Happy Birthday F.O.G!

For Nightfall 2525. If you're still reading my silly stories.

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In a dark, damp room, resembling a hot, dingy cell, a young man sits on a large bed. His face is wrapped in bandages which are damp from an odd mixture of salve, human effluence and tears. The noxious mixture of these radiates a pungent odor which nauseates the attendants charged with changing his wrappings, cringing at the sight of his disfigured form, at least three times a day. So this is the price for defying father, he sobs gently into the soft gauze which gently envelops his face like a gossamer web, long abandoned by its creators, this burn, and exile to the South Pole.

The South Pole. A war was fought there many years ago, but it was a pyrrhic victory. Under his uncle, The Dragon of the West and Admiral Zhao, the frozen climes of the South succumbed to the Fire Nation. However, they would soon learn that holding on to that chunk of ice drained their "defense" budget, weakening their war efforts in more profitable parts of the world. And so, with great secrecy the Fire Nation's presence in its tributary state was withdrawn, leaving behind the raw memory of atrocities committed by the army of fire. I will live there until I die.

The thought pangs his heart. He'll have to leave home, his mother, his uncle, everything and everyone he loves. At his young age he has suffered much, mostly at the hands of his father, who has fooled him into thinking he can win his love. Though now a man of one and twenty, the prince is still too naïve to understand that love is freely given, never won.

I will show him that I am a man worthy of the throne…and his love. But he is hopeless as these bitter words spread through his body like hot venom. I will live in the South Pole for seven years, I'll show him! His body shakes with resolve, but he has never doubted himself so much. Left to himself in the crushing darkness of his room, he cries himself to sleep in desolation. As soon as his face heals, he must abandon the only life he has known, the life of a prince.

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Despite the careful ministrations of the medics and the servants, a hideous red scar forms. All mirrors are kept away from the prince's golden eyes, but it is only a matter of time before he catches his reflection somewhere. Gently, he touches the disfigured side of his face, fighting back the tears welling up his right eye, finding he cannot cry with his left. If I cannot cry with my left eye, then I will not cry at all. He swallows his tears and his anguish, tucking them away from the world. I will never cry again.

A few days after his bandages are permanently removed he sails to the South Pole on a lonely boat of exile, with only a skeleton crew and his uncle to man the vessel. It is obvious from the old man's morose silence that his heart is breaking. The prince knows, yet does nothing to comfort him, for he too is despondent.

Soon they reach the small village port of their frigid destination. Really it isn't much of a town, more like a supply depot, where the few goods produced on the region are displayed for local consumption. Zuko looks around for local weaponry, disappointed to find none of it is made out of metal. No wonder they lost the war. He walks around the other tables aimlessly, too distracted with his impending doom to really care. Noticing his nephew's lack of focus, his uncle intervenes, helping him shop for the necessary supplies that will prove to be his lifeline if only for a short period of time.

It is only now, during this shopping expedition, that the stoic prince sees his uncle's mood lighten, if only slightly and his heart is glad, though it may only be for the few moments they have with each other. Both men know, he has been sent to this frozen wasteland to meet his death, but the prince is determined to survive his father's punishment and return to the palace of his birth, if only to hear a single word of praise. Certainly now Azula will be the next in the line of succession and his hope of regaining his birthright is lost.

All the supplies are loaded onto Zuko's rein-elk and there is nothing left but for Zuko to walk his uncle back to the ship. They walk in silence. The sound of ice crunching beneath their feet is their only indication that they are not lost in some incorporeal spirit realm. Say something. Right before they reach their destination, they spot a local trade post that serves hot meals. Nephew and Uncle turn to each other. They exchange silent glances and enter for a cup of tea.

They sit in uncomfortable silence. He is not the type to show his feelings, so he decides now is the time to exercise his small talk skills, if only to deny the pain of their impending separation.

"So Uncle Iroh, where do you think I should go during this year?" Not like it matters, it's one giant ice cube. "I know you've been here before. Is there anything interesting to see?" Maybe they have a snow museum or something.

"I don't know, Zuko. It's been so long, though I do remember hearing about a beautiful garden. Now what was the town it was in called...they used to serve great tea…" A bright sparkle emanates from the old man's eyes as he strolls down the worn, dusty lanes of his memory. "I know," he grins broadly. "It was in the village of Irkuk!"

