Korra slumped comfortably against the wall of her room, one ear pressed lazily against the door seperating herself from the hallway to the rest of the house.
The humming started out soft, almost a hushed whisper against the quiet surrounding them. It gradually grew louder, passively overpowering the soft gurgles of a baby Rohan in his mothers arms. Pema continued her hums gracefully, shifting from the highs and lows of curved octaves, as if telling a story. Sweet, fluffly stories made up of imagined pastels and bright bursts of light. They echoed in gentle vibration down and through the hallway, like a verbal imagery of dandelion wisps in a summer breeze.
This routine, to eavesdrop on the air acolytes motherly routine, was almost habitual to the Avatar. The dessert to conclude the comfort of home-cooked meals surrounded by a family now pretty much her own. She closed her eyes and breathed softly, harmonious to the melodic tales falling from the woman's lips. It undoubtely rang of a voice only a mother could produce.
And as it slowly fell to the floor and creeped from under the crack of Korra's door, she shifted once, moving both arms to wrap around herself in relief. The song wiped her mind clean of burdening duties, of war, of nightmares that still managed to sneak up on Korra's confidence in the middle of the night. But this- It was a cradle in a lullaby, rocking gently and cooing reassuringly against the harsh criticism of everyday responsibility.
A soft smile grazed her lips as she found herself dozing, in synch with Rohan, who had stopped his tiny cries to bury his head against his mother's bosom, letting the faint heartbeat of his protection guide him to slumber. Or at least, that's how Korra imagined it- how she imagined when she herself was young enough to experience that nurturing bliss, before the life of the Avatar replaced it all.
The personal memories of humble times in the South Pole lingered; her mom, and dad, and a closeness she never gave thought to of as much, until witnessing those exclusive moments when Pema spent time with any of her children. Sometimes, even Tenzin, too.
Endearing.
That's the feeling that overwhelmed her, as she lie crumpled in a ball, reminiscing and remaining hidden behind the confines of her walls. The feeling that washed away the aches and bruises of a foreign adulthood.
It was Korra's favorite part of the day right before sleep, an indirect intimacy that let her adore from afar. Every night, following those moments, she'd curl under her covers, leaning against Naga and recite the hum for them both.
Sleep wasn't always a peaceful routine for the Avatar, but any refuge that saved her from crying herself to sleep at night, was something to hold onto.
On special nights, long after sleep had taken hold of the reigns, she dreams of years ago, when she was just a babbling baby, too- and somewhere, barely visible above her.. a transparent face—friendly, familiar—with unmistakable blue tattoos receding over his head, smiles down at her, humming a song that guides her to sweet dreams . .