Author Note: It is important to know thatthis is an alternate universe where Aang was never found. A few alterations have been made to the ages of the Freedom Fighters as well as the leadership roles. It also should be noted that Jet died many years before this time in the plot. Thanks so much to my wonderful beta for helping out as much as she could.

Change is Constant

Chapter One

That last day had been terrible. That last day of freedom: the day of Sozen's Comet.

Fire Lord Ozai had burned nearly a whole half of the Earth Kingdom, leaving the North in ruins. Few people had survived. Though Southern cities like Gaoling managed to make it through the day unscathed, the following days weren't so generous. The remaining towns and villages were enslaved and sent to work in mines, where bending was prohibited and families were torn apart. The mines were places that absorbed all hope, flushed any determination remaining in the stubborn Earth Kingdom folk away in a river of fire and defeat. It was in that place, that vile domain, that a young girl first clicked the spark rocks of her own resolution.

Grouse sat with her legs hanging over the edge of a platform, the sturdy old tree house, home to the Freedom Fighters, hardly casting a shadow against the distant forest floor. The dusty girl sat back, leaning on her hands for support. Her brown hair danced a bit in the wind, tangled and unevenly cut and not quite reaching her shoulders. On the breeze, the aroma of maple and honey hung, carried through the tree house windows. The rope bridges creaked as they swayed and a few bright red leaves drifted into Grouse's line of sight. The day was nearing it's close, the horizon fiery red like the flames that had engulfed the countryside just weeks before, though it seemed like only moments ago she had lost everything.

The pain was still there. It would probably never go away fully, but that didn't make the throbbing in her heart any less heavy. Smellerbee had been right. The Fire Nation couldn't be trusted. They were heartless killers with no emotions behind their skull-like masks. They had taken away everything, time and time again.

Being left in charge was something Grouse had never wanted. With everyone else dead, who was there left to lead? Sure, the more recent recruits showed promise and had always fought well, but those who were there before were the ones she truly felt attached to, and the remnants of the core would never be the same.

But someone had to watch over the rest of these orphans, and if not her, then who? She had been around longest, after all. At least, compared to those still alive.

Grouse would miss Smellerbee the most—Smellerbee had been like an older sister to her. She'd taught Grouse how to fight, how to hunt, how to make birdcalls—everything. How could she of all people have fallen to the despicable likes of the Fire Nation?

Grouse sighed, unaccustomed to the loneliness that came with losing so much for a second time. It had all gone by so quickly. If only she could make up for those moments she spent away from them all, alone because she wanted to be and not because she didn't have a choice. Maybe then the guilt of having not been able to do anything wouldn't weigh as heavily in her chest.

"What are you doing out here alone?"

Grouse nearly jumped, jolted from her thoughts by an all-too-familiar voice. The voice of a person who hadn't left, a person who'd managed to stay alive despite the hell that raged around them. A person who deserved to be alive more than the entire Fire Nation put together.

He sat down beside Grouse, giving her a respectful amount of space. He'd always been considerate like that. Not much would have changed with the people here, she realized, just because the war had grown more and more hopeless with each passing day. War didn't change a person—pain did.

"Dinner's been ready. You can't miss out at a time like this. They need you."

Grouse grunted in response. She didn't need him to tell her something she already knew, even if he was just doing it to be helpful. She wasn't in any mood for a pep talk at the moment. They reminded her too much of Smellerbee, how she'd always stomp around the table, throwing her fist in the air and reenacting a battle scene, or just gaining an uproar from the gathered orphans. The children who'd lost everything in the fire.

Smellerbee used to say she got the habit from Jet, the first leader of the Freedom Fighters and her own older brother figure. She always talked about him with such high regards, as if someone like him could do no wrong. And how could they, when the cause they fought for was so good?

After her moment's silence, he spoke again. "Grouse, I know how close you were to them. But let's face it: they're gone—they've been gone—and they're not coming back. The best thing you can do for them is encourage the rest of us and carry on. And starving yourself isn't going to help." He added with a small laugh.

Grouse looked at him plainly, as is to ask Really? He shrugged. "Hey, speeches aren't my specialty. That's your job."

Grouse sighed heavily. "Alright, Octave. You got me. I'm starving. Let's go."

Octave smiled as they stood. "Good, you're talking to me again. I was beginning to think Longshot was rubbing off on you."

Grouse shoved him, maybe a little too close to the edge for a normal person's liking. But the Freedom Fighters were anything but normal, and Octave recovered quickly. The two made their way to dinner.

"You can't trust any of 'em! The whole lot of 'em are shameless cowards who've let their pride take over their minds! If you ever come across one of 'em, don't hesitate to stick a dagger right through their eye!"

Grouse had the attention of every orphan present. They cheered at the right times, only adding to the fire in their leader's eyes. Grouse had been especially fired up that evening, and that same energy now buzzed through the air, infecting the people surrounding her.

As she ranted on, Grouse remembered a particularly memorable speech made by Smellerbee. Grouse could specifically remember her getting so enthusiastic she had tripped off the table and kicked Longshot's plate of food into his face. Even she had burst out laughing at her own expense, apologizing to Longshot and taking her seat beside him to eat her own food. She'd been such an inspiring leader, never backing down from a fight even if she couldn't possibly find a way to win. It had been her downfall, her fatal flaw. Now Grouse only wished she had been less hotheaded.

Her speech was over. Everyone was eating, happily sharing stories and reviewing their day. Grouse sat down between Octave and Chime, picking up her portion of duck-pheasant and tearing off a piece with her teeth eagerly. As she chewed, Chime piped up.

"Good speech, Grouse! I liked the part where you talked about stabbing them in eye!" His voice was melodic, as it always was. It reminded Grouse of a story Smellerbee had once told her about songbirds and an owl-cat. She shook the thought from her mind.

Grouse ruffled Chime's unruly brown hair. The younger kid laughed. "Yeah, and I've done it before too! Maybe I'll show you some time—I still have the eye."