The young man nods, trying hard to enjoy the rest of his tea, but the knots in his stomach, make it hard to swallow each drink he takes. Too soon for his taste, his mentor will leave him to begin his lonely exile. They continue to chat, but the young man cannot focus. All he hears are bits and pieces of Iroh's invaluable advice on how to survive the cold. After all, he had fought a war in the polar circles, many moons ago.

"Never go out before a blizzard," he warns, unaware of his nephew's sporadic attention. "Even your firebending will not save you from the snow." Deep furrows form on the man's forehead as he thinks about what he will say next, especially to a man of Zuko's temperament.

Long ago, during the war he commanded, one of his lieutenants had reported to him about this wealthy village with an interesting problem. Apparently, there was a war raging between a vampire lord who controlled large oil deposits and the local villagers. At the sound of "oil" the village's value to the Fire Nation became clear and plans were drawn for its conquest. It would be like any other frozen village they had absorbed.

In the battle for its conquest, the village was razed, but an odd little girl was left behind with a few survivors who had hidden in the snow drifts. Even Lieutenant Zhao, the most bloodthirsty of his men, could not vanquish her, for her waterbending skills were unmatched. She was dangerous and probably full grown vampire by now. If Zhao, a master firebender with a killer instinct could not defeat her, Zuko would stand even less of a chance.

"Zuko, there is a woman in Irkuk, don't go near her..."

But Zuko does not really listen since he is too busy engraving his sonorous voice along with every wrinkle and jowl into the deepest recesses of his memory. I hope to see you again uncle. He wishes to be more certain of his ability to survive, but after the Agni Kai with his father, his last bastion of self confidence is gone, leaving behind an empty shell in his father's image.

All stalling is coming to an end. The deliberate drinking of the last of his tea, has served its purpose of prolonging the last familial contact he will have in a long time, and the tattered remains of prince's rent heart create a violent tattoo in his chest in anticipation of the pain he will suffer. The time has come. At least I know where I'm going, he ponders, trying to find comfort in excitement of the coming journey. Looking into his uncle's golden eyes, Zuko finds strength to wave the last of his goodbyes, as he sets off for a place he's never heard of before, amidst the whispers and stares of all the tea shop patrons. I will survive.

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A tall, thin woman walks the lonely, silent halls of her icy fortress, floating about in a calm cadence, like a specter long forgotten. Fresh blood, bright crimson in color stains her lips, dribbling from the corners of her down-turned mouth onto the white, sateen sheath she wears before laying in her coffin, which is lined with soft furs dyed blue, indicative of her lineage. Two blue eyes, hollow and hopeless are the jewels that grace her sorrowful face, framed by a cascade of chestnut tresses. Her mocha colored skin radiates a supernatural sheen, creating an illusion of smooth perfection akin to the finest porcelain from the Earth Kingdoms. The soft curves of her body are guilty of enticing and seducing countless young men out of menacing blizzards into her lethal embrace; lost young men who have sought food and shelter but received much more, naively mistaking the spasms of death for those of incredible carnal pleasure.

Yet for all her beauty, softness and grace, she is still a vicious predator; a role she is reluctant to fill, but cannot escape. Long, blood stained fingernails, filed to a fine point and teeth sharp as razors are a painful reminder of what she truly is. It is her lineage, her inheritance, passed to her by her mother and father before her, who inherited the trait from their parents. For the rest of eternity, this will be her blessing and her curse. Time is immaterial when your ageless, but why must I be alone forever? She wishes to cry at the thought, but holds back her tears. The blind attendant, who sees all and knows all, is behind her. Gauging from her protector's silence, she knows something is awry.

Wo bist du?

"Yes Kira?" Please don't tell me the summer is here. I do not wish to be a prisoner in my home…not just yet.

"Mistress Katara, your familiars have just informed me that there is a young man approaching the fortress. What are your instructions? The blind girl looks at the beautiful revenant unblinkingly.

"Tell them I will join them in a few minutes. If what they say is true, I will want to see him myself." It has been so long since I've had human company.

"Very well my lady." The young woman bows before leaving her mistress' presence, but pauses in mid-step. "My lady, do be careful. It may be another hunter." Her jaw clenches at the thought. Kira hates hunters. They are always trying to hurt her savior, the woman she has sworn to protect with her life.

"Don't worry Kira, I'll be careful. I won't stray too far from the pack." Besides, I smell nothing, so that's probably what it is. Her voice is sweet and reassuring, easing the green-eyed guardian's fears. All she can do is nod, hoping the pack is enough to protect her in case the man is indeed a hunter.

