A/N - I don't know where it came into my head to give Azula a therapy wolf but I like it and I'm running with it. You should probably read chapter 6 of Once And Future King before reading this.

~0~

"A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself."

- Josh Billings

~0~

I am the leader of the tigerwolf pack, and as leader, my duties are to care for and protect my packmates. There are many other smaller things I have to take care of, but they all fall under those two general categories.

So when, during my morning patrol of our territory borders (one of said smaller things), I catch a familiar scent carrying down to an area most humans and no tigerwolves normally go, and a feeling in my gut tells me that something is amiss, naturally I must go and investigate.

Taking a few steps back, I make a running leap over the towering construction of thick interlocking sticks the humans made. It's a difficult jump, but I am large enough (the only tigerwolf large enough) to make it. Initially, the odd setup puzzled me, but I suppose since humans cannot mark any territory by scent, this is necessary for them to do. It's no inconvenience to me, so I don't complain. I land on my paws, hitting the hard earth running. I have no worries about being caught. The sky's many colors are pale and light, but the sun is only barely over the horizon: normally too early for any human to be around our territory. Besides, even if one saw me, it isn't as if I will allow anyone but my human partner to handle me. I wouldn't like it at all if someone else tried, and she wouldn't like that either, and her pack is, if not loyal enough, then smart enough not to displease her that way.

I follow the scent trail through the thick forest, feeling it get fresher and stronger with each stride, until the sharp odor of salt mingling with it hits my nose and I realize I am about to come out and reach the bluffs near the island's coast. This is where my human partner and her young pup often come together, jumping around, attacking the air, bringing their blue and orange fire out of nowhere and throwing it all over the place. I don't see the point of any of this at all, but they seem to enjoy it.

And speaking of my human...

It's her scent I've been tracking, her lovely scent that is half smoke and half spice, and as it reaches its strongest point, I see her huddling under a small overhang where the sand meets the grass and earth. She's curled up tightly into herself, hugging her knees to her chest and hiding her face in them. Her shoulders are shaking, and I can hear her breath hitching from here. Unfortunately, it's familiar enough that I can tell what it means - my poor human is sad again.

A whimper escapes my throat. I detest seeing her this way. My human is strong and confident, the leader of her own pack. She is the only one of the human pack I, as a leader as well, will deign to listen to or respect. When I take her on my back into battle against their rival packs, we are unstoppable together. It makes my stomach lurch to see her so upset, and without another thought I sprint out of the forest and across the grass to her.

She hears the scrape of my claws on the sandy ground and lifts her head to look at me. There's water coming from her eyes and blotches of red on her face; I know by now that that too means something is hurting her. I wish I could understand all the sounds humans make to communicate, so she could just tell me what saddens her so often and I could go and make it stop for good. Then my human would be happy, like her pup. I never see him sad, not the way his mother is.

"Ikari," she says hoarsely when I reach her side. I know that noise, at least. That means me. Yes, my human, I am here now, I want to assure her. Having no other way to get across my intentions, I lean forward and begin to gently lick at her cheeks. They taste of salt, like ocean water.

Snapping something irritable-sounding that has "Ikari" in it, she jerks back, pushing my head away. I take a small step back, letting out a soft whine at the rejection. I have been through this before, and I know by now that my human is complicated. Whether she wants me here or not, at first she always pushes me away and (I'm assuming) insists that I leave her alone. I don't want to make anything worse, but I decide to press some more. Just a little bit, though, and if she reacts louder or more forcefully I'll go right away and return later to check on her. I must only go as far as it takes to know whether she needs the comforts of contact and companionship or of solitude at the moment.

I move closer than before, right up next to her, nosing at her face and neck again with little licks here and there. It's the only place my long tongue can reach, with her in that black and gold shell thing she seems to like so much. I don't even know if this is doing her any good, but I am completely in the dark as to how humans console each other. As such, this is the best I can hope to do.

However, this seems to be working.

Little by little, of course. Her body is still tense and her breath still trembles, but this time she lets me show her my affection. She murmurs something in the tone that's a familiar odd mix of fondness and exasperation, and shakily reaches up to put one arm over my shoulders and the other around my torso. Pulling me closer, she holds me tightly to her chest, like a much larger version of her pup and my own.

"Stay," she mutters, another human noise I know. I feel my tail start waving back and forth at the sound of it: that means she wants me here with her. "Stay."

Now that I know we will be here for a while, I decide to shift into a more comfortable position for both of us. Without pulling my head and chest out of her arms, I slowly lower myself down to the ground. Lying on the short spring grass, I press my body as close to hers as I can and rest my head in her lap. I feel her small, slender form shaking as her hold on me tightens and she buries her face in my thick chestnut fur. It becomes damper by the second, and a sympathetic whimper escapes me. The sound of her cries make my heart twist, but this is what she needs right now, and it is my job as my human's friend and partner to help her. So I lie still, right here, so she can let this all out.

Little as I know about human preferences and the reasons behind them, I am by now certain that hugging a soft, preferably large object will bring comfort to most of them. I haven't yet deciphered why exactly, though I suspect that it is my thick masses of soft fur that soothe my human. Even when nothing is wrong (nothing that I can pick up on, anyway), every time she comes to see me she'll stroke my head and back and sometimes rub my chest. Now that's something we can both get behind, it feels quite nice for all involved...

A sudden loud sob makes me jump, and I feel my human convulsing with the force of it and the ones that follow. It's almost a reflexive motion by now to press my body closer to her, to move my head up to her face, to try and calm her with gentle nudges and tiny licks. Though she's still upset, I can feel that, her body is gradually relaxing as she vents her emotions. After a couple minutes, she pulls back for a moment to look me in the face. Her eyes are still red and her face still wet, but the corners of her mouth are curved up just a little. From any other creature, this would be a sign of aggression, especially if visible teeth were involved. But in humans (the odd animals that they are), it is meant to send the complete opposite message. It is an expression of friendliness and contentment. The next sounds she makes are the same, the ones I love to hear the most: "Good boy. Good boy, Ikari."

Happiness. She's happy again. I thump my tail against the ground. Success.

~0~