   DON’T PANIC.  he’s panicking. clipped breaths, wide eyes.  ❝ did i ... did i die? no, no way. i’d remember dying ... i'd remember ... something. ❞

it’s not to say he was used to the cold.   not like his partners, who grew with the wind & snow in the hollows of their bones, no: he was merely quick to adapt.  perhaps, a speculation, t’was the untamed fire roaring in his ribs that kept him warm, or maybe, it was sheer force of will.    maybe it was the presence of a higher purpose.    he sits, now, atop a seat carved expertly from ice   ( nails dig in, sting with the cold ), he watches, he waits. he speaks.   ❝ yeah, i wouldn’t a fifty foot monument to me, either. ❞