Cleaning the blood from her lips, she changes into her parka, pulling her dark hair into a tight chignon. There is not much time to waste. Though she cannot smell the man that approaches, she can definitely smell the impending blizzard. A soft sigh escapes her lips. How ironic. I shall try to save him now, only to kill him later.

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Merciless arctic winds, howl all around him, whipping across his scarred face like a thousand little needles, piercing and ripping through his flesh. All attempts to warm up via firebending are vanquished by the inclement, icy winds, which penetrate his bones. Of all times for you to be right Uncle, Zuko mutters under his breath. He has been traveling for weeks, all he wants is to find shelter before his frostbitten fingers fall off, or the storm matures, destroying his remaining hopes of surviving long enough to recount his travels through this frigid, forgotten, part of the world. Dear Agni, I would like to live to see Uncle again if only to hear him tell me "I told you so."

The darkness surrounds him like the mouth of a ravenous wolf. Straining his eyes against the newly fallen night, he sees something that gives him hope. Up ahead, the dim lights of a tall dark building travel to meet his eyes. Vaguely he makes out some sort of makeshift village behind the snow drifts up ahead flanking this looming structure. I'm saved. A pack of wolves can be heard howling in the far distance, too far for him to worry. They're probably just wolf-seals and they fear fire.

Quickening his mount's pace, he approaches, discerning the shape of the building. What's a fortress made of stone doing here? Thankfully the war between the Fire Nation and the South Pole has ended, though he dreads bearing the brunt of the anger they still feel for his people's conquest, again. Everywhere he stops he is unwelcome and his mark of dishonor stared at. Sometimes he encounters physical violence. Regardless, he knows more harm will come to him from the storm than whatever soldiers are stationed there. Even though he may be spent, the hope he feels at finding life in the middle of this barren land gives him a boost of strength.

As he descends into the valley created by the majestic drifts, he stops. Spirits! When these animals now surrounding him did so escapes his attention, but the hungry flashes in their yellow, feral eyes does not. He is inside a circle of large arctic wolves, the rarest and most feared predator of this barren land. There is something unsettling about these animals. They look like people hunched on all fours. Motionless, he stands before them, ready to stand his ground if need be, knowing they will make quick work of him, if they are so inclined. I will not go down without a fight.

He is too busy eyeing the gray beasts around him, to notice he has caught the interest of a lone white wolf. Unlike the rest of her companions, she does not snarl at the man before her. Instead, she approaches him with great stealth and curiosity. One sniff reveals that he is not a hunter, but just a man, with wounded flesh. Seeing he is alone and obviously weak with hunger, she assumes he will be heading towards the lit fort before them. There is something particular about his scent. Something odd she has smelled on a human once before that reminds her of fire and the destruction of her home. It makes her uneasy whimpering gently to catch his attention.

Golden eyes go wide as all color drains from his face. Standing before him is the largest, white she-wolf he has ever seen. Her muzzle is stained crimson from whatever poor creature she's had for dinner, which he is certain does not exempt him from being on her menu. The bright moon above percolates through the snow-filled clouds, shining on disarming, bright blue eyes, which remind him of the blue sky on a clear summer's day in the Fire Nation. These blue eyes gaze into his golden revealing the sadness and heartache of this beast. She seems so human.

Ich bin so allein, will ich nicht sein.

For a brief moment suspended in time, he falls into those eyes, feeling true, soul-crushing loneliness. The spell is broken when the she-wolf sniffs the air, sharply turning her head away from him. A howl pierces the cold, night air as she dashes off in the direction of the fortress with her companions in tow. A low sigh of relief escapes the prince's chapped lips as he continues to make his way towards the village. If I see them again, it will be too soon.

Walking through the abandoned igloos and shredded tents, he realizes this place is not a village, but a frozen tomb. All of its inhabitants abandoned their abodes, looking for respite from the constant shadows that hunted the innocent, even during the midday sun. But he is unaware, unafraid. Ignorance of the world around him is bliss. Little does he know that he has walked, hungry and weak, straight into the den of wolves.

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The lady of the fortress walks her halls in expectation of the sweet, tangy delicacy that is human blood. She has gone without its sweet taste, for too long now. Soon her servant will bring back the weary traveler and her routine of seduction and death will begin. Why must it be this way? It is not something she enjoys or has ever enjoyed, rather a crude tool she has created to survive.

