The Forest is Better

Jet didn't like towns. He preferred to be in the forest, up in the trees, high above everyone and everything, safe. Bad things happened in towns. Fire Nation soldiers could march through at any time. You could be eating dinner or playing with your friends or helping your parents. The Fire Nation didn't care. Their people swept over the Earth Kingdom people like they were ants, miniscule and insignificant, just a pesky nuisance that needed exterminating. One day you had a family. The next day you were alone, orphaned, just eight years old and nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

So, you turned inward and learned to survive. Wandering aimlessly, you stole, you raided, you foraged, anything to get food. The forest was a good hiding place; it protected you, enveloped you, so you stayed. Along the way you met others like yourself, other victims of Fire Nation atrocities. You banded together and became a family. Hate was the glue that held you together. Hate burned in all your hearts.

Naming

"What about the Freedom Fighters?" Jet asked the group of about twenty people, mostly kids like himself, some much younger. "That's a good name."

Smellerbee looked over at Longshot, a tall lean archer who never spoke.

"We like it," she declared in her raspy voice.

The young girl, about thirteen, adjusted the wide blue band that wrapped around her forehead. The armor that covered her chest was uncomfortable and she twisted, trying to adjust it. Everything they had was stolen or found discarded somewhere and most things fit poorly. They were a strange group, a hodgepodge of children and teenagers, some with newly learned skills, others with brute strength and still others with nothing but enthusiasm and a desire to hurt the Fire Nation.

"Does anyone object?" Jet cried out.

He was fourteen now, and the leader of the group. He, Longshot and Smellerbee had been together for a few years already, but the rest of them were recent acquisitions. Every group deserves a name, and that was what they were deciding on now.

"Sounds good, Jet," someone called out.

"If you like it, Jet, we do too," someone else cried.

"To the Freedom Fighters," Jet called out, arms outspread as if offering benediction. "Let's celebrate our new name."

The group ate and drank, talking loudly and sharing stories, mostly of triumphs over Fire Nation troops. As he took another swig from his water skin, Jet looked upward. They sat beneath a canopy of huge, old trees, wide branches covered with red leaves and stretching outward to meet those of their neighbors. Birds twittered and monkey like creatures leaped from branch to branch, using their long tails to swing up and down. An idea came to Jet; why not build a series of tree houses, joined with bridges, a pulley system to carry things upward, crude stairs nailed to the trees? He could see it all in his head and he grinned.

"We're staying here," he declared.

Jet reached for a long stalk of grass, broke it off, and put the end between his lips, chewing thoughtfully.

"See those trees up there," he continued. "That's where we'll live. All we need is some wood and some nails. We'll make a series of tree houses, one for each of us if we want. No one will even know we're here. It's perfect."

"But there are Fire Nation troops in the village by the dam," a giant of a man named Pipsqueak said.

"Perfect," Jet purred. "We'll make their lives hell and they won't know what hit them."

"Oh," Pipsqueak replied, Jet's plan dawning on him. "I get it."

"Yep, we're going to mess with them any way we can. Any Fire Nation filth that comes through our forest will regret it," Jet said calmly.

There was a cold undertone to his voice, though, a steely resolve to make the Fire Nation suffer.

Dreams

Jet's dreams were pleasant at first. He smiled as his mind conjured images of a finished fortress in the trees. The kids were happy. There was laughter. He sat back and watched them all, signature grass in his mouth, lithe body sprawled out casually. Then there was fire. It started small, like a cooking fire then morphed into a bonfire. Finally, it engulfed the entire network of tree houses and the forest too. Ashes and bits of bone were all that remained. And Jet. He was the only one left standing, the one witness to the devastation. He forced himself to wake, mustering all the strength he had. Breathing harshly, Jet opened his eyes and took in the sleeping forms surrounding him, bodies curled up and buried in the leaves. He wished that he didn't need sleep. It hurt too much, being the only one left.

Origin of Hate

Sometimes, he would see the faces of the men who burned down his village six years earlier. He recalled them all vividly. Jet hoped that he would see them again one day. He would spill their blood, gouge open their throats with his hook swords, feel the warm liquid spill down his hands and spray his face. That would be a good day.

Home

The system of tree houses took months to build, countless scavenging expeditions, theft, a lot of planning and a lot of hard work. Jet called it a work in progress even when it was deemed finished. New people could always join their gang, after all. He got the largest 'room'. He didn't demand it; it was just his and everyone knew.

Just like everyone acknowledged him as the leader without saying so. He had natural gifts of persuasion and charm that people gravitated to. They wanted to please him.

Now his dreams wouldn't disturb any of the others. He had his own private space with his own 'bed'. He could writhe and moan and no one would hear, except perhaps Longshot or Smellerbee. They were attuned to his every mood and his every emotion. It seemed like they could sense his despair and his elation from far away. They knew him better than anyone ever had since his mother and father died. It was glorious and it was frightening. He didn't like feeling that exposed. He liked control, an easy going type of control, but control nevertheless.

Thug

Jet stood silently up in the trees, feet just touching the thick branch as he looked down onto the path that led through the forest. One hand rested on a smaller branch while the other hovered near one of his swords. He had been there for an hour already. Patience was something that he had developed over his years of surviving alone. You had to wait for an opening or a distraction before you could take what you needed. He had spent many a day just waiting and watching. Storming in looking for a fight was rarely wise although sometimes the urge to do so was hard to resist.

His sharp ears heard the sound of footsteps. Jet saw red; a Fire Nation man carrying a large pack sauntered along the path as if he owned it. The middle aged man was far too comfortable. He felt far too safe. This forest wasn't his and never would be, not if Jet had a say in it. It was time to shake the enemy's complacency.

Jet jumped down gracefully and landed on the leaf covered path directly in front of the man. He was startled and gave Jet a questioning look.

"What's in the pack, scum?" the Freedom Fighter demanded.

"N, nothing important….just some household items that I want to trade."

"Really," Jet smirked, leaning in close to the man, so close that he could feel the rush of air from his now open mouth.

"Y, yes," the man stammered, clearly in a panic now.

Jet brandished his swords and sliced the straps that held the man's pack onto his back. It fell to the earth with a soft thump.

"Open it up!" Jet demanded.

His voice was subdued but icy and sharp. The man's hands trembled as he struggled with the tie. Jet took the open pack and dumped the contents onto the ground, some of the items breaking with a soft tinkle and other things bouncing away down the path.

"I could use some new dishes," Jet remarked, picking up some sturdy bowls. "And these clothes will come in handy. Got any money?"

Without hesitating, the man reached for a small pouch that was hidden inside his robes.

"Here, it's all I have. Just let me go!"

Jet thought seriously about killing the man but reason told him a trail of corpses would only bring the Fire Nation down on him all the harder. He settled for a kick that sent the Fire Nation citizen reeling, hands clutching his middle.

"I'd think twice before coming through here again. And if you mention me to anyone, I will find out and I will kill you. Understand?"

The man nodded. Tear stood out in his brown eyes. Without retrieving his pack, the man stumbled his way back down the path to the village he had started from.

Jet wore a satisfied smile on his handsome face. He tossed aside the grass stalk he'd been chewing on and began to whistle.


A/N: I'm not sure where this thing is going, but I felt compelled to write some Jet, which is a change for me. He is a fascinating character in his own right and there is a wealth of possible stories and/or drabbles that he inspires.