Disclaimer: Leave me alone. I don't own squat.

Author's Notes: Apparently, Twilight is culturally significant now—like Santa Claus or the Beatles. Quite frankly, I'm not a fan, but I thought I would give it a chance before automatically knocking it; that's not really fair of me. But as of right now, I don't see what all the fuss is about.

AHEM. Anyway. More Sokka/Katara awesomeness, but this time centered around their mother. I didn't add this to Rip Tide for that reason: I wanted it to be mainly about Kaya and her relationship with her children. The song's by Taylor Swift, if you didn't know.

The Best Day

I don't know why all the trees change in the fall,

But I know you're not scared of anything at all

…And I know I had the best day with you today

--

It was summer. Beautiful, glorious, glimmering summer. The sun glowed brightly in the sky, and the poignantly fresh air was sharp with salty sea breezes. The horizon was completely flat over the ocean, its crystal blue hues reflecting across the water and making everything a sharp, pristine, gorgeous shade of Water Tribe cerulean. Snow glinted in the direct sunlight. Chatters of men and the smell of fish drifted lazily through the air and created a homey and comfortable feeling to the ears and noses of all who sensed them.

This was the Southern Water Tribe.

"Mom! Momma, watch me!" Katara was young, perhaps five years old, and the chief's wife watched in bemusement as her daughter flopped down in the hardened snow and ice and flailed her arms and legs around.

The woman's smile was warm and happy. "Is that your snow spirit, Katara? It's beautiful, my dear."

"Though you might wanna try it where the snow isn't so hard," her brother piped smugly. He sat cross-legged beside their wood- and skin-covered igloo, watching the women of the family and waiting for his turn to speak. He was picking ice chunks from the hardened path and pressing them into an impressive mound of snow.

Katara sat up and stuck out her tongue. "Shut up."

"Katara," her mother chastised.

"Momma," Sokka began, bouncing excitedly, "I got my wolftail today. You wanna see it?" His face was ecstatic.

Kaya's laugh was deep for a woman's, yet lovely and melodious. "Dear, I was there. I saw the whole thing."

"I wanna show you again."

The young Water Tribe girl was sitting in the snow, arms crossed childishly and pouting. "Go speak to your father, Son. I'm sure he would love to talk about warriors and things like that." He nodded, grin slipping slowly off his face, but the young boy ran off into the village nevertheless.

Kaya sighed. "What is it, Katara."

"Nothing." Though her glacier blue eyes told a different story.

Her mother raised a skeptical eyebrow and, rising from her kneeling position, brushed the snow from her summer parka. A few tendrils of dark brown hair hung before her eyes, and she swiped them away. "Your eyes are giving you away, my child—remember, before they were yours, they were mine."

The young girl's lower lip quivered piteously. "There's no one here to have fun with," she sniffed. "'Mean, yeah, Sokka, but…" A grimace. "He's my brother. An' all of his older friends, too. I want some friends of my own, but there aren't any girls here."

A quiet smirk tugged at Kaya's lips. "You don't need other girls to have fun. And what about me? I'm not a girl?"

Katara's eyes got wide. "N-no," she stammered. "You're a girl, but… but you're Mom."

That tinkling laugh again, and the woman pulled her daughter into a fierce hug. "I understand, Sweetheart. Growing up in such a small village can be hard, but for now, this is your life. It's best that you just make do with what the Spirits give you." They were both spiritual people, even though Katara didn't even understand what that word meant yet. And Kaya, being an herbalist and healer, had seen many miracles occur in her lifetime. It only seemed natural to believe in the driving forces behind such instances.

Kaya sighed and let her daughter go, watching as she smiled up at her and raced off to swerve among the smaller tents. They were the lucky ones to be living in an igloo large enough for the four of them; though recently (and very secretly), she was hoping she and Hakoda could make it five. Two just wasn't enough to satisfy her; she needed more to love, more to hold onto.

But also more to let go.

