A: Holy crap! That's a lot of reviews for the first chapter! Yeah! You guys loved it! Awesome! Ok, so enough of the whole ! thing lol. So, here is the next chapter, I've been editing and working on my other stories, so sorry if this is kinda short...hope you enjoy and hey, keep those reviews coming. You have no idea how much your words help me continue writing! Thanks guys!

Katara's Point of View:


Blood. Everywhere I turned, blood invaded my vision. Bodies, marred by the horrors of war scattered about the porch and the yard before the plantation home. The battlefield, which, at one point was land to be cropped, now coated with the bodies of the dead. Blue and red littered the land, bandages wrapped round wounds and tattered clothes laid a strung round them. Moans filled my ears, screams that held horrors I couldn't even begin to imagine, roared from time to time as I and the other slaves of the household tended to their wounds. War was wretched thing, but, at times a necessary course of action ever so often. Is it necessary perhaps now? I don't know the answer, but I do know that I wish it would have occurred elsewhere.

I remember when I accompanied the master and his children to Charles Town, in the same meeting of the town council, that my master had made an evident point. I remember Lee saying, that his father warned, "This war will not be fought on the frontier or on some distant battlefield, but amongst us, our homes. Our children will learn of it with their own eyes and the innocent will die with the rest of us."

Even now, as I recall those words, I feel bile rising up my throat as I wipe the sweat from my brow, desperately wishing for a fan. I need a break, and so, lazily I lean against the house, fanning myself with my hand as I gaze out at the destruction, the devastation, and the horror of the scene before me. The children finished with their attentions, single file into the house, to wash their bodies of the sweat and blood that coat their skin. To rid the grunge caked beneath their finger nails and to change out of their soiled clothing. We had done all that we could, those who were savable we brought up from the battle grounds to the house. Those who were unable to save, we left to die a lonely death. The children as well as myself, were virgins to war, but the master and Zuko, they had witnessed such happenings first hand and were able to keep a cool about them that I found rather hard to accomplish. But I reminded myself, it was for the children, I had to be strong, for the children. I, who was like a second mother to them, could not cry, could not allow my resolve to burst…not now, not ever.

I watch for a moment as I note Zuko exiting the house, buttoning up his tunic. His eyes surveyed the wounded, noting that both sides had ample of soldiers down and tried to stray from the red coats. I saw his gaze flicker my way and could help but wipe the sweat the continued to collect across my brow. Blood smeared my face. My hands, soaked. As if I dipped them in a pool of blood. My dress, marred and tattered, coated with blood and other bodily fluids from these dying soldiers. How unattractive I must look right now. But, instead of giving me a disgusted look, he merely nods to me, a smile on his lips. And as swiftly as he came, he left, approaching his father to discuss matters.

Turning my attention elsewhere, I begin to see red seeping from the crop lines, like blood rushing out of a freshly opened wound. Soldiers, red coats were moving in on the plantation, and for some reason, I could feel my heart plummeting to the pit of my stomach. Slowly, I push myself off the wall of the house, straightening out my dress somewhat and begin to attend to the wounded once more. I hated soldiers, especially the red coats. They believed that all those who were of the American colonies were separatists to the crown and deemed them the enemy…even if they truly supported King Ozai. A friend, Jin, who was a slave for a family south of here was raped and killed because she was, 'American,' as they are calling us now. Not because of the color of her skin, but because of the nation she lived in. Though, America wasn't even a fully realized nation. It was weak, a child, newly born into the world of nations ten times its age with a birthing government and idealists. It wasn't America, not yet. Not until after this war and not until after it began to buckle down and begin an order. Until then, it was just a dream, an idea…nothing more. What is ink and parchment if all else has failed? Simply words.

"Thank you for tending to his majesty's soldiers," I heard a voice stated. Looking behind me, I noted a red coat, a captain if you will, speaking to the master, his eyes roaming over Zuko's features for a moment or two. Master Jyro simply nodded as the captain turned away, ordering his men to gather their wounded and leave the rebel wounded be. An honorable thing to do, one of the very few that I have heard of. So far in this war, there has been nothing but merciless killings, leaving no prisoners behind. All who fell victim to the enemy, died.