"Ew, gross!" Chime laughed, shoving her hand off his head. Grouse closed her left eye, mimicking a one-eyed soldier. Chime squealed and shoved at her shoulder. Grouse opened her eye. They were both laughing.

Octave nudged Grouse in the back. She turned to look at him. He was smiling too. "Glad to see you're back to normal, eh?" He took a bite of his food.

Grouse shrugged. "Can't really mope when the others are around. What kind'a message would that send?" She took another bite of the duck-pheasant. "We're gonna have to raid another caravan tomorrow. We're running low on bread."

Octave's smile faltered. "You sure that's a good idea, Grouse? You remember what happened last time, don't you?"

Grouse scowled, bringing out the attitude that gave her her name. "All too clearly, Octave. No need to remind me."

Octave stayed silent. He hadn't meant to disrupt Grouse's rare good mood, and she knew that. He was only trying to get her to think things through, like he always had. He was her best friend; it was his job.

"Sorry," she said. "It's just been weird. They all died really quickly, you know? One right after the other. It's hard when the people you thought were invincible get picked off like that."

Octave stared at her. "Believe me, Grouse. I know."

Three Years Ago

"Alright, Grouse, hold still." Smellerbee said, reaching up to place a shiny red apple on the shorter girl's head. It was summer. The sky was blue, the leaves were green, and the smell of sweet tree sap wafted up Grouse's nose, making her mouth water. She, Smellerbee, and Longshot had traveled a little ways away from the tree fort to a small clearing with tall grass. Longshot stood at the other end of the clearing, his bow and arrow in hand and a blindfold tied around his eyes.

"Don't worry," Smellerbee assured her with a good pat on the shoulder. "Longshot's got sharp ears—he won't miss."

The two girls had bet against each other, Smellerbee siding with Longshot that he could shoot an apple off Grouse's head while blindfolded. The silent archer had been reluctant to try such a dangerous trick, but the two hardheaded Freedom Fighters insisted he give it a try.

Smellerbee took a generous step away from Longshot's target, big enough to make Grouse worry about her decision. Maybe this wasn't the best way to prove that Longshot wasn't the best there was when it came to archery. After all, how could he be, with all those weird Yu Yan archers in the Fire Nation and whatnot?

"Ready Longshot?" Smellerbee called with a grin, eager to prove Grouse wrong. The younger girl gulped as Longshot drew his bowstring. It wasn't too late to back out, to call the bet off—

Thud. Grouse blinked, raising a hand to feel the top of her head. Gone. She glanced up at Longshot. When had he let go of the arrow? Shouldn't it have taken him at least a little longer to set up his aim? Or was he just that confident with his abilities?

Smellerbee whooped loudly. "Ha! I told you! Longshot's the best there is!"

On the other side of the field, Longshot removed his blindfold. He crossed the clearing to where the girls stood, his face betraying no emotion but his eyes expressing everything. Grouse had never been that good at reading Longshot, but Smellerbee said it took most people a while to learn his language. Grouse never thought to asked why Smellerbee had always been the best at reading him. It was just something that had always been.

"Come on, let's head back." Smellerbee said, retrieving the arrow and the apple. She tossed the latter of the two objects to Grouse. "Eat up, you still owe me your dinner."

Now

Grouse stared up at the ceiling, eyes unmoving from the wooden hut's roof. The cot beneath her had been stuffed with leaves and moss and smelled like the forest. But then again, everything here smelled like the forest.

The breathing of her roommates surrounded her. She could pick out Octave's breaths, along with Spunk and Cricket. The room was unusually crowded, but Grouse didn't mind. They'd taken in quite a few kids recently, and providing for all of them was hard enough. Sleeping arrangements could be changed easily.

Still, four was more than three, and few Freedom Fighters liked being in crowded quarters. Especially Grouse.

She sat up on her cot, feeling a cool rush of air as the fall breeze pushed it's way through the window beside her. Staring out into the darkness, Grouse watched as firefly-beetles fluttered through the air, illuminating the emptiness like tiny stars. Claustrophobia had seemed like such a ridiculous thing before the mines.

Pushing herself onto the windowsill, Grouse cast a final gaze into the moonlit room at her sleeping companions. Then, she pushed herself out the window and landed on a branch just a few meters lower as quietly as she could. She would go to bed later. She was feeling a bit stir crazy at the moment.

Grouse ended up taking a nearby zip line, chosen at random, to get away from the tree house. Grasping the handles firmly, she jumped, using her weight and momentum to carry the zip line along. She couldn't remember where this one went; it had been a while since she left the tree house just for fun.

The wind pressed itself against her face, whipping her dark hair around her. The night air was quiet; not even the cricket-cicadas were chirping. The only sound that filled her ears was the low buzz of the zip line as she made her way from the tree house. Somehow, not knowing where she was going made the journey more calming, soothing her need to get away from it all. Through the darkness, the landing platform appeared.

Grouse kicked out her feet to catch herself. The old boards squeaked under her feet. She felt like she'd been here recently, but the shroud of night made everything look different. She took the rope ladder to the forest floor and made it a few steps away from the tree before stopping abruptly.

Oh. This place.

The dead had to go somewhere. The small clearing was dotted with old mossy stones arranged in several rings, none exactly the same size. It was a lot more crowded than it should have been, but due to recent events, it seemed fitting. Grass grew more heavily in patches, working its way around the dig sites. It wasn't very tall here, but it was green and brushed Grouse's ankles. Beside each stone lay a few flowers, some newer than others. Every gravestone was carefully engraved with the name of the deceased occupant of the grave below it.

Grouse let out a slow breath before she began to walk among the graves, observing each one carefully. Some graves were harder to read than others (for those who could read, of course), but none had completely lost their meaning to time. Not like the lives of those they represented.

In another place, these same graves would have been marked by a different name, a name spoken from the lips of the giver of life themselves, from a person who'd long before lost their own life. Each stone marked a person who'd lost everything, who'd given up even their identity and their life to fight for a cause they believed in. Maybe the numbers listed on each stone would have been larger if the Fire Nation hadn't ruined the peace one hundred years ago.

