Of course she had to help. Who couldn't, when children suffered and their parents and families lay dying? But how could she heal when these people were born and bred to hate waterbenders? They would not accept healing from Katara as she was, no matter the new clothes and hair.
She saw the statue in Shu's stall when they had wandered to buy some food. While she hadn't recognized it (a child of Water cannot be expected to know the legend and lore of Fire) she did understand why it was polished and looking worn. Little hands had cuddled it close to whisper their wishes and prayers, the statuette's casa shiny with the oil from hands and cloth alike. People looked to it as would to a saviour, a hero.
The cloak was easily bartered for and the gossamer mesh to hide her face a cleaned piece of long unused net (why even bother eating when the poison would kill you anyway?) Paint and dye ran expensively high, far out of Katara's immediate reach.
Berries.
Farther from the poisoned river, where its unclean reach could not taint life, she had happened upon a thicket of them. Searching for a more suitable food than the disgusting fish. Blue and not yet ripened green, purple for Appa, as she would need time and it was an easy excuse, but red was the color she needed. (Red for blood red for the firelands)Mixing it was simple after the others retired for the night, Aang close to Appa's side and half buried in the fur with worry . Katara was sorry she made them worry and but Sokka didn't understand the need she felt curl in her stomach, fretting and demanding to assist however she could.
Applied by Yue's light, she shivered and streaked herself with the wet stickiness, hands easily cleaned with purified water. Fog conjured out of vague amusing whim to be mysterious, and also to mask her identity.
The children first, those skinny and thin from malnutriton were given food, the others who were pained and scarred glowed faintly under her healing light. She smiled under the guise when the small boy with his wounded shoulder thanked her, thinking, children of Water and children of Fire are not that different.
---
When word reached the palace of a Painted Lady sighting by soldiers who claimed that they were ambushed and attacked in their own factory, Zuko could not but hide an amused smile. Who believed in the foolish tales of children?
Azula had quirked an elegant eyebrow and murmured to those immediately around her, "I always hated those stories, saving a conquered and beaten people, bah. Just like that Azure Phantom."
"Blue spirit," Zuko immediately corrected, imagining himself cloaked in shadows