G L O W
They say that history is told by the hands. That life is held together by lines and boundaries of where one should go, and where one should not go. Sometimes, those lines are meant to be crossed.
He sat at the top of the hill, the others playing near a river where sounds of giggles and splashing was only a distant call, like kids playing in the sand. Childhood recollections? Zuko closed his eyes and his mind wove thoughts about his origins and what they were supposed to meant to him.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Katara brushed hair away from her face and sat down beside him, squeezing the water out of her clothing.
"What were you thinking about?" He grunted and remained where he was, she was in talking mode again, already knowing what was to happen next. "I don't really know you at all," came the whisper, "But..." He held out his palm. "Give me your hand and I'll tell your fortune."
He obliged. They had done this before, several times, and he already knew that it was something that he didn't have to take to heart.
Katara traced his hand with her fingertips, wrinkling her brow in mock concentration. This was only small talk, something to kill the time. He asked what the future had in store and she said that he had too many lines to define. But she could tell him his past. He said he didn't want to know about that and almost took his hand away. She stilled the hand by covering it with her other. Now both her hands enclosed his.
"The five fingers of your hand resemble us," she continued despite his arched brow, "Aang is the thumb, Sokka is the pointer, Toph is the pinky, you're the middle and I'm the ring."
He said it was the most bizarre thing he ever heard. Even worse than her grandmother's stories of the Avatar. She ignored him and they kept talking. Small talk. Just something to kill the time.
And somewhere long the line, the veil between them got a little thinner, just a little clearer and he noticed that his hand crossed the boundary and settled into hers.