"You're sure you want to do this, bro?" Bolin chewed the inside of his cheek nervously, watching his brother packing some supplies. "You don't know what you're going to find," he swallowed back the unspoken thought he was trying to convey; that Mako would only find a headstone with Korra's name on it in his search for her. Bolin leant against the wall of their room in the underground bunker the White Lotus had set up underneath Republic City; a safezone for benders.

Mako gave a breath, stuffing clothes and dried food supplies into the leather pack he planned to take with him. "I'm going to find her, Bolin," he glanced to his brother, tugging the pack from the cot he had slept on for the past two years. "And I'm going to bring her back. I'm tired of living like this."

Bolin stared at his brother with indecisive green eyes. "I want to come with you," he stated simply.

Mako drew closer to Bolin and landed a hand on his shoulder, "I know you do," he replied, giving a weak smile, "But you're safest here," he pointed out simply.

Bolin suddenly swatted Mako's hand away. "I'm better now, Mako," he snapped stubbornly, "I've been better for a year now," he reminded his brother, his eyes showing cold determination in them. Mako just stared back with an equally stubborn look on his face.

Mako knew all too well how long Bolin had been better - he also knew how long it had taken for Bolin to get to that point. Bolin had spent six months in a coma, unable to feed himself, unable to breathe on his own, with countless procedures to correct damage done by his messy collision with Yue Bay from the sky above. There had been eight months after that in which Bolin had had to learn all over again how to walk. Yes, he was better now, and he could even bend now, as good as he had before the fall of Republic City, but he wasn't going to risk any danger to his little brother again.

Mako drew a long breath. "You can't come with me," he answered huskily, and then sucked Bolin into a hug that caught him off guard. Mako gripped him tightly, squeezing his eyes shut and patting his brother's back. "I'll be back," he promised solemnly.

Bolin grabbed hold of his brother, hugging back. "You'd better be," he exhaled a shaky breath.

The brothers released one another and finished their man-hug with sharp smacks on the others' shoulder - which was supposed to reassure manliness called into question by hugging, one would assume. Mako grabbed his coat and scarf from the rack by the door and shot his brother a hopeful smile.

"I'm going to find her," he repeated adamantly.

Bolin didn't have the heart to negate this. "Good luck."

And Mako disappeared.

It had been four months since the start of his search. Mako was tired already; tired of towns that hadn't seen, didn't know, weren't sure. Tired of people who said 'if you find her' instead of 'when you find her' in their messages to send to the long-missing Avatar. Most of the messages were unkind, and he didn't intend to carry them. Still, he traveled on, ignoring the cities; Korra wouldn't go to a city. Hell, she probably wouldn't go by her own name anymore. She'd be in the country - some quiet place she could get away from the past.

Selfish bitch that she was.

He trekked on foot for the most part, sometimes hopping carts where it suited him. Mako wandered over hills and through valleys, stopping in each town and asking not if they had seen the Avatar, but if they had seen a girl of about nineteen or twenty, with dark hair and bright eyes, muscular in built, about yay-high. A lot of it was guesswork; he could only assume Korra hadn't grown in height, as he probably had. He wondered what the years might have done to her; if she was still strong, still confident. Much as it hurt to do so, he doubted she was still as lively and vivacious as she had been in those nights they'd spent together, all that time ago.

All he really knew was that Naga would be with her. So his search took him to towns where farmers resided; people with plenty of land and a stable for a polar-bear dog to live in. Most of the countryfolk were cold to a city boy wandering around in search of his missing other half - he didn't see the point in elaborating when they made this assumption - but occasionally, one would show him enough kindness to put food in his belly and a pillow under his head.

He took money to carry messages and packages north - the direction in which he had decided to travel - but this tender was rarely enough to carry him through. He made money every so often at the various taverns he passed through; cheating at cards for money. Mako never stayed in one place long enough for this to get him into trouble. Initially, he had picked up little knickknacks along the way that he'd though Korra might like when he found her; this kept the idea of her alive in his mind. Eventually he discarded these items, when he was reminded of her selfish flight.

But he didn't really think he could blame her for leaving. It couldn't have been easy to become the first non-bending Avatar at seventeen, losing all her trained bending, everything she'd worked at since age six. Mako didn't think he'd have known what to do with himself either, bar for flee. But still; why hadn't she at least said goodbye?

Mako cursed himself; he knew exactly why she hadn't said goodbye.