Suddenly, the earth began to rumble, the whining and grunting of horses reached my ears and I noted that the already pale captain, blanched at the site. His lips that drew a thin line parted as he held his breath, his eyes sweeping from my master to every wounded man on the plantation. I noted that the other slaves halted in their attentions to the soldiers, standing to watch as these men on horses road closer until they were literally only a few meters away from the front porch. A man with fine black hair, sat proud and tall atop his mighty steed. His narrow beaded eyes bore holes into everything his eyes grazed over. His snout looked like it would spew poison and his nose scrunched up in disgust. Everything about him screamed terror, I didn't like him and soon, I would hate him.

"Lieutenant, have our men take our wounded to our surgeons in Winsbrook," his voice was hard and cold, sending chills up my spine.

"Yes sir," a petty voice responded, but I couldn't seem to locate the owner. I was too focused on this man. On what he was going to order next to truly care.

The man, who I assume was in charge continued, his eyes wavering over the plantation, "Fire the house and barns," his sick, condescending tone echoed in my ears, "let it be known if you harbor the enemy," his stared into master Jyro's eyes, "you will lose your home." A sick smirk plastered his lips, one that I would have gladly liked to slap off. He quickly turned his attention to several slaves that had gathered together to watch the sight and for the first time, I felt my heart breaking by his words, "By standing order of his majesty King Ozai, any and all slaves of the American Colonies who fight for the crown, will be granted their freedom with our victory," I watched as William, my closest friend slowly stepped out from the group, his pleading eyes glancing towards me before glancing over at the master.

"Sir, we're not slaves, we work this land," a smile graced my lips as I heard his attempt to stay, "as freed men," several soldiers burrowed past him, causing him to lose thought for a single moment, giving the arrogant bastard on the horse the opportunity to speak.

His tongue clicked, slithering like a serpent's, "Well if you freed men will have the opportunity and the privilege to serve in the king's army," he spat out, his tone getting colder with each word. I watched as William and the others looked to master Jyro for instruction, but saw that he only nodded his head, giving them the direction they were forced to see. William swallowed hard, giving me a look filled with sorrow as soldiers began to round him and the others up. It was true what William had said. We were freed slaves, treated as equals here by our master, who I still called master due to force of habit. We were told that if we did not wish to work the land, tend to the family and enjoy the company of a few white folk, that we were more than welcomed to part. But the thing was, we knew we wouldn't find such freedom much elsewhere and, the Martin family had grown on all of us, because we were practically raised by Jyro and his wife. Most of us slaves, well, freed workers who were under twenty years of age. There were a few who were above the mark, who had helped raise us younger ones, but not many. The Martin's were like family, and family stuck together.

I felt a breeze of wind rush past me as a soldier exited the home and quickly my thoughts rushed to the children. How had he gone past me without me even taking note of him? In his hands was a leather satchel, inside several parchments that Zuko was carrying with him last night. Dispatches. He was a dispatch rider and had only stopped by the plantation due to his impending wounds.

"Dispatches sir," the soldier handed the leather satchel to the man mounting the horse and I immediately saw both Zuko and Jyro stiffen as he tore through the dispatches. His face became contorted with anger and I knew, I knew that something terrible was bound to happen.

He looked around, his eyes meeting almost everyone of us as his horse seemed to approached the house inch by inch, "Who carried this?" he asked almost in a normal tone. But when no one answered his question, he thrust the dispatches into the air, his voice rising wildly, "Who carried this?"

Zuko cleared his throat, my mind raced as I began to approach him, "I did sir," he pressed his way through his siblings and father, walking down the steps closer towards the horseman. I noted the way he looked at Zuko, astounded that a rebel would give himself up willingly, "I was wounded," Zuko began, gesturing back towards us, "these people gave me care. They have nothing to do with the dispatches."

My hearts suddenly sank as I realized what would happen next and I found myself wrapping my arms around the children, holding them close to me. Jyro slowly approached Zuko, but not too noticeably.

"Take this one to camp," the horseman handed the dispatches back to the soldier who presented them to him in the first place, and continued, "he's a spy. Hang him and put his body on display," I suddenly felt the bile return to my throat, threatening to escape as I heard the words leave the horseman's lips. I saw Zuko stiffen and could only imagine his facial features when he too heard the words just spoken.

Jyro, so willing to save his son's life brazen in his efforts, stepped forth, "He's a dispatched rider and that's a marked case," Jyro tried to reason as the red coats began to bind Zuko's hands with rope.

"Dispose of the livestock, save the horses for the Calvary," the man ignored Jyro's plea and began patting his horse's neck.

"Colonel," Jyro turned to his son, trying to hold him place to keep the soldiers from taking him, "this is a uniformed dispatch rider and that is a marked case," he turned to the horseman, approaching him, "he cannot be held as a spy."