Too many times she has brought back with her a mouse-hare or a small wolf-cub to try to keep as a pet, to lie next to in her coffin, but each time it all ends the same, in blood and whimpers of agony. Tears spill from her eyes as she rips into their helpless necks, feeling their gushing arteries throb in fear against her lips, but cannot stop until her hunger has been satiated. Cruelty is not in her make-up as it was in her father's, making her a raging failure before his eyes.

Reaching the end of the hall, she raises her eyes only to see an image of the man who decimated and desecrated the quiet village. Her mother had been hunted after giving birth to her, by one of the village elders. They waited for her to birth before exacting punishment on her for massacring a dozen children during a full moon. Why mother, why? In retaliation, her father had hunted down all seven elders and their grandchildren, as though they were game. How could you father? Some were only babies!

A fevered clamor for revenge came from the villagers emboldened by the silence that came from the vampires' home. An attack and a dead servant are all the heiress now remembers about the bloody stalemate of death and destruction that ensued when her father's army of undead clashed against the warriors of the village. For years, sanguine colored ice and piercing screams of pain surrounded her, tormenting her soul. Their frantic crescendo only increased with the arrival of a new enemy, who capitalizing on their mutual attrition, cruelly conquered the villagers.

The sanguinary soldiers of fire are like the element they command, stopping only after they have greedily consumed everything in sight with their flaming tongues and fire spewing metal beasts. The village benders and her father's revenants cannot match them. Lamenting their fate does them no good. They know they are doomed, but fight to the last man, in an unholy alliance against an unholy enemy.

A wild eyed demon who spat fire, headed the charge that felled her father. There are only two things she remembers of this murderer: his scent which was a suffocating mix of fire and the blood of innocents, and his eyes, piercing and yellow, which have seared themselves into her soul. A shiver runs down her spine. It is all a painful memory she swallows, like a bitter potion, but she must to maintain what little sanity she has left. Of the few who were spared, most leave. The memories of their loved ones last moments of agony overpowered their lives. Only the lady and her governess remain, like statues of ancient goddesses whose names no one now remembers.

Tears fall from her eyes, but no noise comes from her. She feels her servant's presence and smells the traveler. A frigid hand wipes away all tears. Her heart fills with dread; it is time for the routine to begin. Closing her eyes in anticipation, she wishes now more than ever to be human. To feel warmth and companionship of a human, to be human, but it is not to be. Not now or ever.

Die warmen Haende sind so kalt.

"My lady," Kira calls to her mistress, whom she knows has been crying. "A young man is here. He needs food and shelter. Will you provide?"

The magic words have been uttered. Let the dance of death begin! "I will provide, but are these accepted of his free will?" Say no, say no.

Despite his weariness, Katara senses a quiet grace and strength. She can tell he is confused by the protocol, but nods speaking in a strong, steady voice, reminiscent of a prince. "I accept and thank you."

Smiling weakly, Katara nods to Kira, who takes the young man to the dining room for dinner before he can introduce himself. In situations like these, time is not an ally, so it is best to make haste. The sooner he eats, the sooner the mistress eats.

Zuko is amazed at the size of the structure. From outside it looks small, but the inside is magnificent, as though under some sort of Water Tribe enchantment. He sits at the table and starts the fire in the pit, as the servant has requested, with a single spark of his frostbitten fingertips. All he wishes for now is food and a warm place to sleep. What a boon! I have finally found a place to stay where I'm not stared at or judged.

It has only been ten weeks since he started his exiled, but he has been humbled and humiliated enough to learn to be grateful of other people's generosity, where the punishment for not doing so, is the equivalent of death. Food is scarce, life is harsh, and the only way people survive here, he has learned, is by looking out for one another. Nothing like back home.

In the palace "thank you" was heard about as often as "I love you" which is to say never. Trust and loyalty were merely words used to describe their dragon hounds' annoying affliction. Needless to say, this ill prepared him for the world he now encounters. He knows that to survive the exile and regain his birthright, he must first survive. If that means adapting to their way of life, so be it. But even if he had come far, he still had a long way to go. After all, even though he was banished, he was still the prince of the Fire Nation: temperamental, ambitious and somewhat self centered.

Dinner is presented to him in an ornate fashion. He sits and waits for his beautiful host to join him, but she never comes. The green-eyed governess informs him that her mistress feels rather ill and has retired for the evening. The prince tries to hide his disappointment, but Kira sees it, if only in a roundabout way.