Near the center of the clearing, Grouse came upon a grave she'd seen many times before. She'd memorized what each gravestone said despite being unable to read. Inscribed on it were the words:

Jet

Age 17

The person who removes a

mountain begins by carrying

away a small stone.

Smellerbee had told her his story before. Before Grouse even joined the Freedom Fighters, there had been a leader other than Smellerbee. His name had been Jet, and he was the founder of the ragtag group of orphans. He'd died almost a year before Grouse escaped the mines, sacrificing himself in battle to save the lives of all the other orphans in the trees. Whenever anyone talked about him, they got that faraway look that only came with remembering someone indescribably inspiring.

Grouse paused to bow slowly at the gravestone, as anyone did when they passed. Then, she continued on, taking her time to consider each name. They deserved to be remembered, after all.

As she continued to pass through the rows and rows of graves, she came to the center ring again and stopped. This grave, this grave was newer. The stone stood prominently against the earth, the moonlight from high above illuminating the surface. A recently-expired incense burner sat before the grave, and just barely tangible in the air was the lingering aroma of lavender, a commonly used scent to help calm any tension the dead felt before they left the world and help them move on comfortably. It made sense that such a high-strung person should have one set before their grave.

Two Years Ago

"Dying is pretty pointless if you ask me," Smellerbee told Longshot over her plate of food. Conversation had been terse that evening. The winter hadn't been kind, and many kids were feeling the bite of hunger. Grouse listened from nearby, curious as to why her leader would bring about such a topic of conversation.

She couldn't see Longshot's expression, but Grouse could tell he was just as curious as she was.

Smellerbee considered what she'd read from his eyes. "I mean, I'm not bashing on people who've died, but I think if you're going to die, you're going to want to go down swinging. That's how I'd want to go, anyway. I guess what I meant was death that isn't your choice is stupid."

But who would want to die?

"I'm not saying suicide is better or anything! I just mean that dying because you had to in order to preserve what you believe in is better than dying because you were too sick and too hungry to go on anymore. Dying like that is pointless, so I can promise I'll be around for a while." Smellerbee elaborated once more.

Longshot picked at his food quietly, averting his gaze. Smellerbee had to lean over the table in order to see his expression.

She laughed. It was a harsh sound, and her hoarse voice cracked, but Longshot didn't seem to mind. He'd always liked it when she laughed. "Of course I'm not, stupid. I'm not going anywhere until I see the Fire Nation begging for mercy."

Smellerbee nudged his side with her elbow. "You don't have anything to worry about. The Fire Nation can't throw anything at me that I can't handle."

Longshot nodded. Grouse wouldn't see it from where she sat, but below his stoic mask lingered a trusting smile. Of course he wouldn't have to worry about her. She was Smellerbee, too quick and too great with a blade to fall to the Fire Nation.

Now

He had believed her so easily. After all, how could an invincible warrior lose to scum he'd hated since his life began? He had believed her, and she'd lied.

This gravestone told as much.

Smellerbee was a liar. It didn't matter that she'd gone down fighting for this cause. It didn't matter that she was revered as the most skilled swordswoman the Freedom Fighters had ever seen. It didn't matter that she'd treated Grouse like a little sister, eating with her and arguing with her and laughing with her. Smellerbee was a liar, and that's why she was dead.

Grouse bit the inside of her cheek. She'd always been bitter, but never towards Smellerbee. Or, maybe she had been, but she'd just never thought too much into it, never enough to realize. It came from missing her, Grouse knew. That was all it was. But Smellerbee had been her second family, supportive and empathetic but never sympathetic. No, Smellerbee didn't pity people: she rebuilt people. She rebuilt them into an unshakeable tower, an immovable stone. She rebuilt them into a person who wouldn't pity other people either, a person who wouldn't cry so easily.

It was a dishonor of her memory to cry at her grave. Maybe that was the best way to show her bitterness, then.

Grouse lowered herself to her knees, shaking with the effort of getting rid of this bitterness. Then she sat back, pulling her knees towards herself and resting her forehead on them, hugging her legs and curling into a ball. It was night. It was dark. No one would be awake except for sentry duty, but they didn't come near here. No one would see her cry. It was okay to get rid of it all here, with only the dead for company. They wouldn't think her weak.

The breeze picked up, only for a moment. The smell of lavender was comforting, but it was not meant for her. Grouse tuned it out, tuned the world out, and just let herself forget her pride and her image and everything that prevented her from simply feeling—feeling her pain, feeling her grief, feeling her fear. Because if Smellerbee was dead, if the one constant in Grouse's ever-changing world was gone, then what could possibly stop this war, raging around her and the others and everyone else in the world? What reason was there not to fear?

After a couple of minutes, Grouse managed to dry her eyes, but she didn't move from her position. She wasn't ready to go back, go back to the world of people expecting things from her and depending on her. She didn't want to have to go back to being stoic and strong just yet.

In this state of uncaring, she didn't move when she heard the low hum of the zip line in use. She didn't get up when she heard familiar footsteps drawing closer, not threateningly, but cautiously. She didn't look up when the footsteps stopped beside her, or when the owner shifted into a sitting position, disturbing the dead leaves littering the floor. The person didn't say anything, just sat there with her in silent mourning.

Grouse was no longer crying, but that didn't make her any less reluctant to raise her head. Whoever this person was, they'd found her in a state of weakness, and that could be dangerous for both of them.

Then he spoke, and Grouse was so grateful it was he of all people, she released the tension she hadn't realized was building in her shoulders. "You know, maybe next time you run off in the middle of the night, you should tell someone where you went so they don't worry about you."

Grouse didn't reply. She sniffed loudly. Thank the Spirits it was Octave and not some other kid. His words were light and not accusing, but toned with worry nonetheless. She wouldn't apologize, though. Despite her instability, she would not show she was any less Grouse-y than usual.

