Katara had floundered for years. She had walked each and every day; the same route; the same old path; the same old town; the same old loneliness. He was always gone, it seemed, and she hated that. She loved her independence; but a girl needed some love once in a while. And she simply wasn't getting it.

It was what she got, she always figured. What she got for marrying him. He had asked her, and his big grey eyes had pleaded and she had agreed. She had gulped back the scream that wanted to tear its way from her throat, that begged her to say no; that told her that she didn't want this man. She wanted another. But her rational mind argued that she would never be able to be with him, and that, after Aang, nothing better would ever come along. To accept his offer and be as happy with him as she would have been alone; which would have been her other option.

And, for her entire marriage, she wished she'd made a different decision.

Aang was never home; he was always making peace in one place or another; always traveling; always leaving her behind because she needed her rest, or the children needed her. But now the children were grown, and she was completely rested, and he still left without her. He still kissed her cheek - never her lips - and jumped onto the aging bison and took off without another glance. There was no "I love you" anymore; not even a quick "I'll see you later." It was all too natural now. He would come and he would go and they would live on to see another day.

But, as Katara walked her path one more time, the last time, she began to think. The children were long gone, spread all over the world, doing whatever they wanted to do. And Katara was there, just sitting on a house too large for her to use. Aang didn't need her anymore. He didn't want her. She didn't want him. Why was she still there?

The dirt road passed beneath her feet and her mind spun and her knees began to buckle. Wasn't she too old to say goodbye? Her hair was white as snow and her hands were wrinkled into prunes. But she wanted to. Their love, however brotherly it had been for her, was gone. And she was sick of pretending that it was still alive somewhere deep down inside of her. She couldn't just stand there anymore. She had to move in whatever way she could. Out of the house, away from her safety blanket; into the great unknown, where, she thought, she was always meant to be.

As Katara collected supplies - a blanket here, a toiletry kit there - she smiled. She smiled at the clerk behind her usual fruit stand as she walked by, and didn't answer his questions. She smiled at the man who watched her curiously as she picked up a traveling cloak. She smiled at the woman who carried a small child on each hip, who smiled back, not curiously; almost proudly, as if she knew what Katara was doing.

When Katara finally packed her things into her suitcase, wrote out her letter, and was standing on her porch, she breathed deep.

She wouldn't flounder anymore, she thought; she was finally able to breathe again.