Her eyes are the color of milky jade and silver, cloudy and bright and beautiful. He used to think that her empty gaze didn't bother him, but after so many weeks of walking through fields full of dead people, he avoids looking at her face as much as possible. Every set of dead eyes reminded him of her.
War had changed all of them. Sokka was quiet now, his remaining eye strong and untrusting, his boomerang always at his back and his sword always at his side. Katara still gave out free smiles and motherly advice, but now wore shirts that crept up her neck to hide the burns. Zuko looked at his wife with solemn eyes, and fervently kissed the twisted flesh of her neck and chest when they were alone, telling her 'I understand, I understand, you are still the most beautiful girl.'.
Aang and Toph were, perhaps, the ones that were changed the most. During the war, they had fallen in on eachother many times, and Aang could still remember the firm flesh of her thigh beneath his hands, and her feet tucked up on his hips, feeling his moans. They had been seperated, late, by Fire Nation troops, and he had fought far more desperately at that time, wishing and praying that she was safe. Of course, she came to his rescue, exploding out of the earth when he was past exhaustion. She's crushed the small troop that had them surrounded without so much as a flicker of effort and took him to the underground cave she'd hollowed out for herself.
After the war, they'd made that cave their home. A large canyon, hollowed by fire and force, gave an excuse for her to build several open rooms so that Aang could be so close to his element.
She had grown strong and lean, tall and powerful. Her chest was still flat and her thighs were large with muscle, but he loved her and would often wind up under her powerful legs many a night. Her hair was longer, held back in a long ponytail because he'd mentioned how he liked when it was swept back with the wind. Bangs no longer obscured her large eyes, and he wondered, often, what color they would be if she wasn't blind. She wore different colors now, softer greens and golds that he chose for her. She would always smile when he said, "I think this color will really bring out your complexion." and laugh because he knows she doesn't care. For all she cares, she is the color of the earth, and her heart is the color of the wind.
He is still stringy, thin and wirey. His tattoos have not dulled, but instead grown deeper. She asked him, once, if he remembered getting them. He paused for a minute, and shook his head. For all he knew, he'd been born that way. It wasn't like there was anyone around to answer his questions or refute his ideas. Grey eyes deepened almost to black, and his head was still clean shaven. He wore the traditional robes of a monk, and Toph would always bray harshly about 'who wore the pants in the relationship'.
After the war, he'd found a strength in a girl that he would not have expected.
After the war, he'd spread peace and unity with that girl, and they'd grown into adults on the journey.
After the war, he thinks about how much he loves her, but he still can't help but see the eyes of the dead when he falls asleep, each body wearing her face.