"Please tell her I hope she feels better in the morning." Golden eyes flash with concern.

"Oh, I have a feeling she will feel rather well when the sun comes up." The macabre smile on the young girl's lips makes him feel rather uneasy, but he is a prince and must act as such.

"I am glad you think so. Thank you for the meal." The girl merely nods as the banished sovereign returns to his enticing meal, exercising tremendous self control so he does not make a gluttonous fool of himself before his host's servant. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the young girl's wicked smile as she returns to the kitchen. What an odd place this is, he thinks to himself, but really has no idea how prophetic those words will turn out to be.

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In her frigid bedchamber, the sad, young woman sits, changing into a beautiful white sheath, which seductively clings to her curves. Because she casts no reflection, she has no way of knowing how beautiful and tantalizing she looks. Even if she did, there are no mirrors in her room. All were destroyed many years ago, when she realized the true meaning of forever. Loosening her chignon, she allows her chestnut tresses to cascade around her face and bare shoulders.

Die schoenen Maedchen sind nicht schoen.

Long, trembling fingers run through her hair in an attempt to smooth it. Spirits, why am I doing this, I'm not even hungry. But it doesn't matter. The routine has begun and must end with a sacrifice. It is what makes her brave, what numbs her to the point where she can survive. Soon this will all be over, and Kira will bury his remains in the soft earth, where he will become an eternal part of my garden. But for some reason, this time, she doesn't believe it.

She paces back and forth, waiting for Kira to bring him in. It is good she doesn't know his name. Without a name, it is easier to pretend that he is not a person, warm flesh and blood she must destroy if she is to see another day. Gently, her hand rests upon a necklace tightly coiled around her neck, a reminder of her father's love for her mother. I hope this makes you proud father, not that it matters now.

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Kira slides a door open, disappearing as soon as the prince crosses the threshold. Golden eyes widen and his mouth is agape. It must be some mistake! Standing before him, is his host, clad in a revealing night shift that makes his heart beat a little faster. Keep your eyes on her face, keep your eyes on her face. Her mouth is firmly pasted into a fake smile, but her eyes cannot hide her regret and shame. Where have I seen such lovely blue eyes?

"Please accept my apology. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I had no idea…I will go at once." That Kira did this on purpose! I knew her smirk couldn't be good. Respectfully he bows to her, but she catches his broad shoulder before he turns to leave. For a moment, they lock eyes.

"Stay." It is almost as though a siren has sung, enchanting the unsuspecting sailor into his watery grave.

A primal desire is awakened in him as his inhibitions fall away leaving only a burning need Though he has never succumbed to temptation, he finds himself trapped in his desire to know her, to own her if only for a brief period of time, to lose himself in her curves. It is hard to resist her unnatural beauty which casts a powerful spell over him, taking possession of his soul. Her cloying fragrance intoxicates him as he willingly loses himself in her lonely, blue eyes. To him, they do not look like the eyes of a predator, but appearances can be deceiving, a lesson he will learn in time.

Slowly she raises her icy hands to his beautiful but scarred face, stopping right before making contact. The routine does not allow her to caress the bare flesh of her prey until he has taken his fill of carnal pleasure from her. To do so, would severely injure him and she does not want to add that to her conscience. Instead, she is to relinquish all control to him, allowing him to think he is in charge until it is too late. He will be no different.

Two golden eyes drink in her soft curves as his pale, warm hand gently catches her small, cold, dark one guiding it back to her side as he steps back from the chasm of lust. I can not, will not do this. She is not well!

With a razor sharp kiss of death, she will sever his jugular artery, digging her claws into his bare flesh so he does not move while she drains the life out of him. I'm so sorry. I cannot help what I am. Never does he feel it, as his orgasm dulls his pain. But she does. As soon as his body grows cold, she scrubs herself clean of his scent and fluids, forgetting her actions and preening herself for the next meal.

Ich liebe dich. Ich liebe dich nicht.

"I am sorry, but I cannot stay. You are not well." Silence fills the room and what little color she has drains from her face.

But the routine…

This creature before her, in the shape of a man, has shattered her ritual. Trying to regain her footing she fumbles, running her hands through her silky, brown locks and smiles, revealing her white, predatory teeth. Stop smiling. He'll see you for what you are! A million ancestral voices scream in her head. But it is too late. Her spell is broken. Revulsion replaces the lust and concern once gleaming from his eyes. She is seen for the lonely, voracious beast she truly is.