'This is all your fault! You did this!' he remembered screaming in her face, the cloth of her shirt clenched in his hands. And her eyes, terrified, lost, staring at him, brimming with tears. His own face had been already streaked with tears - he had been horrified at the idea of losing Bolin - and he hadn't seen anything in her but a stupid, reckless idiot. He'd wanted to hit her, to hurt her. Mako had truly blamed her for Bolin's death.

Mako thought of all this while sat at a bar in a small, one-ostrich-horse town in the northwest corner of the United Republic, a glass of amber liquid - he didn't truly know the name of his liqueur - in one hand and the side of his face in the other, elbows on the bar before him. He swirled the drink in the glass, rolling its bottom along the wood of the bar absently.

"Top up, son?" the bartender asked, the bottle of the drink in hand.

Mako didn't look up - only having caught sight of the man in his peripheral vision - and gave a sharp nod. "Thanks," he said, extending his glass to the barman. His glass was filled and he pulled it back, taking a sip of it. The sip turned into a guzzle, and he poured it down his throat, before wincing at its bitterness and putting the glass down.

The barman smiled wanly as Mako laid down his payment.

"You haven't seen a water tribe girl around here, have you?" he asked in a plain tone - he'd asked this too many times and had too many answers to really inflect when he spoke. "She's about twenty. Thin, muscular, five seven or five eight; bright blue-green eyes?" Mako glanced up, and caught a warmth in the barkeepers face that he likened to that of Hiroshi Sato - before he turned out to be a scum-sucking equalist. Hesitantly, Mako added, "She's traveling with a polar-bear dog."

The barman shook his head briefly, taking Mako's glass and running it under water from a tap set in the bar, before setting about polishing it with a cloth. "Sorry, son. None like that around this town," he answered ruefully. "You should check the outlying farms though; a lot of travelers can find work, food and shelter while passing through," he gestured vaguely around the air.

Mako had heard this from a few people - farms were apparently a hot zone for people on the move. He had stopped into a few farms too, but there were just too many in these country parts of the world to check them all. The idea that he might have passed by Korra while traveling twisted his gut. But he was sure she was still to be found; forward, not back. He wanted to think that his chances of finding her went up with each step he took away from Republic City.

"Thanks anyway," he gave a brief wave, tucked his hands into his pockets and turned out of the bar. He moved between the tables and chattering patrons toward the door. Women hung on their men, and men nuzzled at their women, while playing cards and drinking with their friends. There was much ado and Mako missed sitting in ice cream parlors with Bolin, Asami and Korra, watching as Korra squirmed each time Asami snuggled up to him.

He stepped out into the cool night air and adjusted his pack on his shoulder, glancing north. Mako fixed his eyes on two large mountains in the distance; he had been able to see them for the past two months of his travels, and they seemed to move further away as he moved toward them. Kind of like Korra. No. He'd find her. He had to bring her back to Republic City.

"Wake up," Mako said roughly, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes fixed on where Korra lay on a lumpy cot the White Lotus had been able to afford her.

Korra jumped where she had been asleep, straight into a sitting position, eyes wild for a moment before they fixed on him and she calmed herself, still staring that insufferably confused stare. She blinked at him, bewildered for a second, before she drew a breath and prepared herself for the hate he usually dished out for her.

Mako grabbed the blanket and pulled it away from her; she didn't protest, even though it was cold. She turned and dropped her feet off the bed. "Get up," he whacked her in the arm with the back of his hand, and stepped aside for her to get up. "The sentries want to talk to you."

Korra drew another long breath and pushed herself up to her feet, grabbing her clothes from the hook on the wall, pulling them on over her underwear. She said nothing - when and if she spoke, he'd have fuel to blast hatred at her. She resigned herself to dealing with it now. Mako tossed the blanket back over the bed and turned to watch her pulling her boots on.

"Were you planning on sleeping through the next apocalypse?" he snorted a breath of fire, "For all the good you were in the last one," he added coldly.

Korra hung her shoulders and walked away from him, as if she were ignoring him.

Mako grabbed her by the arm and swung her around. She didn't meet his gaze. He hated that. He wanted to smack that stupid 'woe-is-me' act out of her. She had no idea what real pain was. What it was like to lose the most important person in the world to you, your home, and your freedom in one night. Korra just didn't get it.

