Most times, Katara simply missed her father, with an ache that was almost physical. She wanted desperately to see him again, to feel his strong arms around her and to feel safe in his embrace. To press her face into his shoulder and breathe in the musk-and-water scent of him. She wanted him to swing her up onto his back, to chase and wrestle with her as he had when she was young.
Other times, she was furious with her father for leaving them. She understood why he'd had to go, knew that it was important to fight against the Fire Nation's control and injustice where they could. But wasn't their tribe important too? Weren't she and Sokka important? Didn't they deserve to have a father that would look out for them, take care of them, provide for them? Didn't they deserve to be able to go to sleep feeling full and safe, rather than hungry, and worried that the next day, the next week, the next month, would finally be the one that would push their tribe over the edge of poverty and into starvation?
Sometimes, she even hated her father, for forcing that on them, for making them grow up so quickly. She had only been twelve when he had gone, Sokka barely thirteen. She should, she supposed, have been grateful that at least he had left her brother behind, that he had given her that one last thing to hold on to.
She and Sokka had always looked after each other, ever since their mother was. . . taken. In the years directly following her mother's death, Hakoda had seemed to distance himself from his children, too wrapped up in his own overwhelming grief to have the energy or the presence of mind to deal with two heartbroken children. He spent long hours out on the pack ice, hunting, fishing, tracking. Sometimes with Bato, his best friend, but more often alone.
Gran Gran had tried, but she, too, was fighting against the agony of losing her only daughter. And so it was up to Katara to hold them all together, to keep them all from shattering into a million pieces in pain and rage and sorrow. Even at such a young age, and with her own heart twisting with the ache of her mother's absence, she had known how important this was. If there was no one there to be strong, to keep them going, their family would shake itself apart in the wake of this tragedy. So she had tried to become her mother, to become the source of strength and comfort for her family that mom would have been.
She spent long hours sitting beside Gran Gran near their fire, stroking her hand, talking quietly with her, or helping her with whatever chore needed doing. When her father returned from his solitary trips on the ice, she was there to help him with his kill, fetching tools, or carrying away the leavings from the butchering, all in silence, since her father did not seem to want to talk. When Sokka got into fights with the older boys in their village, she was there to cart him home by a hand in his, and clean up his various cuts and scrapes.
And when she woke to hear him whimpering in sorrow during the night, she would crawl over to him and cuddle down beside him in his sleeping furs. She would wrap her arms around his neck and rock him back and forth, and he would clutch at her, tears dribbling down his face. Then, and only then, would she allow her own tears to fall. She would press herself into her brother's embrace, and they would take comfort in each other's presence, in the sharing of such a deep sorrow. Eventually, they would fall asleep, huddled together like tiger-seal pups, finally finding some small measure of peace in each other's arms.
In the last few years before Hakoda had left them, he had finally seemed to start to come back to himself, to return to the father Katara had known before their mother's death. He had started to take a more active role in their lives, to talk with them again, to laugh occasionally and to tease them a little. He was not exactly the cheerful, carefree man that he had been. He was a little quieter, a little more solemn. He sometimes stared off silently into the distance for long moments, remembering his wife, Katara thought. But he was much closer to the father that Katara remembered, rather than the distant stranger they had lived with for so long.
Sokka forgave him instantly and completely, the way he always did with everyone, but it was not so easy for Katara. She didn't completely trust this new attitude, didn't quite believe that Hakoda had changed for good, that he wouldn't return to the silent and sullen man that he had been for so many years. Katara couldn't forgive such a deep hurt so easily, couldn't quite get past the anger that he had left everything to her, that she had had to be the one to pick up the pieces, and not the father who was supposed to look after them. But slowly, slowly she had begun to trust Hakoda again, to believe that he would be there for them again, for good this time.
And then Hakoda had begun to talk about the Fire Nation. He talked about how they were taking over more and more of the world, about how, if no one did anything to stop them, there would soon be no place that was free from their control, not even their small village, about how someone was going to have to do something; soon. Sokka had been excited by the idea, and had spent long hours with their father discussing various tactics that could be used against the fire nation, but Katara had hated the talk.
She agreed that the Fire Nation was cruel, that they should not be allowed to trample over and control the rest of the nations. They had already, so the stories said, destroyed the air nomads, simply because the new Avatar was supposed to have been born to them. When Katara thought about what the Fire Nation had done to her mother, she was engulfed in rage, in a hate so huge that it seemed as if so much emotion could not possibly be contained in one small body.