"It's okay to cry, you know." Octave went on after she said nothing. Grouse's only response was to grip her knees tighter. Octave could always read her so well, like Smellerbee used to read Longshot. She wished she were as good at reading people, but it just didn't come naturally to her.

He was only trying to make her feel better. She was grateful, but she really just wanted to be alone. She wanted to be as lonely physically as she felt mentally, and he couldn't be sitting right there if that was going to happen. But he didn't move. Maybe he wasn't as good at reading people as Smellerbee had been.

Octave sighed beside her. He didn't say anything to fill the silence—there was no need to. They just sat there, two kids in a graveyard, aging faster than time would have liked. Minutes passed. Grouse wasn't counting, but they must have been nearing half an hour. Neither of them had moved. He was waiting for her. He wouldn't leave before she did, that much was obvious.

Finally, Grouse sniffed again and lifted her head, digging her palms into her eyes to clear them. Octave took this as a sign that she was stable again. He reached over and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, calmly massaging his thumb over her arm. What could make a person so genuinely kind eluded her, but Octave just was.

Grouse held her head in her right hand, her left resting on her arm. She didn't look at him, just stared at the ground right in front of the grave. Guilt from her earlier thoughts washed over her, and she took a shuddering breath. She felt exhausted suddenly. She didn't have the strength to stand up, or climb a rope ladder, or hang onto a precarious zip line. She could fall asleep right here if she wanted.

But she had to get up. She had to get on with her life, live with the ache left in Smellerbee's wake, forgive but never forget. Not completely, anyway.

"You ready to go?" Octave asked her. She nodded, but still wouldn't look at him. Maybe it was out of shame, or maybe something else entirely.

He stood, helping her up and supporting her for a moment. Her head hurt. She wasn't used to crying and she often forgot the consequences that came with it. But she felt better now, and a little headache never killed anyone.

They didn't move for a moment. Grouse examined the plain stone on which Smellerbee's name was engraved. So simple, so insignificant was this stone. It hardly represented the person who lay beneath. And beside it sat a nearly identical stone, engraved with another name and another age and another memorable phrase, all of which would be entirely different in another world, a place the Fire Nation had never contaminated.

Smellerbee

Age 17

An invisible red thread connects

those who are destined to meet

regardless of time, place, or

circumstance…

Longshot

Age 19

…The thread may stretch

or tangle but it will never

break.

The inseparable pair remained so in death. It was only fitting they should be buried together.

Grouse and Octave didn't take the zip line back to the tree house. Instead, they walked in silence, feet shuffling in the dead leaves and never quiet meeting eyes. What could be said, after all, when everything had long since been spoken?

The early morning air chilled Grouse's lungs, jolting her from her sleep. She sat up slowly, running a hand through her hair. When was the last time she had bathed? She'd have to take care of that soon. What day was it? Thinking back, she had mentioned raiding a caravan. But she could leave that up to some of the others. She needed a day off.

Grouse pushed her feet over the edge of the cot, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Octave and Cricket were gone, but Spunk was busy tidying up her own area. She glanced up at Grouse and smiled. "Finally awake, eh?"

Spunk was an interesting person. She always managed to pull off a crooked smile even when no one else could. She kept her shoulder-length brown hair tied back, her fringe swept to the side and long enough to tuck behind her ear. She liked to laugh, even if she could get angry when she wanted to. She was exactly as her name said, and then some.

Grouse sighed, stretching her arms over her head. Across the room, Spunk pulled her second layer of thin, stolen clothing up over her head and balled it up, tossing it into a pile beside her bed. The temperature should rise by mid-day, so keeping on a second tunic was pointless.

Even though she usually painted a dark line or two under her eyes to deflect the sunlight, Grouse ignored the habit she'd picked up from Smellerbee and combed her greasy hair back with her fingers. She left Spunk in the hut and made her way through the trees via rope bridge. A few kids swung through the trees on ropes, breaking the early morning silence with their shouts of delight. Far below, a low-hanging fog obscured the forest floor. Grouse didn't like fog. It could hide an enemy, lurking in the depths of the forest or perhaps just in front of her nose; she would never know.

"Look who's finally up," a voice from up ahead of her caught Grouse's attention. She looked up quickly, not startled, though she hadn't realized she was nearing the main platform already. It was Ballad, with his folded arms and confident smile and a sense of poetry no one would notice just from looking at him. He was influential. He was dangerous. He was also one of Grouse's very close friends.

"I don't want to hear it this morning, Ballad. Got enough stuff to deal with already without you nosing your way into things." Grouse was only half-joking. Sure, Ballad was like family to her, but her night had been anything but peaceful, and displaying her bad attitude often times knocked people down into more serious tones.

Ballad wasn't the most perceptive person, or maybe he just ignored it. He nudged her in the ribs when she reached the platform playfully. She shoved back irritably but not completely angrily. He laughed and let her go, turning around so he could watch the kids in the trees.

She should be looking around for Octave, to tell him she was going off to wash. Most of the time, she trusted him to watch over everyone when she wanted a break from all of the madness. But the boy was nowhere in sight, and Grouse didn't really fancy searching the whole forest just so she could bathe in a freezing lake. So she turned and shouted back to Ballad: "Hey, I'm going down to the river to wash off. I'll be there if you need me."

"Gotcha." Ballad replied with a nod in her direction. He then pulled out an old scroll and began to read its contents. Ballad had a fascination with poetry. He especially loved reading it in the early hours of the morning just after the sun rose. He may have been annoying at times, but more often than not he provided proverbial advice. He'd been a good friend of Longshot's.

Grouse made her way over to the zip line that would take her to the river. The river wasn't too far from the graveyard, so on her way down she passed the pathway she and Octave had followed the night before. It had looked different then, shrouded in the darkness of night with trees casting long and forbidding shadows. Now it was hardly intimidating, with golden light filtering through the red leaves overhead.

