Korra shakes in her sleep. By day, she is laughing, energetic, as happy as I've ever seen her. But she shakes in her sleep. She never mentions it, so I can't. I don't offer to hold her. We just don't talk about it. There are so many things we still don't talk about.

In my dreams, my father doesn't send me flying back. Instead, he falls away from me. I am always reaching. He is always falling.

Dawn. We camped in a field of silver orchids. As daylight hits them, they turn into birds, and fly off in a brilliant rainbow, a cacophony of color and sound. I stare wide eyed, and Korra grins.

"Ready for another day?" she asks.

"Of course." I'm ready for whatever she'll give me.

She makes tea while I pack our things. It's jerky for breakfast, and it'll probably be jerky for dinner. You can't hunt in the spirit world. Even the vegetation's a bit iffy. Just look at how the spirit vines reacted to Kuvira's weapon. But Korra seems to know what's safe. She's at home here, in a way I never expected. Self sufficient and comfortable in her own skin.

I'm so proud of her.

I'm so afraid of what happens when she realizes she doesn't need me.

We have our roles. She reaches out. I wait to give her what help she needs. And what happens when it's me who asks?

Korra, hold my hand.

Korra, stay. You're all I have left.

Korra, kiss me. I can tell you want to. At least, I thought I could. Ask, ask, ask. Haven't I always given you what you asked?

"So, where to today?" I play cheerful and competent as I pick up my backpack, letting the weight settle onto the raw points along my shoulders.

"I'd sill like to find Iroh," Korra says. "But he could be anywhere. For now, let's keep going north, toward the mountains."

North is a fluid thing in the spirit world. For that matter, so are mountains. As we walk toward the horizon, I catch the peaks shifting, merging, an ever changing skyline that is always mountainous but never, quite, consistent. It's lovely, but a little dizzying too. Machines do as you design. The spirit world does what it wants.

But I have learned to bend with the world. The alternative is standing rigid. I've seen what that does to a person. Better to bend.

By lunch, we're both exhausted, shuffling forward without talking. The spirit world has decided to be hot, which Korra never takes well. We stop at the side of the path we've been following, a road of white daises through a forest all dressed up for autumn.

We sit and share a water skin between us. I can't help but think of my home, of beautiful crystal glasses and silver trays. It's not the luxury I miss, or the staff. It's the access. It's having what I needed, what anyone needed, at my finger tips. I want Korra to ask for sparkling lemonade, or strawberry ice cream, and I want to be able to give it to her.

At least the water's cold.

"I think something's wrong," Korra says. Her voice is tense, just as it hasn't been since we arrived. She scans the trees, and I see a familiar expression settle on her lips. She looks wary. Hunted.

"What is it?" I ask. Calmly, of course. I too, scan the trees. I trust Korra's instincts. But I see the deep red of maple, the flaming gold of oak, the green of pine. The spirits crowd the branches, flickering in and out of view. Some are familiar shapes. Birds, insects. Others are unfamiliar, but I've grown used to strange spirits.

Bend, Asami, bend.

Korra rests her hands flat on the ground, and I can see the effort she's making not to ball them into fists. "I don't know. Things are shifting too quickly, the spirits are following us too closely. It feels like-" I watch her knuckles flex and relax again. "Like watching a scary mover, right before the cat runs across the screen."

"Will I do?" The voice is liquid steel, pouring out of the trees and pooling around our feet. We look up and find the speaker watching us from the branches of an oak. It jumps down, landing between us and the path. Humanoid, it mostly resembles the child of a cat and rosebush. Buds along its arms open into flowers at its shoulders. Its paws are wide, and I can see the tips of sharp claws.

Korra rises, bows politely. So I do the same.

"Welcome," she says.

"Indeed," says the spirit. It doesn't sit. So, neither do we. "What brings you to the spirit world, Avatar?"

"Asami," she says, immediately. And then, as if correcting herself, "That is, Asami and I wanted to go somewhere. After everything that happened. There was a war."

The spirit smiles. Its teeth, too, are sharp. "I am aware."

I can see Korra starting to bristle at its attitude, and the cat's barely managed two sentences. I touch her wrist, and she takes my hand.

"We were wondering if something was wrong." I say. Though I hadn't been, until Korra brought it up. "Something disturbing the spirits."

The spirit shrugs, a gesture that moves down its spine like a stretch. Its fur is gray, its roses silver. It looks like smoke, made flesh. Maybe it is. "You are here, Avatar," it says, though it keeps its gaze on me. "We are always bound to be aware of you. The bridge between our worlds."

"Are you saying I'm causing this?" Korra asks. I wait for her to snap, to lose her temper. Instead, she tightens her grip on my hand. "We can go."

It laughs, like a hiss of steam. I think I like it, this spirit of smoke, with its amused, demanding gaze.

"Don't leave on our account, Avatar. Or at least, not on mine. There are those among us who are drawn to roads unwalked, knots untied. We watch. We have always been watchers."

"I don't understand." Korra says.

The spirit blurs at the edges, becoming more shape than form. "That does seem to be an issue."

And then it's gone, and we are alone, standing in a winter forest, beside a cobblestone path. Korra releases my hand.

"We can go back," she says.

"Don't be silly." I could kiss her, I think. Right at the corner of the mouth, where her worry manifests in a frown. I could steal her hand back and kiss her fingertips. "This is supposed to be an adventure, right?"

"I think it was supposed to be a vacation."

"I don't think Avatars get one without the other."

She smiles, as I intended, and we set off down the cobblestones. Even I can feel the forest watching.