"The Unspoken Truths"
She looked at herself in the reflection of the lake's water. But it wasn't herself. The girl looking up at her was smiling, with long brown whisps of hair capturing her face in a frame. Her face was oval, delicate but firm. Waves of brown hair tumbled over her bare shoulders, the tips wet in the cool water. This girl staring up at her was fragile. She slapped the water and jerked her body back against the tree.
Drawing her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs, she rocked. Her head pressed to her knees. Nuts and rocks jabbed into her naked butt, but it was nothing compared to the pain between her legs, the pain that slowly crept deeper inside of her, infecting her heart and head.
When Longshot found her, the sun was starting to set. At once he recognized the results of the Fire Nation: bloody clothes, torn woman. But the girl, she wasn't even old enough to be called a woman. Still, all the signs were there. Her small form was curled, rocking. He could see the burns around her wrists from the hold, the bruises on her face--she'd probably fought him.
And the blood that covered her legs. Her attacker hadn't been nice.
He neared cautiously. He circled so he would approach from the front, the water quickly soaking through his boots and socks. He splashed, her eyes drew up to him. Wide brown eyes.
"It's going to be okay. I'm here to help you." He'd left his bow, quiver and hat a few yards away, making sure nothing would lead her to believe that he was a soldier. He took a few more steps, and when she didn't flee, he took a few more. Holding out his hand, a robe offered out, he took the final step. Still she didn't move.
Kneeling beside her, he wrapped the robe around her shoulders, she flinched, but didn't pull away. He covered her as best he could with her still curled up. She wasn't flinching, but she wasn't helping either. "My name is Longshot. What's your name?"
She sobbed something, then muffled her face in her lap. He rested a hand on each shoulder. She leaned into his chest, shivering with sobs. He wrapped his arms around her.
She wasn't sure how long she'd sat there, crying into this stranger's embrace. Once the sun set, she lost all concept of time. Eventually, she ran out of tears. She didn't feel any better, just cold and wet. When she pulled back, the boy released his hold.
When he saw her attempting to pull on the robe, he turned his head, eyes closed. Standing, she fastened the tie and wiped the tears off her cheek. She saw him steal a glance, then look and stand. "Do you feel," she saw his mind work through the sentence, "better?"
No, of course she didn't feel better. She shook her head. Something brushed her shoulder and she jumped forward. Twisting around, she realized it was only her hair. Clenching her jaw, she looked at this Longshot and saw the handle of a knife held on his waist. Her hands darted in and took it. Before he could react, the sharp blade had done it's work.
The pile of brown hair sat at her feet. She felt lighter. She offered back the knife, but he shook his head, "Keep it."
Clutching it to her chest, she nodded.
"Would you like to go home?"
She thought of her village burning, charred bodies of old men lying in the streets. Then she saw Longshot's face. And somehow that look told her it was a different home she would be going to. She nodded.
And slowly, they walked through the woods.