Grouse returned her attention to the quickly approaching landing. Kicking her feet out, she used her momentum to jump off before the zip line came to a stop. She climbed down a rope ladder similar to the one from the previous night. The sound of the river gurgling over rocks and sediment reached her ears, guiding her towards the body of moving water. She followed the river up to an area where the water was calm. The surface was undisturbed, but Grouse had been here enough times not to stray too far down and get caught in the current. She'd never learned to swim; she'd tried, as it was typically a necessary survival skill that Freedom Fighters had to use on rare occasion, but whenever she went too deep she panicked or sank. The closest she had ever come to swimming was waving her arms wildly and miraculously managing to stay afloat until Smellerbee pulled her out. Longshot had laughed in his own way: keeping it behind his eyes so that Grouse could just barely pick up on it.

Grouse shook the image from her mind. They were gone now. She couldn't stay stuck back in the past. Last night should have helped her get rid of her grief, but it hadn't worked as well as she'd hoped.

She pulled her tunic over her head, discarding the piece of clothing the same way Spunk had tossed hers away earlier. She didn't think to consider who might see her; none of the Freedom Fighters ever really made a big deal of any of that. They changed in the same rooms, they bathed in the same river; everyone was mature enough to handle seeing each other naked. It only seemed natural when you lived the way they did.

Grouse waded into the middle of the river, the cool water rising up around her legs. Taking a deep breath, she submerged her head beneath the calm surface, coming up a moment later and scrubbing her hair. She hadn't stolen any soap in a while, but that was a rare luxury to find in a caravan anyway.

She washed the accumulated dirt from herself thoroughly, eager to get out of the water quickly. She wasn't hydrophobic; she just didn't think that a person who couldn't swim should be wading through the middle of a river for very long, if at all.

"Hey, Grouse!"

Grouse glanced over her shoulder as she finished wringing out her hair. Piper was making her way to the edge of the river, waving at her leader. "Octave and Ballad were looking for you! Something about a raid!"

Grouse nodded. "Alright, I'll be there in a second! Let me dry off . . ."

Piper waited for Grouse, politely averting her gaze while Grouse dressed. She finished quickly and headed back towards the tree house with Piper. Here, there wasn't a zip line to take them back—they would have to walk.

"Did they find a caravan to raid?" Grouse asked, combing her short hair with her fingers as they walked. Her fringe didn't get in the way of her sight until it got wet; then it hung over her eyes, obscuring her vision. She pushed it aside, irritated when it fell back over her eyes. She huffed and ignored it.

"No," Piper admitted, "but they found something much better! An entire Fire Nation encampment, stocked with battlements and blasting jelly and enough food for a small army! It would really help get us through the winter if we could load up on all of that stuff, not to mention we'd take out a few firebenders and starve whoever they're delivering all this stuff to. There are a few more soldiers than usual, but it shouldn't be a problem."

Grouse nodded. Despite the extra risk, this would be a good haul if they could get it. They might even have soap (and, quite frankly, there were quite a few more kids who could use it other than herself).

"Who spotted it?" Grouse asked as they followed a turn in the trail. "One of the scouts?"

"Yeah," Piper replied. "It was Chime. He told Octave, who told Ballad, who told me to tell you." She smiled sadistically. "I can't wait to get some blood on my blades. It feels like it's been way to long."

Grouse glanced at her companion. She had a strange attitude. Most of the time, she was passive about things, but occasionally she could get a bit… riled up, for lack of better word. One would typically be pretty safe, so long as she didn't have her chain scythe on her. It was good when utilized as a weapon on the battlefield, but otherwise it was better to stay clear. It was impossible to calm her down; she just had to burn out on her own. Grouse hoped she could get her into that mood this time; it would help immensely considering the increase in the enemy.

They reached the tree fort. Finding a pulley to take them up, Grouse and Piper hopped onto the boardwalk. Grouse immediately looked around for Octave and the others. They were already crossing a rope bridge towards her.

Octave had a crossbow strapped to his back along with a quiver full of arrows. He preferred fighting from long distances to close combat—he wasn't exactly skilled in the latter. Chime had an assortment of whistles strapped to his belt; he acted as a scout and third-person view, alerting the group to any change in the enemy. Cricket used her knowledge of chi-blockage to fight. Ballad had his cleaver at the ready and Spunk was adjusting her set of rusty brass knuckles. Beside Grouse, Piper was checking for her chain scythes.

Grouse became more aware of all the blades she had on her person. Cold metal pressed against her ankle, indicating a dagger hidden in her left boot. Three throwing knives were concealed just above each of her wrists, held in place by two narrow bands, ready to be flicked into her hands at a moment's notice. Smellerbee had taught her to always keep a few blades with her just in case of a surprise attack. It had come in handy more than a few times.

"If everyone's ready, we can head out." Grouse announced, eyeing each member of the group. She turned to Chime. "Where did you see the Fire Nation camp?"

Chime shoved his thumb over his shoulder. "Southeast, about a half-mile away from base. Upwind."

Grouse hesitated, but only for a moment. "Only a half-mile? That's way too close. Why didn't we see them before?"

Chime shrugged. "I don't know. They just sort of appeared overnight. They're still setting up, though. I think they're planning an attack on Gaipan or something, because they don't look like they plan on moving any time soon."

Grouse stared at Chime for a moment. They were a half-mile southeast from their standpoint, but Gaipan was more west. They were preparing to attack, but why would they attack their own military outpost? It didn't add up. Maybe they were just here to deliver supplies after all?

"It doesn't matter what they're here for," Grouse said, shaking her head to clear it. "We have to get rid of them before they can do what they came to do. Chime, did you see exactly how many soldiers there were?"

Chime thought for a moment. "Definitely more than usual. I'd say at least thirty, if not a few more. I couldn't get a good look without going into the open. Sorry," he added.

"Don't be sorry," Grouse replied. "I wouldn't want you getting caught just because you were trying to find out exactly how many soldiers there were." She ruffled Chime's unruly hair, a rare half-smile gracing her face for only a moment. "'Sides, we'd be able to take 'em out anyway. Numbers don't matter when you're scum."

