Snick

Snick.

"Sokka…"

Snick.

"… you shouldn't do that."

Snick, snick.

"Shut up, Katara. I know what I'm doing."

Snick. Snick, snick.

"Mamma's really going to be mad."

Snick, snick, sssssssssnick.

"No she's not, she's going to be proud of me. Just one more piece."

Snick.

"There! Hand me that fishing line."

"What for?"

"To tie it up."

Sokka's little sister hesitantly handed the thin wire-like string to her brother. He fumbled a lot before he was satisfied.

"Well? What do you think?"

"It's real messy."

"No, it's not."

"And you're bleeding."

"It doesn't hurt."

"You're bleeding a lot."

"It doesn't count if it doesn't hurt. It makes me brave."

"I think you're being stupid."

"You always think that."

"Because you're stupid!"

"I'm not stupid! I'm brave!"

"You're too little to be brave!"

"You're littler than me!"

"Yeah, but I'm not pretending to be brave!"

"I'm telling Mom!"

"I'm telling her first!"

It was a race, then. Sokka, at age six, was that much taller, that much faster than Katara. Despite this, every time she stumbled in the deep snow, trying in vain to get to their hut before he did, he'd stop and help her up before he'd take off running again. Thus, she was right behind him when he pushed through the hide flap into their cozy home.

"Mom! Katara called me—"

"Sokka cut his—"

Their mother looked up, and quickly her smile turned to a look of shocked dismay as the mixing basket fell from her fingers, a brown paste spilling on the floor.

"Sokka, what did you do!" she nearly shrieked. Her hands trembled as she reached for her boy. "You're cut! Did you hurt yourself badly? Where did you get that knife?"

"It's Dad's!" Sokka grinned proudly, showing off the gap in his smile where his first missing baby tooth used to be. He held the dagger up and she snatched it away from him.

"Hakoda!" she cried, hoping her husband would hear her from where ever he was outside.

"See?" Katara said smugly. "I told you she'd be mad."

Sokka frowned, his lower lip protruding.

Their mother took a soft rag, wet it, and began to dab at the cuts on Sokka's head. The cuts weren't deep, and they had stopped bleeding during the run, so she was much less worried by the time she'd finished.

"Baby, why did you cut your hair?" she asked him with a gentle sigh.

"Because I wanted a warrior's wolf tail! Doesn't it make me look brave?"

"Not the word I'd use," she muttered, but her smile began to blossom again. "We're going to have to clean you up and get this taken care of. You didn't have Katara… er… "shave" your head, did you?"

"I did it myself!" he beamed again. He missed her sigh of relief.

"I see."

Just then, the flap rustled as Hakoda hurried in. He'd been out of earshot, but Bato had heard his wife's cry of alarm and told him, and he'd rushed home. Now, he looked at the scene before him. And burst out laughing.

"Look, Dad! Don't I look like a warrior?" the boy pressed. He leapt to his feet, bounding over to his father, seeking approval.

"You sure do, Sokka!" Hakoda guffawed. "But you missed a spot. Let me even that out for you."

"Hakoda, you're only encouraging him."

"He wants to be a warrior, let him look like one," the man shrugged as he picked up the knife his son had used to butcher his hair. "Besides, we can't leave it looking like that! Come here, boy."

Sokka mutely obeyed, suddenly in awe. His father impressed him, and never so much as when he had a weapon in his hand. Katara stood agog as well, her jaw slack and a finger in her mouth.

Hakoda turned Sokka's back to him, tilted the boy's head forward, then brought the knife around.

Snick.