First in a series of drabbles I'll be writing. They're aimed at telling shorter stories with fewer words. I'm going to try to keep them under 500, but it's a no rules kind of game. If you have any prompts, please let me know in a review or private message and I'll try them out. Feel free to imagine the male as any character you desire.
For the first time in her life, she feels rain hit her skin.
When she was a baby, it was always snow. And when she came to Republic City, she could waterbend it away without giving it a second thought. It was automatic - like breathing. Rain falls, Korra creates an umbrella for herself out of thin air. Easy.
But today, she doesn't. She sits at their fountain and lets it fall. By the end of it, her furs are soaked through and smelling vaguely of wet polarbear dog. It's not particularly alluring, but he finds her anyway, painting nonsensical swirls in the water with her fingertips. It's strange; she has spent her entire life bending it, but the liquid is foreign and delightfully new on her worn hands. It's warm and healing, like the water Katara would press to her cuts in the South Pole. It makes her feel new. Reborn.
"Korra, is that you?" he takes her face in his hands. "Korra! Where have you been? There was a riot at Central City Station, and we couldn't find you anywhere. It's been days, Kor, where have you..." he notices the recently scabbed over wound on her temple. "What..."
She lifts up a hand full of water, tosses it in the air, and watches it fall in answer.
"Oh." he blinks. "Oh."