She turned to the rest of the Freedom Fighters, her face becoming serious once again. "We'll take two groups; Octave, you lead Cricket, Ballad, and Chime with you. I'll take Piper and Spunk. We can surround them, wait for the right moment, and then attack. Surprise is our best advantage here. They have weapons and numbers, but we have skill and experience. If we can pull them apart, separate them from each other, then we can win. Understood?"

The others nodded. Grouse jerked her head in the direction Chime had pointed earlier. "Then let's go. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

Grouse's narrowed eyes watched as the firebenders finished setting up camp. They should know they wouldn't be staying long, but whether she meant in the forest or in the material world, Grouse wasn't sure.

Around her, her team of Piper and Spunk had spread out, watching the enemy just as intently, waiting for the window of opportunity that could present itself at any moment. Piper seemed to be shaking with the effort of containing herself and remaining unseen. Spunk absentmindedly rubbed at the brass on her knuckles, the detached rust drifting away into the wind.

Across the clearing, Grouse knew Octave had Cricket, Chime and Ballad distributed through the surrounding forest, waiting for her signal.

Below the waiting assassins, the Fire Nation soldiers began to peel away into groups, talking and eating the lunch they didn't have to steal to survive. A particular group lingered near the tree Grouse was situated in. She hoped they couldn't feel the hatred that rolled off of her in waves.

"I can't believe we need all of this ammunition just to fight a few kids." One of them said.

Grouse's breath caught in her throat. She almost lost her grip on the tree bark beneath her. Everything fell into place. The larger number of soldiers, the materials they had, everything: the Fire Nation weren't here to restock Gaipan. They were here to destroy the Freedom Fighters once and for all.

"It's just a rumor, Rohit. There've been a lot of disappearances in this forest. The Earth Kingdom people in Gaipan believe the forest is guarded by the 'spirits of vengeful orphans who lost everything to the fire.'" The soldier made air quotes around his words. "Obviously, it's just going to be some group of earthbenders who think they can stand up to the Fire Nation."

"But that's my point!" Rohit interjected. "If they're just rumors, why go to all this trouble?"

"Hey, quiet down!" Another soldier hushed. "Don't you think we're all wondering the same thing? If you say anything, we'll all get kicked out for sure—might even get sent to prison with all the extra scrutiny Azula's putting us under."

"That's Fire Lord Azula to you, San." A deep voice grumbled; leaves obscured the owner.

San jumped, whirling around. This is our chance, Grouse realized. "General Shu!" San exclaimed. "I-I didn't see you there!"

Grouse raised her hands to cup her mouth. She let out a shrill eagle-hawk cry, alerting the Freedom Fighters that the time had come. It was time to get ride of these scum, these who had contaminated the forest with their evil.

That birdcall was the one warning the soldiers below had before chaos ensued.

Grouse launched herself from her tree, left hand reaching for the dagger concealed in her boot. Piper and Spunk followed suit, Piper wielding her chain scythes and Spunk swinging her fists at the nearest soldiers. Across the clearing, an arrow appeared in the air for a split second before it embedded itself in a firebender's throat. Cricket was seen weaving her way through the soldiers, disarming some and blocking the chi of others. Ballad landed heavily on a firebender's back, stabbing his cleaver into the man's shoulder.

Grouse swung her dagger at Rohit, who backed away quickly. She ducked below a wild shot of fire aimed at her face and slammed her fist into his gut. Rohit gasped for air. Grouse quickly cut off his supply with a slash of her knife.

San and the other firebender recovered from their initial shock and took up coordinated bending stances. San kicked an arc of fire just over Grouse's head while the man beside him punched a fireball at her feet. The girl dove towards them, rolling and leaping back to her feet in one smooth movement. She stabbed her blade deep into San's shoulder before turning and punching his friend hard in the face. The man stumbled backwards, holding his nose as his eyes streamed reflexively. Grouse didn't give the man time to wallow in his agony. She slashed his chest and moved on.

General Shu was nowhere in sight, but ahead of Grouse, Piper was rampaging through the fray, playing with her prey more than she was actually killing them. Grouse always assumed her passion for killing came from her need for revenge. What had happened to her to make Piper develop this aggression eluded her still.

Spunk slammed her fist into a woman's face with enough force to send her reeling. She followed through again and again before leaving the soldier to bleed to death.

Meanwhile, on the far side of the clearing, Ballad was taking on three soldiers with Cricket's aid. Together, they cleaved and jabbed. Their enemies dropped like flysquitoes. Octave picked off firebenders from a distance, his arrows visible for only a moment before they struck their target.

Chime hung back. He didn't usually jump into the fighting unless it was absolutely necessary. He was a scout, the watchful eye that kept lookout from afar. He would alert the others to any immediate danger if they didn't see it.

Grouse pushed her way blindly into the fray, the adrenaline in her veins all-too familiar. It was the first time she'd truly felt alive since everyone else had left.

Three Years Ago

"No matter what happens," Smellerbee said, not looking up at Grouse as she spoke, "remember to never let your guard down."

Grouse gripped her thigh, hissing through gritted teeth as Smellerbee wrapped her calf. The burn looked worse than it felt, which was saying quite a bit considering the amount of pain it was putting the thirteen year-old girl through. However, both the appearance and the feel of the wound were much worse than the reality of the situation, and Grouse knew it would heal with time.

"I didn't mean to," she argued. "She snuck up on me! What was I supposed to do, rotate my head like a weasel-owl?"

Smellerbee's skeptical gaze met Grouse's defiant one. She sighed and finished wrapping the burn. Grouse's whole leg throbbed, but she released the pressure of her grip. "That's not what I meant and you know it." She began to pack the first aid supplies away.

Grouse folded her arms and looked away, discretely squeezing her forearms to take her mind away from the pain in her calf. Of course she knew what Smellerbee meant, but arguing made it easier to come off as victimized. She'd much rather blame her misfortune on some Fire Nation swine than her own fault.