But more than her anger, Katara was afraid. Afraid for her family, for what might happen to them if they carried out the crazy plans Sokka and her father were always making. The Northern Water Tribe, after all, was not an army. There were less than two dozen men in their village, all told, and while they were all tough and strong out of necessity, they had never used their weapons in battle. Not real battle, only in defense of their village, and that had not turned out so well either. The Fire Nation had thousands - hundreds of thousands - of soldiers, and they were growing all the time. What could so small a force as the Southern Water Tribe do against so many, except fall without ever making a real difference?
But Hakoda was determined. As strong as Katara's rage was, she thought that her father's was even stronger, and even more consuming. That was what drove him. He spoke to the other villagers, and Katara had to admit he was a good speaker; inspiring. Despite her feelings, when he was done with his speeches, she even wanted to follow him into battle. It was no wonder that all of the men, every last one, elected to follow their chieftan. The women were to stay behind.
This, if anything, made Katara even angrier. If they had to go into battle, she wanted to be there to make sure they were all right, to try to protect them in whatever way she could. She had not been able to protect her mother, and she was determined not to lose any more of her family. But Hakoda was just as determined. He was not going to take her, and she learned with relief that he was not planning to take Sokka either, though Sokka was always sure, right up until the last moment, that he could change their father's mind.
On the day that Hakoda left with the rest of the fleet, Katara refused to see him off. She stayed in their tent and, when Hakoda came in to say goodbye, she turned her face away. Hakoda hugged her anyway, kissed the top of her head, and murmered a farewell into her ear. He turned and went out, and Sokka rushed after him, still sure that he would end up going along. Katara remained where she was, clutching her arms tightly around herself and fighting down the terrible ache in her chest.
When Sokka came trailing defeatedly in some time later, she had taken out her grief and guilt on him, shouting at him about the selfishness of his wish to leave their tribe to fend for itself. Sokka, already feeling miserable about being left behind, had shouted right back. It was the worst fight they'd ever had. They screamed at each other, bringing up every past wrong that either of them could remember, calling each other the worst names they could think of, and throwing whatever came to hand. When they had finally screamed themselves hoarse, they stalked off in different directions, Sokka out toward the pack ice with his spear, and Katara to the headland where she often practiced waterbending.
Katara didn't return to the tent until well after dark, and only then because she was so cold she couldn't feel her fingers and toes anymore. But when she entered and saw her brother in the low light of the banked fire, lying curled tightly into himself, his face set in the expression that she knew meant he was fighting tears, her heart melted. He was her brother, after all, and he was still here. She dropped her wet outer things beside the fire, then for the first time in many years, went and curled up with him in his sleeping furs. He moved aside to make room for her and they fell asleep that night with their arms around each other, as they had in the days when they were still small.
They never talked about that fight again, an unspoken forgiveness settling comfortably between them, and though they had many smaller fights, they never again had one as bad. They slowly adjusted to Hakoda's absence, and settled into the familiar rhythm of past years. Sokka once again began to take Katara along on hunting and fishing trips, and was a surprisingly patient teacher, showing her what their father had shown him so many years ago. Katara kept practicing her waterbending, and patched Sokka up when he injured himself. She helped Gran-Gran with the chores, helped look after the smaller children, and did as much hunting and fishing as she was able. She was not as good as Sokka (though she would never ever admit to that), but she was usually successful.
Katara's anger at her father began to fade, gradually being replaced with sadness at his leaving, guilt at her refusal to say goodbye and worry that she would never see him again. The anger was still there, but not nearly as strong as it used to be.
When she and Sokka found Aang, then left to follow him when he was captured, she even felt that she understood her father a little. It was not that she wanted to leave her tribe and her grandmother behind, it was only that she felt as if she was needed more elsewhere. And the odds against their little party was even stronger than it had been against her father's fleet. Two untrained children and a very young Avatar who couldn't even control all of the elements yet. What could they possibly do against the overwhelming strength of the Fire Nation? And yet, it wasn't really about the odds, not really. They had a chance to do something, anything, about the tyranny of the Fire Nation, and even if they only made a small difference, any difference at all was a step in the right direction. And perhaps, even if they were beaten, even if they all died, they might be an inspiration to others, encouraging them to throw off the yoke of the Fire Nation. That was what Katara thought her father may have been feeling when he left them. That he was part of something much bigger than himself, and that his own desires didn't matter as much as the safety and well-being of the other nations.
So although she still felt betrayed and angry, and even still hated her father a little, Katara thought that if she could just manage to see him again, all those other feelings would eventually wash away, and they could all go back to being a family.