He receives four letters in as many months. In the beginning he would wait for them, watching for postmen in the early hours, but with time he has learned that these sorts of things are impossibly fickle, and that love letters will arrive only when one does not expect them.
Bo,
I am doing fine. I am crossing the islands now. I'm picking up all sorts of souvenirs for you, I hope that you like them.
The letters vary in size, shape and weight, becoming progressively heavier as the weeks pass and she becomes more accustomed to writing them. The only constant is her messy handwriting and awkward rhetoric; Korra grew up on kicks and knives and is at a loss when it comes to the written word. But though she is no artist, he is not a critical reader either, and has no cause to be. Her letters are sweet (how are you? I know you are alright), and they dull the ache that dogs him, even if it is only for a little while. If he concentrates hard enough, he can even evoke her image from the words and his memory, and the tenderness of her remembered smile is enough to keep him warm for a few nights.
Bo,
Are you eating properly? You better be eating properly. When I get back we'll go to Narook's and have a noodle-eating contest. Not that it will be much of a contest, huh, Bo? You may be better at Pai Sho, but I'll always be better at noodle-eating.
Her concern for him is evident throughout the missives, but Korra is not one for excessive sentimentality. She never writes I love you (he double-checks, eyes straining in the dim light), and Bolin is unsure whether to attribute this to maturity or embarrassment. She does not include the sweet nothings that plague his own unsent replies. Bolin writes to her continually, deriving a pleasure from the act that cannot replace her presence but can soften its absence. And yet he could never hope to have his letters reach her - he never knows where she is.
Korra,
It's really lovely here. Mako's son (third already! Those two breed like long-eared rabbits!) was born yesterday. He is very cute, I think he takes after me. He's got my curly hair for sure. Pabu wants me to tell you that he misses you. He misses you a lot.
When will youDo you know whenWill your journey ever Come back
Bolin lays maps flat on the floor and brushes his hands over them, wondering if this valley, this forest, this river that he follows with his eyes and heart is a place she has been. Korra is careful to maintain the details of her travels a secret, even to him. He knows this is for her own safety, he tries not to take it personally, but he can't help feeling like he's been left behind. As usual, Korra's movements are too fast for him to follow.
Bo,
The towns on the plains are so far apart sometimes I feel like I'll never get where I'm meant to go. But it's always sunny and the people are kind to me. You would like it here.
Bolin laughs to himself. I'd like it anywhere you are. Even in the darkest moments of their youth, as she faced her enemies with her teeth bared and breast bloodied, he would have been nowhere else but at her side, whatever it cost him. They are both older now, he with a growing beard and wide shoulders that conceal his still kiddish spirit, and she far away, bound to an Avatar's duties. But the willingness to be close to her will not change, not with any season. Of such innocent desires is his present suffering born. Waiting is an unpleasant game, especially for the beloved who waits for his soldier. But he believes, with all the ferocity of a child, that she will be return, a little taller maybe, but whole and still the same. He knows that, like her letters, Korra will appear when he least expects it, warm and wild-eyed on his doorstep.
Bo,
I have pestered Tenzin, and he says that I can come back soon to Republic City. By the time you receive this I'll be very close to you. So don't go anywhere. Stay where you are, okay? I'm coming home to you.