Smellerbee turned back to face the younger girl. She kneeled in front of her, placing a hand bracingly on the knee of Grouse's good leg. Grouse kept herself from looking back at Smellerbee. "Hey, I get it. It's embarrassing when you mess up. But we all do at some point—even me."

Grouse's attention swiveled back to her leader. "'Even you?'" She echoed incredulously. She'd never seen Smellerbee mess up during a fight. She was way too good to get caught from behind.

Smellerbee nodded. "Even me," she confirmed. "And messing up, well, it's the one thing that will help you get better faster than training. It sticks with you because you're embarrassed by it, so it's easier to remember it when you need to."

Grouse had never taken Smellerbee for the philosophical type. That was more Longshot's thing. Maybe she didn't know Smellerbee as well as she thought she did, or maybe Smellerbee just didn't know it herself. Either way, it was good advice.

"Besides," Smellerbee added, bringing Grouse out of her thoughts. "I doubt the others will laugh. They're more concerned about you than anything."

"But I don't want them to worry about me!" Grouse insisted. "I can take care of myself."

"Then show them that." Smellerbee replied evenly. "Keep your guard up, like I said, and train extra hard. You're good with blades, so use that. You could be pretty great, someday."

Grouse smiled at that. "As great as you?"

Smellerbee laughed, ruffling the younger girl's hair. "No one's as good as I am, kid."

Now

That was her first time getting hurt during a fight. Grouse still had a faint scar from the incident, but it had mostly vanished with time. The Fire Nation had had a harder time landing any blows on her after that—up until now, at least.

Grouse sidestepped a blast of fire, but it managed to scrape her right arm. She bit the inside of her cheek and countered with a swipe from her dagger. Hearing someone advancing behind her, Grouse whipped out her throwing knives into her free hand and flicked them behind her, spinning around and watching the blades meet their mark. The attack didn't leave a fatal wound, but the man did get a good knife to the eye.

They had only killed about half of the soldiers by now, and Grouse was starting to see the effects of battle on the others. Piper's rampage had ended a few minutes ago, and the adrenaline rush that came with it was wearing thin. Cricket was having a harder time finding openings to block chi now that the firebenders knew what to look out for. Ballad's cleaver dripped with blood, but he was slow on his feet and wasn't able to dodge as many attacks. Spunk looked more beat up than any of the others, though her fighting style obviously had a part in that. Her brass knuckles left repercussions on her own health as well as on that of the enemy. Blood caked her hands, only half of it from enemy veins. Grouse was glad that her own weapon wasn't as double-edged.

She couldn't spot Octave or Chime. They must have still been in the trees, shooting arrows and observing the battle, respectively. If the Freedom Fighters were going to win this battle, they would need to end it soon.

It troubled Grouse that these Fire Nation had known where to look for the Freedom Fighters in the first place. The tree house was supposed to be a hidden haven for the orphans that had escaped the attacks from the Fire Nation, not a festering antmite nest that the firebenders could find at the edge of their village.

It troubled her more so, however, that they had come based on rumor alone. Normally, the Fire Nation's troops were occupied elsewhere, fighting to take control of the Water Tribes or bullying earthbenders inside their own villages. Had the Fire Nation truly come so far that they could afford to waste troops on stories of ghost orphans in a forest?

Just then, another thing occurred to Grouse, so sobering that she hesitated to stab another soldier. If all of these firebenders vanished into the woods, people would notice. Rumors would become more tangible, easily passed from village to village until the Fire Nation reached a conclusion: there were, in fact, rebels living in the forest beside Gaipan. If they realized that, they would send stronger forces than before to eradicate them.

But it was too late—they'd already initiated an attack. They could either destroy each firebender here or retreat into the woods and warn the others. Retreating had never been an option, and Grouse wasn't going to change that just because she'd made the mistake of attacking in the first place.

Grouse followed through with her attack, forcing the dagger deep into the gut of the attacking soldier then tearing upward, stopping only when the metal struck bone. What could she do? How could she win now? Maybe her weapon wasn't as one sided as she'd initially thought.

Two Years Ago

Longshot didn't talk much, but he had a way with words. Every time Grouse found herself in his company, she discovered she could understand him well enough if she didn't think about it. As soon as she realized it, though, she'd lose the ability to read him and end up frustrated.

"Hey Longshot, have you seen Smellerbee around?" Grouse asked, approaching her older friend. He turned at her voice. He sat at the edge of one of the platforms, feet dangling over the edge. The two were rarely seen outside of each other's company, so Grouse was surprised when he shook his head.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" She asked, sitting down beside him. There was a pause.

"Why do people always do their thinking alone?" Grouse asked, staring up at him. Longshot gave an internal shrug that she saw without realizing. She turned back to face the forest.

"Sneers always says that thinking is for people who can't fight well enough to cover their own skins." Grouse commented. "I don't think he thinks very much."

It was true, Sneers didn't think much. He argued with Smellerbee a lot, though he usually ended up being proven wrong or lost the argument. He liked to believe he was right when even he knew he was wrong. He had that cocky aura about him, not that anyone was going to complain. He was an exceptional scout.

Grouse laughed. "Sometimes he just needs to know when to give up."

Longshot shot her a sidelong glance. Did she really think giving up was the answer? People fought for what they believed in, be it because of pride or heroism. If Sneers gave up every time he was wrong about something, he may as well have never tried in the first place.

"Is that why we fight, Longshot?" Grouse asked, swinging her dangling legs. "Because we're too proud to admit we're wrong?"

Longshot blinked. That wasn't what he'd meant at all! They fought because they knew the Fire Nation had no right to rule over any of the other nations. They fought because the Fire Nation had taken everything else they had, replacing it with the kindling for a rebellion. It was the Fire Nation who fought because they were too proud.

