She had always been a social person. Not even being old and crippled changed that. Her injured arm ached on occasion, true. Then again, what part of her didn't now? She used to pride herself on her mobility when she was young, way before her 'accident'.
Her grandchildren had loved her. Often they would come and pester her for a story about the hundred year war and her part in it. Though, they never quite believed her. After all, she was their old grandmother. How could a woman so bent and old ever been the woman she claimed to be? Though, out of respect, they never said this out loud.
She always knew what they thought and privately agreed with them. She hated being old. She hated being unable to roam where she liked. ("It's even worse than being pregnant!")
Even when she had first been injured she could still move and fight. ("It's not my good arm, Azula. I swear, I can still help you and Mai!")
Her two closest friends had died young in the war. Sometimes she envies them.
This drabble was written for the avatar100 challenge.