Mako exhaled heavily, raising his hand to touch his fingers to his temple. He couldn't believe how cruel he'd been. Of course she'd understood. Korra had probably understood more than he had; he'd been caught up in his grief over Bolin, and he taken it out on her, like she needed anything extra to hurt over. She'd lost her bending, lost the city to Amon - by all accounts, failed as an Avatar - and all he had been able to think to do was kick her while she was down.

Mako found rest at an inn and slept. He dreamt of fires climbing Republic City's skyscrapers - licking away at the Pro-Bending arena, the only home he'd known in forever. He dreamt of Bolin falling toward the burning war zone. He dreamt of Korra disappearing into the darkness. When he woke, he paid for the room and set off toward the retreating mountains.

He wondered what Bolin would say. Bolin, who usually did the crazy things that made him have to talk sense into him. Mako was sure setting off on a journey across the United Republic to find Korra was the stupidest, craziest thing he'd ever done. And yet, he was sure he could spend the next five years looking for her and still not regret it, as tired as he was.

"Scuse me, my good man!" a call came across the morning air.

Mako turned his head toward the voice - he saw a middle-aged man standing to the side of the road with a pull-cart and ostrich-horse, grinning at him in a way that made the firebender assume he thought he could finesse him into buying something he didn't need. Mako had seen this look a hundred times on a hundred faces growing up in the city, and wasn't going to fall for whatever this guy's ploy was.

"You look like a man who could make good use of some firewood!" he gestured to his cart, where Mako's eyes picked out a layer of woodcuts in the bottom of the cart.

Mako raised a hand and waved at the air. "I'm traveling, sorry," he answered plainly.

The man threw his hands up, "Well, wood for a campfire!" he exclaimed at a chirp.

Mako rolled his eyes. "No thanks," he responded dully, continuing away from the man.

The man gave a dusty laugh. "Best wood in all United Republic, ya know - you can ask anyone down at the Outer Ring Market!" he jabbed a pointing finger in Mako's direction.

Mako glanced over his shoulder, brows furrowing, his intrigue piqued. He wasn't knowledgeable on farmer-speak, but this Outer Ring Market sounded like a place chock full of farmers he could ask about any traveling water tribe girls with polar-bear dogs. "Where's this Outer Ring Market?" he asked bluntly, stopping and turning back to face the man.

The wood salesman crossed his arms over his chest, face screwing up indignantly. "What are ya in the market for, city boy?" he returned irritably, obviously being able to tell Mako as a city person by his blunt, mannerless, no-time-to-chat attitude.

Mako drew nearer. "Information. I'm looking for someone."

The salesman scoffed. "Gettin' information from farmers is like getting water from stones," he shook his head with a short laugh. "They value their privacy; some say that's why they buy land, to keep people away from them," he whipped the air with a hand, before reaching up and rubbing his sweaty brow. "But, if you really think farmers is yer best bet for finding this someone, it's North-East of here," he pointed north-east.

Mako looked in the direction the man was pointing - he could see what looked like a town in the distance.

"There it is; you can see it from here," the man exclaimed, in a 'how about that' fashion.

The firebender drew out some money and extended it to the man, who waved his hands, denying it.

"I can't take money for nothin', son; goes against country propriety."

Mako smiled wanly. "Where I'm from, we pay for information."

The man gave a chuckle, took the money and wished him well. Mako set off toward the market.

The sun was burning bright - Mako found this was the only thing that kept him from missing city life. Out here, with hicks and idiots a dime-a-dozen, Mako had to keep his mind fixated on the good things around him; the bright sun, the fresh air (though it had taken a while to get used to air that didn't taste like satomobile exhaust fumes), the green grass, etc. Usually these were cancelled out by the irritation caused by bust after bust in his search, but today he felt pretty good; he'd make serious progress at this market.

The walk toward the market was downhill, for the most part, and he could see it up ahead, with the fields and outlying farms surrounding. There was a lake, what looked like three or four miles out from the town, gleaming under the sun. From his angle, he could see it only as a sheet of bright white, jumping out from its grassy surroundings. The town itself was mostly hand-built buildings, rather than the amazing machine-assisted architecture he was used to, and it looked like the town folk had made the effort to spiff the buildings up with colorful paints of pastel greens, blues, yellows and pinks. Place looked like a dump.

Still, there were many people around, nearing two or three hundred country-looking men, some with herding dog-lions, some with women at their sides. Mako didn't see any of them in water tribe colors - nobody that jumped out with any kind of big personality like he always expected Korra would. That didn't mean it was a bust already; she wouldn't be wearing water tribe colors, and she probably stayed pretty quiet nowadays.