"Oh," Grouse replied. She'd never really considered why they fought. She just knew the Fire Nation was bad and had done a lot of bad things to good people. Good people like herself and Longshot and the other Freedom Fighters. "I should talk to you more often." She smiled, realizing she'd been reading him all along.

But then he glanced at her, and she couldn't see the smile behind his eyes anymore. She was trying again, and the harder she tried the harder it became to read him. Grouse sighed. "Sorry, Longshot. I remembered again."

She knew what he would say, though: he didn't mind. He was understanding and kind and that's what she liked about him. He listened without interruption, because how could he interrupt when he was busy remaining silent?

Now

Grouse couldn't surrender. She had to fight for the orphans in the trees, for everything they had lost to the swine that thought of them similarly. The Freedom Fighters fought because they had to. They fought to survive. They fought because no one else would, so how would giving up help her now?

Her resolve strengthened, Grouse collected her throwing knives again and launched them into the throng of firebenders still standing. The people of the Earth Kingdom would not bow to anyone, especially not the enemy.

Maybe it was her rejuvenated energy infecting them, or maybe it was just her position as leader that egged them on, but the other Freedom Fighters seemed to redouble their efforts along with her, ready to get the last stretch of the battle over and done with.

The firebenders' numbers were dwindling. No serious casualties had been inflicted on their side yet. Grouse was beginning to think they could make it through unscathed.

Then, General Shu emerged from his tent, fully clad in armor and fresh for the battle. So that was where he'd disappeared to. He scanned the clearing for an enemy to annihilate. Grouse decided to give him an even fight: the two heads of each army's body, for lack of better word.

Grouse flicked her remaining throwing knives at the general to catch his attention. They ricocheted off of his armor, alerting him to her advancement. Shu blasted fire in her direction. His aim was notably sharper than most of the other soldiers, as he was of higher rank. She tried not to think about that as she swiped her dagger at his head. He ducked and aimed a fireball at her gut, but Grouse managed to kick off of his chest, offsetting his aim and effectively escaping the blow.

Shu recovered, sweeping at her feet. Grouse jumped, but was unable to fully dodge a strike to her shoulder. Her shoulder burned. She clenched her teeth, landing and scooping up her throwing knives. Holding three in her right hand and her dagger in her left, Grouse's wrist ached with the force she threw the small blades. One embedded itself in Shu's shoulder through a chink in his armor. He shouted something incoherent at her. Grouse had just enough time to dive forward, not landing a damaging blow but managing to cut a strap from his chest plate at the hip. He didn't seem to notice, but during her frantic attack she'd exposed her burned shoulder. Shu elbowed the back of her left shoulder, sending a jolt of electric pain through her arm and down her spine. She grunted, but managed to cut another strap as she went down. Two more.

"I'm going to show you what happens to rebels like yourselves when you mess with the Fire Nation!" General Shu announced, drawing a sword Grouse hadn't noticed before. That was okay with her; she could adjust.

Grouse raised her dagger, ignoring the pain that seared through her upper body at the motion. When Shu brought his blade down, she countered, locking them in a momentary stalemate. "And I'll show you what happens to ash-makers like yourselves that take a step too far into this forest!"

Grouse sidestepped, pulling her dagger away from his and feigning a jab at his thigh. He took it, lowering his sword to protect himself and, in doing so, opening his shoulders. Instead of stabbing at Shu's armored leg, Grouse planted her foot firmly on his blade. She pushed off of it and flipped expertly over his head, cutting the last two straps of his armor. The chest plate fell to the ground with a clatter. Shu looked bewildered for a moment, and a moment only, for that was all the time he had before Grouse aimed to slice open his abdomen.

Shu jumped backwards, just barely escaping damage. He blasted fire at the side of her head, which she dodged easily. She had him on edge now, had him on the defensive. Grouse adjusted her grip on the dagger and lashed out again. He parried the attack with his own sword. She stabbed again and he blocked.

They continued this rhythm, jabbing and blocking and dodging. Both Shu and Grouse were beginning to tire. Sweat ran down the back of her neck, cold against her skin. Around them, the others were beginning to finish the soldiers off. Even Octave had emerged to collect his arrows, deeming it safe enough to get closer. They were actually going to do it. The nations would be rid of even more firebenders, making innocent lives everywhere easier. Grouse didn't have time to think of the repercussions now—she had a fight to end.

Grouse spun to the right, kicking Shu right behind the knees. He staggered. As he fell forward, Grouse thrust out her knife. His shout was cut off, made silent by the blade in his neck. Grouse removed her knife as well as her support, and Shu crumpled to the ground. He choked and gurgled until his ragged breathing cut off. The general was dead.

Grouse took a step forward, checking for a pulse. Nothing. General Shu, important in the Fire Nation's eyes, was just another leaf on a poisoned tree. His death would mean nothing to her. She stepped back, turning away and observing the remaining fighters. Only three firebenders left.

Spunk and Cricket had teamed up on one. Spunk slammed her damaged fist into his jaw. The soldier spat out blood and teeth. Cricket sneaked a jab under each of his arms, and they fell limp. Spunk bashed his skull in with a final blow.

Ballad and Piper took on another one, blades flashing as quickly as though they hadn't been fighting for nearly half an hour. The firebender parried and dodged some, but most of the attacks landed and, soon enough, the soldier was dead.

They could take care of the last one. Grouse turned back to Shu's body again, checking his pockets for anything useful. His blade lay beside him. It was a nice one, polished and hardly dented. Her attacks had left a few scratches, but no blade was perfect. Smellerbee had taught her how to test the durability of a sword, but she could take care of that later. Grouse would take this one to Smellerbee's rack, one of the few things that remained of the previous leader.

Then, a high, sharp sound pierced her ears. The ringing it left in her ears distracted her. What was that? It sounded like . . .

Moments later, a new sound echoed around the clearing—the sound of a drawn blade leaving its sheath. It was not a familiar sound, at least not one that came from the others.

The hairs on the back of Grouse's neck rose and she turned just in time to see the enemy blade meet its mark.