Ironic.
--
It's ironic, she thinks, gazing out onto the sunrise, how different they are. The sun seems to blink back at her, it's harsh rays just beginning to peek over the horizon. She leans back to lower herself into a laying position, not caring how muddy the ground is, loose brown locks dipping into the mud.
Strangers. That is what they are. Complete and utter strangers.
Zuko. Katara. Fire. Water. Enemies. Sun and moon.
It's not that she hates him; she hates what he stands for. Death. Destruction. Domination.
He must hate what she stands for too, Katara realizes. All he never had. A mother and caring father. Loved. Cared for and happy, to a point. She has her brother, Aang and Toph. But he? No-one, but an evil tyrant for a father and a crazed sister that would do anything to kill him and secure her place as heir to the throne.
Shaking her head roughly, she turns her thoughts and gaze back to the sun. How different the sunrises are here. Back at her home, the sunrise was beautiful, reflecting rays of the ice and snow but failed to spread the feeling of warmth deep into your body. Here, Katara's more than warm. She's content and happy, surrounded by her friends and family.
Zuko and she are strangers. They both know absolutely nothing of importance about each other, and have resigned themselves to mutal hatred of one another. They hate both each other's Nation, their family, their life.
Has he even ever had a parental figure in his life? Maybe Iroh, but having only an uncle for support is so much different to Katara's parental guidence. She has had her mother, she still has her father, Sokka and Bato and Gran-Gran. It would have been so hard for him to leave the life he had lived, his scar fresh and new, as the sea pulled him away from his life. She doesn't know what she feels for him. It's not pity, nor hate, nor friendship. Acceptance? Maybe. She sighs, her breath coming out in little puffs of white cloud.
It's then, gazing at the sun and breathing deeply, she unknowingly lets her hatred slips away. It's beautiful, being the only person on the hillside at this hour; watching the dawn of a new day, the one time almost everything can be forgotten. Grudges. Hatred.
She smiles, lifting her body up to face the sun, a tanned hand resting above her eyes as she listens to the noises that begin a new day.