What had looked like a town from afar was actually just a series of buildings where things were being sold, with living accommodations above the stores. Mako could guess that the norm was for farmers to bring their goods to the market for the hagglers to sell and take a cut of, and then for the salesmen to give the farmers their money. It seemed like a special day - not as though this place was generally so busy. He entered the town from the south gate, where he looked up a long street-like expanse with goods stores on either side. One store sold maize, and another tomatoes, and so on, and so on.

Farmers in blues, reds and greens milled around the place, buying things by the load and making arrangements to collect them in carts later on.

Mako approached the first store on the right; where a man selling potatoes in sacks was chatting to two similarly attired farmers. He waited until the man was finished talking to the farmers, and they moved off, to make his presence known by clearing his throat. The potato salesman approached, putting hands on his hips.

"Can I help ya?" he asked, smiling warily. He looked to be about forty, thin and hunched.

Mako gave a token smile - this usually made people more likely to help him - and drew a breath. "I'm looking for someone; are you familiar with most of the people here?" he glanced around, scanning the surrounding area.

The salesman arched a brow. "Most'a them, sure," he gave a quick nod, "Who ya looking for?"

Mako tucked his hands into his pockets. "A water tribe girl. She's about twenty," he said slowly, his eyes searching the crowd. None of the women here - what few there were - looked like they even remembered twenty. He felt a sharp pain in his chest at the idea of another bust.

"Ah … you might be lookin' for …" the salesman began at a drawl, "a farmers daughter, mayhap?" he leant toward Mako, his voice tilting toward some kind of innuendo.

"No," Mako answered sharply, "She's a traveler. She'd have come to the area around two years ago," he added hopefully.

The salesman breathed out thoughtfully, "Hmm," he licked his lips, reaching up and scratching his head. "Well, I know some-a the farmers around here offer work to travelin' folk, but I never known anyone to keep one about the place," he waved at the air, as if farmers could possibly just keep a traveler in some corner, as decoration of some sort.

Mako exhaled, exasperated. "Thanks anyway," he turned away from the man.

"But I know Old Chung has someone up there working for him," the man called after him.

Mako arched a brow, his expression skeptical. He looked back over his shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"Old Chung," the man raised a sage finger, "Old fella, used to be a top-notch wheat farmer around these parts, but his back gone a long time ago. Used to not come down here anymore, but for the past two years, he's had crops to bring down. And I know he ain't cuttin' it himself with that arthritis," he poked the air, looking pleased with himself. "Though I s'pose yer lookin' for a girl. Girls don't do that sort of work, do they?" he asked the air at a mumble.

Mako's brows went up. He didn't want to throw himself into this lead; he had done so before and ended up unraveling mysteries he held no care for. But it was a lead nonetheless, and he wasn't about to ignore it. "What can you tell me about this Chung?" he asked, turning back to the man and drawing close again.

The man waved the air. "No, no, where you want to be looking is widower farmers," he was saying, obviously fancying himself a detective of some sort, "they need someone to cook for 'em - that's what most traveling girls passing through do for money. Cook a meal or something, clean house and be on their way, y'know-,"

Mako laughed out - for what seemed the first time in weeks - and shook his head. "Not this one. She'd be doing manual labor. This Chung - is he here today?" Mako looked about. Water from stones, he thought to himself, amused.

The salesman eyed Mako, suspicious, then gave a nod. "Yeah. Further up the market - can't miss him. He's about sixty, and he's got a funny leg that he kind of drags about the place - old kicky injury, I imagine. He'll probably be sitting at the café - he don't get around so easy."

Mako took off without another word, at a hurried walk. He pushed his way through the crowd until he found what he imagined was the café the potato salesman had mentioned, and then eyed the patrons sitting in the chairs outside. Most were eating, bar for an old man with his feet up on another chair, hands interlaced over his belly. Mako drew a breath and approached him.

"Excuse me," Mako gave his token smile again, "Are you Chung?" he asked hopefully.

The man looked up and tilted his head, peering at Mako in the bright sun. "That'd be me," he furrowed his brow, confused.

Mako gave a breath and pulled a chair up, sitting down. "Someone said you might be able to help me," Mako began vaguely, dusting himself off and shooting the man a scrutinizing look. The man looked old, and yes, one leg looked a bit … off, and he did have a bit of a hunch to his back that looked like arthritis, but he looked a lot less decrepit that the potato salesman had had him imagining.

