I disclaim.
Aang had to understand fire.
Fire was the blood that dripped into silk and velvet as it steered around him, blinded him, and breathed into his lungs and eyes. It direly spoke of life and in the process he was not afraid, or rattled, or alarmed of it while it imprinted itself into meaning and past lives.
Momentarily, he forgot about his companion and gave the flames permission to write themselves into his vision. So much beauty this was, just right after a stunning dance, and maybe he could still feel the remnants of caution in his veins but they washed around him and over him and away from him in tides until he could blink again. He was struck by color and by light. It crumbled into his heart and in his bones, before crumbling right before his eyes and leaving so much of a lesson.
He understood.
Life fueled out of him. It tingled with faith, and a few flames like notes flickered in the air – like a reminder to still be safe – and rode under the Avatar's power.