Katara threw up a handful of snow and giggled hysterically when it fell back down upon her. Kaya smiled. Her daughter was… something different, to say the least; so much the opposite of her husband and son. Katara was free-spirited and free-willed, always speaking up and taking a stand, usually for the wounded or the underdogs. But the Water Tribe woman's motherly intuition was sparking too; she wasn't just free-spirited, she was free. Kaya could only imagine the day when her larger-than-life daughter outgrew this much-too-small village. A lump suddenly lodged itself in her throat, but she shook it off. Enough of that. Speaking of the future as if it were for certain was never a wise idea.

She came to her daughter's side. "Snow spirits!" Nearly imperceptible laugh lines accentuated her twinkling eyes, and her lips quirked. Kaya plopped down into a pile of soft, drifting snow that hadn't been packed yet and began forming her angel. Katara squealed and tried to do the same, but she somehow ended up with her hood over her eyes and tiny powdered snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes. They laughed together.

When they were done, the two stood up to examine their handiwork. "Beautiful job, Katara," Kaya praised. "I can even see the spirit's hair."

"That's the fur on my parka, Mommy."

A laugh. "Well, I love it. Very realistic."

Katara's tiny hands curled around her mother's leg. "Momma, I love you," came her soft, still voice.

"I love you too, dear heart, and I will always be around to take care of you." A hand stroked her daughter's dark brown head.

Large, rounded blue eyes blinked up at her. "Promise?"

Kaya felt her throat catch. And while she wanted to say "promise" to seal the deal, the sudden blockage in her throat made it impossible. All she could do was nod her head and hope the small girl didn't catch the sudden faraway look in her eyes, or the way her brown cheeks shone with wetness.

In just the right frame of time, Sokka ran up to them, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Dad and I are going hunting tomorrow. And we're NOT catching fish this time."

"Congratulations!" His mother gave him a hug.

But the six-year-old tried to pull away. "I'm going to play with the guys now since I'm old enough," he declared proudly. "There's no way they can ignore me this time. We'll be hunting and playing snowball; y'know, stuff that men do."

Kaya placed her hands on her hips. "You sound more like a forty-six year old than my son. When did you grow up so fast?"

"Yesterday, Ma," Sokka replied as twin pairs of cerulean met head-on. "I'm supposed to start training as a warrior now."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course. Well… let's go see where the others are, and you can train if you must. But as soon as the battle's over, you better come straight home for supper, young man." Something about that sentence just didn't seem right. As long as she was in her right mind, she couldn't send him away. She couldn't lose both her husband and now her son to the addiction of war. But her children seemed oblivious to the surrounding world and its complications. Sokka glowered. Katara snickered beside him, and they prodded each other teasingly.

The other boys were at least nine years old, though most were around twelve or thirteen; none of them were Sokka or Katara's age. The other children in the village were still newborns. If war broke out in the near future—say, in the next three or four years—then these boys would to going off to war with their fathers.

Ah. Such talk. Snap out of it, Kaya.

Sokka wandered and eventually sat at the outskirts of the boys' "battlefield," too timid to join without invitation yet too brave to give up. They might choose him this time. This time.

Katara's eyes were large and round as she gazed at the sky. Her mother grabbed her hand. "Momma… what does the world look like?"

"I… don't know. I have only known the South Pole all my life."

What was said next thoroughly startled Kaya. "I wanna see the Earth Kingdom, Momma." She froze. The woman felt her heart jump in her chest. "Like Dad."

"O-oh, that's, um…" she cleared her throat, "…that's wonderful, sweetie. I've heard the Earth Kingdom is beautiful and warm in the summer." She had always encouraged her children to have high aspirations and expectations, and she couldn't go back on that now. But maybe she had made her dear Katara just a little too hopeful.

Katara's usually-clear eyes were dark with something Kaya wasn't familiar with. "I don't want to just hear about it. I want to go there."

