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For those who don't know, Wulong Forest is the area in which Avatar Aang faced Firelord Ozai.
TTFN ~Spender
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It took years, but the earth prevailed at Wulong Forest. Earth built up against the warships' hulls, spurred on by the wind. The ash mixed in with the soil, water fell from a moonlit sky that the large, narrow towers of earth, for which the area was named, fruitlessly stretched for, and the ocean constantly threw against on the beach.
Soon, the forest returned. It started with the moss, creeping ahead of the canopy like an advance scout, digging its heels into the scorched earth and refusing to be moved by the other elements. Saplings followed years after. Their springy forms jutted out from the plain, swaying in the slightest breeze, but remaining rooted. Their progress would not be stopped; they had but one purpose, one goal, one drive—they would reclaim their land scarred and disfigured by the crazed Phoenix King.
The cloth balloons of the airship were the first to go. Under the onslaught of exposure, they disintegrated and were carried away by the wind, no longer the impressive display of industry they were when they bore the mark of the Fire Nation. Then, the rains brought with them rust as a gift for the metal frameworks. The water ate away at the intrusive objects and the once strong supports began to bend.
Soon, for in the mind of the world centuries pass like minutes, the warships were entirely gone. Their parts had been taken apart to the basest materials which then rejoined nature. The area once left scorched, bare, and desolate by the ambition of one sole man, one who desired to change the world forever, was vibrant with life, as it once was; its inhabitants ate, hunted, slept, breathed, mated and reproduced, and lived their lives as best they could. The heartbeat of the world was felt by many plants, for the foliage grew thick, dense, and lush.
And when names like Phoenix King Ozai, or Aang, or Sokka, or Katara, or Firelord Zuko, or Toph, or the Dragon of the West were but whispers of a distant past, the single scar that remained in the area was nothing but a small area where the spires were shorter and more stout than those around them. It was a sole memento of heroics, ambition, evil, friendship, love, struggle.
But nature did not concern itself with the pointless tug-of-war that humans were ever so fond of. For the first time in centuries, nature was content; it had reclaimed what had been stolen from it.
The world always wins.