Chung gave a dusty laugh. "Oh, they did, did they? Help you with what, son?" he arched a brow in a suspicious kind of way.

Mako blinked, swallowed and inhaled to speak. "I'm looking for someone. A water tribe girl," his brows knit together and he fixed his eyes on the old man's. "She's about twenty, and she's traveling with a polar-bear dog," he searched the man's face, waiting for his reply. Bust. He knew it had to be another bust.

The man blinked at him, eyes narrowing, and then averted his brown gaze. "I ain't seen nobody like that," he answered brusquely.

Years of street life told Mako the man was lying, but common sense told him it was just another bust. Mako stared, frustrated with himself. He wondered if he'd just convinced himself this would be it, or if he was really close to her. If the old man was really lying to him, she could really be just a few short miles away from him right now. His search could really nearly be over. He could tell her that Bolin was okay, that he loved her; that she had to come back to the city.

Mako sputtered for a moment. "Are you sure? She'd be-," Mako tried to continue, but the old man waved him off.

"Sorry, but there's nobody like that 'round here," he cut Mako off, bluntly and curtly. "Let a man enjoy a nice day, now, will you?" Chung glanced back to Mako, looking extremely guilty to his trained eye, and then looked away again.

Mako took a moment to regain his composure, and slowly got up. "Right," he said hesitantly. "Sorry."

And he walked away.

Mako found a dozen ostrich-horses with carts attached, just outside the market. He found a low wall, ducked behind it, and waited. The old man had to have been lying. This was the best lead he'd had, and he had to follow it through. If it was a bust, and he found nothing, he'd come back here, then go back to his original path, and keep looking; no harm, no foul.

He had been traveling long enough to find the search draining, but not long enough to have completely lost all hope. Mako would follow a lead if he though it would lead him to Korra. He had to. Over time, farmers came and took some of their carts to collect things before leaving.

It was nearing sunset when the old man came at a limping, shuffling walk toward the carts. A few boys - farmhands, Mako imagined - of about fifteen were carrying brown paper sacks of some kind of animal feed, and they loaded them into the back of a cart that the old man climbed aboard. The old man tossed them each a couple of yuans, thanked them and snapped the reins. The ostrich horse gave a squawk and moved off, heading further north-west on a dirt road.

Mako watched this from a spot peering over the low wall, waiting. When he was sure the cart was too far away to hear his footsteps, Mako pushed himself away from his cover and darted after the cart. The cart was of shoddy craftsmanship and made a lot of noise, so once Mako caught up with it, the old man didn't hear anything amiss when he gripped the back of it, vaulted in and ducked low. A faded green tarp was balled up in the back of the cart; Mako tugged it over himself and curled up in wait.

Spirits, he was tired. But he kept himself awake; most likely just so he could be disappointed with another bust.

He didn't sleep, but he slid into an easy kind of wait, as the cart traveled. When the road changed from smooth, dry earth to rocky, poached dirt, Mako pushed the tarp off himself and found the cart was headed downhill, and also that the sky was nearly fully dark; the stars he had never seen in the city were coming to life up above him. He peered over the side of the cart and saw the light of a farmstead up ahead, with no other road leading forward. This was supposedly his destination. Mako pushed the tarp further away and hopped out of the cart. He missed his footing - having forgotten the cart was headed downhill - and tripped on his own feet, landing on his stomach in the dirt road, thankfully with little noise.

The cart trundled down the road toward the farmstead; Mako sat in the road and turned his eyes to the place.

Mako saw a house; two stories, light glowing from its windows, radio music pouring out of an open doorway, where he could imagine a kindly old woman getting dinner on the plate for her returning husband in a bustling fashion. It was everything he'd imagined an old farm might be like. The thought of Korra being here crossed his mind, and he gave a defeated breath.

'What if she's not here?' he wondered, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. 'What if I just got ahead of myself? What if I never find her?' he hung his head and exhaled sharply. "Shit," he murmured.

He supposed he should sleep, and go down to have a look for Korra tomorrow. Mako guessed he might be better prepared to not find - or find, but he doubted it - Korra tomorrow, when he was rested. He got off the road and found himself in a sloping field of koala-sheep, where he laid down on his back and slipped into an abyss.

He dreamt of the last time he'd seen her face. 'This is all your fault.'