Kaya tried to put on a brave face for her child. Didn't she know what strange and horrible things were lying in wait for wide-eyed dreamers like her? The world was not a kind place; it took dreamers and tore them apart. Kaya relied too much on her heart and not enough on her head; she was afraid her daughter was faced with the same affliction.

She shook her dark head. But there was no reason to be so negative; like everyone else, Katara would probably stay at the South Pole for the rest of her life, grow up, and marry a handsome southern warrior. They would have some kids, those kids would have kids, and she would eventually die a fulfilled life. The woman tried to convince herself that Katara would be happy, but she couldn't. Fulfilled life, not happy. She knew her daughter could… no, she WOULD become something so much more.

Call it a mother's intuition.

The five-year-old was staring intently at something, tanned brow furrowed. Kaya guessed it wasn't against the midday sun, either. She looked and saw her son, Sokka, still sitting, shoulders hunched only slightly. He was only sitting; not playing, or fighting, or conversing. Simply sitting and waiting for an opportunity that would never come.

Sokka yelped and fell over when a snowball plowed into the back of his head. "Hey!" he shouted indignantly. "Who threw that…" As if he couldn't guess. Just fifty feet away, Katara was giggling hysterically. She tried to hide her enthusiasm behind two gloved hands, but she was failing miserably. A tiny smirk flickered at the edge of the young boy's face as he examined his sister. "You're going down."

She started screaming when her brother started after her. It was a strange half laugh, half strangled cry that sounded beautiful to Kaya's ears. At least for now, Katara was happy.

Their mother picked up the two scrambling siblings in her arms and held them apart. "Play nice."

"Mo-om!" But as soon as their feet touched the hard-packed snow again, they began aiming their snowballs at her. The woman laughed and shielded her face with her arms; she had no choice but to retaliate. Sokka and Katara were full of energy, bounding around a mound of snow that was their "fort" and always trying to pull sneak attacks on her. She missed hitting them most of the time, but they were simply children. Better to have them think she was such a bad shot than to show them how good she truly was. Just for future reference. When they were teenagers, she knew she would need all the help she could get in defeating them, including the element of surprise. Surprise skill, that is.

The day began to die quickly, and before Kaya knew it, it was time to start supper. Of course, the sun was still high in the sky (he never slept during certain months in the summer), but the bustling men and gossiping women were beginning to slow and take their leave of each other; the people of the village were realizing that the day would come to a close soon enough, and there were still chores that needed to be done.

The chieftain's wife stood and brushed the snow from her thick blue parka. Her cheeks were red from exposure, but her mouth was curled up into a permanent smile. "All right… I'm going to start supper now, but you guys keep playing." The children nodded. Katara rushed forward and enveloped her mother in a hug.

"I love you, Momma. I really did have the best day with you today." The woman stroked her daughter's curly head and admired her children, her loves, her life.

"I will see you both in a few minutes, my dear." A few minutes, a few years, a few lifetimes. (Never again.)

As Kaya made her way toward their house, the largest ice shelter in the center of the village, a certain feeling of unease settled deep inside her gut. She tried to shake it away; surely this was just the obvious outcome of her worrying all day. Katara would be happy, and she would not lose her Sokka to war. Her children would be fine, safe, in their village. Protected. Still, nothing could settle the way her heart writhed and clenched beneath her breast.

The comforting scents of fish and campfire drifted away on the sudden salty draft of air. Small fires flickered, and the sounds of men and children faded into the background. Katara's laugh seemed to be the only thing still alive, echoing strangely through a suddenly-empty area. Everyone was silent.

The night came down on the village of the Southern Water Tribe, but the two children continued playing. They were impervious to everything. The air became thick with something no one quite understood.

Finally… finally, the children sensed it. Katara's laugh immediately ceased, and Sokka's fingers relinquished their grip on the snow. The villagers collectively looked up, gaping at the sky like silverbacked fish out of water.

And, as if from some phantasmagoric nightmare, black snow began to fall from the sky.