The cold bitter wind stung Korras face as she walked by the waters' edge. She was home. The scents, the sounds, the cold were key indications if this, but it did not feel like home. Her mother's hearth emitted a constant warms to battle the chill, but not energy was obtained. The ocean gave a bountiful harvest of fish and sea slugs ripe for native water tribe dishes yet gave no intimation of friendship. The ice was the only stable quantity in her life; earth had lost all meaning of strength.

When avatar Aang started his training at the age of eleven, he had full understanding of air. Korra at sixteen years of age was starting from complete scratch. With a minimal understanding of her last remaining element, the future certainly did seem bleak. There was no reason to suspect any further violent action by citizens of otherwise, so she had more than a half year to complete the task, but truly what was left? Her entire identity had been wrapped up with concept of what the Avatar should be, and she had fit the role so well, but it was gone now. She was gelatin removed from the mold, no definite structure, or stability. Herself image had irreparably changed; the hard tough plastic shell was gone. What can a clam, an oyster, call itself without its outer casing? Is a human still human without its skin? Would money still be money if it was printed and not minted?