The man's face contorted into a smirk as he looked down at Jyro, "We're not going to hold him," he began, a since of wicked humor on his tongue, "we're going to hang him."

"Colonel," Jyro began once more but was cut off by Zuko's disgruntled, 'Father.'

The horseman caught on quickly and gave and amusing glance between father and son, "Oh, I see," I felt my heart being ripped apart as I watched helplessly with the children clung to me for all that was in them, "he's your son. Well perhaps you should have taught him something about loyalty," I cringed, Zuko was loyal, loyal to a cause he believed to be true and just.

Jyro's voice broke my thoughts, "Colonel, I beg of you," I watched as he gazed up at the soldier, mounted studiously on his steed, "by the rules of war—"

Suddenly, the cocking of a hammer rang in my ears and the soldier snapped back harshly, cutting Jyro off, "By the rules of war," he pulled his pistol, aiming it at Jyro's chest, "would you like me to teach you a lesson on the rules of war?" it was a rhetorical question, but I watched as his gaze flickered towards me and the children, "Or perhaps your children might," he suggested and I found myself pulling back gasping children, forcing them behind me, ready to take the first bullet.

Jyro rushed to our aid, holding his arms up in the air, Zuko struggled in his confines and I felt the children tighten their grasp on my skirt, "None of this is necessary," Jyro declared.

The horseman merely smirked at us before pulling back his pistol, gesturing for the soldiers to take Zuko away. I felt relief that he did not follow through with his empty threat, but felt my mind and heart screaming in agony as I watched them drag Zuko away.

Jyro turned to us, whispering softly as he tried to come up with some sort of plan that would free Zuko, "Father," Lee whined, "do something!" his voice was harsh as he desperately glanced back between his brother and Jyro.

"Be quite," Jyro snapped as he tried to continue thinking.

I watched as they bound Zuko to the wagon, tightening the ropes round his hands even more. I cringed as I watched them pull with such force that he hissed in pain as blood began to draw. But something else had my heart racing and it was too late to stop. Lee, out of the corner of my eye bolted from the porch, his body screaming with action as he yelled, slamming into one of the soldiers, knocking him away from Zuko, "Zuko!" he yelled, "RUN!" But it was far too late for Zuko to run. One soldier still had a hold of him, while the ropes still bounded him to the wagon.

Jyro turned in time to begin to sprint towards his son, "Lee!" he yelled, "Lee!" and as if all else blurred away, he yelled with such sunder that I felt my heart stop, "Wait!" I watched in sheer horror as the horseman drew his pistol, everything seemed to happen in slow motion and heard the hammer of the pistol slam back into place. The bullet firing from the barrel and imbedding itself into Lee's back. I watched, as Lee bucked at the impact, sinking in a disgraceful heap onto the ground.

"LEE!" Zuko yelled as the wagon began to move, forcefully pulling Zuko with it. He struggled and screamed as he looked back at his brother's corpse, now cradled in Jyro's arms, tears streaming down his pale face. I ran as fast as my feet could carry me to Lee's body, dropping myself on my knees, taking his head from his father's hands and placing it in my lap. He was suddenly so pale, his body felt so cold and he began to sake with such fury that I bit my lip in fear, waiting for death to take him. His golden orbs, once so lively and full were slowly beginning to dull as he stared blankly up at the autumn leaves dangling off the branches over head and I felt the tears drowned against my blood covered face. His grip on my arm that cradled the back of his head slackened, and in the matter of seconds, Lee was dead.

"Stupid boy," I heard that disdainful voice call out and I couldn't help but glare up at him with all the hatred I could muster, "take the slave. She'll serve with the surgeons back at camp." He ordered and I felt two sets of strong hands latch onto my arms, pulling me away from Lee, from Jyro, from the children.

Their screams filled my ears as I was dragged away, taken to the same cart in which Zuko had been tied to and found my hands also bound just as he. Our eyes met, reflecting the loathing passion that began to muster in the pit of our souls. Tears stained our marred features, running salty trails down our faces. Cries from the children grip our hearts, forcing us to turn back, only to feel our hearts sinking as there is nothing we can do. Lee is gone, dead. Lost to us forever, all in the effort of trying to save his brother from such said fate and now, he was the one who paid the price. It is here, now, at this very moment as I watch Lee's lifeless corpse lying there in the dust, that I vow to avenge him in any way that I can. A promise, I shall not soon forget.


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