"Are you okay?" She looks like she is about to burst at the seams with the violence of her shaking.

An internal struggle rages on, betrayed by her disconcerted features. This has never happened before. Her routine is shattered, all courage is lost. She is lost. Forgive me father. Recoiling from him she walks towards her fur lined bed, sitting on it. Spirits! What do I do now? Drowning in despair, she sobs openly, uncaring of the spectacle she is making of herself before her guest. Rocking back and forth, she shivers as she wraps her arms around herself, hoping to vanish. Never has she felt such humiliation and confusion.

Zuko stares at her in pity. It is obvious that he is not the first one to wander into her room or be tempted by her form. Soberly, he looks at her and wonders how many men have fallen to her wiles. What number would I have been? The thought sickens him. He is unsure of what to do, so he stands there awkwardly until she tells him to call for her servant. Immediately, he acquiesces, but before he can call the maiden, she appears at the door, panting.

"Mistress!" She clamors, charging her way past the man before her. "Did he hurt you?" The sobbing predator shakes her head, burying her face in Kira's chest.

Two green eyes turn in the direction of the prince who blankly stares at the girl holding the sobbing woman, realizing at once she is blind. "What did you do to her?" Her tone takes a terrifying dimension which makes his flesh crawl.

Hold your tongue, Zuko. "I did nothing…you brought me here remember." His tone is sharp. Subconsciously, he drops into a fighting stance as the air around him begins to warm up.

"Liar!" She hisses and stands to confront him, stopping her advance when she feels a gentle hand fall on her shoulder.

"Kira," she whispers sweetly, "Please show him to his quarters. He is just a weary traveler who needs to sleep. I release him." Though she has never heard those words, the servant is fully aware of what they mean. "Oh, and Kira, tell the family to stay away, he is under my protection."

Kira nods gently, hiding her desire to throw this worthless piece of man-flesh to the wolves. Why does her lady look so deflated and humiliated? Lovingly, she brushes her mistress' hair from her eyes, lingering on the curve of her ear a little longer than is necessary. A harsh contrast to how she manhandles the object of her ire. He has done something to Katara. It is only a matter of time before she finds out what it is, and when she does, he will pay. But until then, he is under the protection of her mistress and will not be touched.

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Soft, sweet smelling furs caress his bare skin and he wonders if her touch would have been the same, but that thought vanishes as quickly as it came. Yes, she is beautiful. Yes, she is willing, but there is something menacing about her, something feral he can't quite wrap is conscious thought around. Vampire. Unaware of his actions, he gently strokes the sharp teeth of the bear fur he lays on, bringing his hand to his mouth when its spiked teeth break his skin. He closes his eyes letting sleep carry him away, as a lullaby sung by howling wolves plays in the background.

Pacing up and down her mistress' corridor, Kira waits for the opportunity to meet her. Surely after tonight's events she will want to go for a walk, even though the blizzard rages on. But I will not let you. I will follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to because I…she finds herself in front of her door as it opens.

"Kira, what are you doing outside my door?" Katara looks into her unseeing green eyes and smiles.

"Mistress Katara, I wanted to make sure you were well. I was concerned, that's all." I'm concerned because I care for you. Why can't you see that?

"I'm fine. I'm just going for a walk." Please leave me alone. I need to be alone.

"Then let me go with you." It is hard to say no to her sweet pleading tone, but she must.

"I just need to be alone for a little bit. I promise I'll stay around the perimeter. If I'm not back in an hour…" Kira frowns.

"You have an hour. If you are not back, I will send the pack to look for you, and you will never leave my sight again." It's hard to asses her seriousness when she stands hands on hips, tapping her left toe, like a scolding mother.

"An hour." Katara nods as she pulls her fur-lined hood over her head before leaving her worried guardian behind in the safety of the fortress.

When her foot touches the soft, snowy ground, the night-walking waterbender takes the form of her familiars. Long tawny legs are immediately covered in white fur as she scampers off, braving the terrible blizzard that pelts her thick fur with a million little icicles. She needs the pain. It is a fitting punishment for her failure, for her existence. His pitying eyes destroyed her dignity, her internal mechanism for survival, and if she does not find her way again, she will perish. What am I going to do?

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A/n

I hope you guys enjoyed this. If not, sorry.

As always comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated, but not required.