It has been two weeks since Zuko and his uncle had fled the city, and two weeks, too, since Zuko had eaten a truly decent meal.

His stomach grumbles even as he sits, at the base of a large tree and shaded by its huge branches. It's a nice spot in the woods, actually - he isn't uncomfortable, really, or he hadn't been until his hunger had woken him that morning. He and Uncle had not eaten since the morning before; they could not really afford to eat a whole lot now anyway, considering they were sort of on the run.

Iroh has not fully explained (though Zuko has not exactly asked him), but the boy knows that there is reason to their haphazard routes, and to their complete lack of traveling through any cities so far. He knows enough to connect the dots - someone is after him, probably. The note had told him as much. It feels weird to think that it is likely Fire Nation, because he is Fire Nation - except he isn't, anymore. He is an enemy.

His stomach growls again and he sighs, shifting a little against the tree in an effort to somehow distract himself from the gnawing in his belly. His uncle is not here now (though Zuko knows that he never goes far - he worries too much for that, he thinks), so perhaps he is off finding them something. In the meantime, he will just have to wait. He misses his mother's cooking.

But then, he misses a lot of things about her.

Almost on instinct, his fingers move to his pocket, feeling for the paper that is folded there, has been folded there for two weeks now. The letter, where she had left her final note to Uncle Iroh.

Zuko removes the paper and unfolds it, staring. He cannot read the words themselves, not unless he wants to bring the page right up to his face (and even then, he is sure to have some trouble, as his remaining vision is quite poor) - but he had asked his uncle to read it to him, before, and he had never forgotten.

I am doing what I can to draw them away. Take care of him.

"Why couldn't you take care of me?" he mumbles, to himself, a bitter-sounding tone to his words even as he scowls down at the letter. Her last, hastily scrawled words before she had vanished into the night. He will never forget them - part of him, perhaps, fears that when he does, it will mean that she is truly gone.

But as bitter as he seems, as angry as he feels, clutching the parchment tighter in shaking hands, threatening to ball up into fists (he would never, never - would not harm the only thing he had left of her), he thinks the emptiness he feels is, at heart, more overwhelming than the anger. Not quite numbness, not really - he'd thought of it as that, at first, but he had since come to realize that the word did not fit at all. He is not numb - he is grieving, certainly, but in a hollow, aching sort of way, he thinks. Like part of him has gone, with her.

Perhaps it is silly. Childish, even. He does not care. He is nine years old and if he wants to miss his mother he will do so. Better than missing his father.

(Who he does miss, sometimes, admittedly, even after all that has happened, even after what he had tried to do to him. He is not proud of missing him, but it is hard to forget, sometimes, how happy their family had been once, their visits to Ember Island, and the way his father had loved him then, held him then, when he had been young, when he hadn't been the Avatar-)

He exhales, shakily, closing his eyes out of habit even when it hardly makes any difference now.

"I did not know you were awake, nephew," a sudden voice startles him, and he blinks open his eyes to turn to its source - Iroh, of course.

"It's hard to stay asleep when my stomach's practically eating itself," Zuko tells his uncle, and though it's said like a complaint, Uncle still laughs anyway, smiles at him, and Zuko feels bad for sounding ungrateful.

"It's a good thing I found us something to eat, then," Iroh replies, and then he sits down in front of him, a considerable distance away, and Zuko thinks he is pulling something out of his bag. He can't tell what it is, but he doesn't have to wonder for long - "A nice, fat lizard carp," his uncle tells him as he seems to be striking up a fire. "Something like this will be nice for a change, won't it? Even I am growing a bit tired of nuts and berries - though I know they probably do me more good than a full belly does." A patting noise and motion around his midsection tells Zuko that his uncle is patting his own stomach at the words. (Silly, that - only a year ago, his uncle had been a war general. Zuko highly doubts he's let himself go that much in that time, despite what he might say. He certainly doesn't seem all that huge.)

He appreciates all that his uncle does for him, even if his uncle would probably deny that it was for him at all if confronted. Still - it isn't hard to see that he does a lot for Zuko, goes to every measure he can to make sure he is comfortable. He speaks aloud a lot of times when Zuko thinks he might normally not, as if narrating the nuances of details and things that Zuko's damaged vision cannot pick up - though he never goes to the extent of offering him help doing the simple things like walking or carrying his bag, like passerby had used to do occasionally in the old town, for the poor, blind herbalist's son. Zuko is glad of this, at least - he had always resented the help he was offered, because poor vision or not, he didn't want or need it - he could still see well enough to get himself around, and even if he couldn't, he is sure he would manage anyway on his own. He would find a way.

As Iroh cooks the fish over the fire he has started, Zuko notes yet another thing that makes him feel bad for acting ungrateful at times. His uncle is careful of Zuko's ... aversion, to fire - never confronting him about it or even mentioning it (yet - though Zuko knows, once his uncle starts to teach him firebending, which he knows he surely will, it will have to be brought up), and taking extra care that Zuko is not make uncomfortable. Even now, the fire he has made is a good five feet away from Zuko (so that was why he had sat so far away) - and he had started it without bending at all. The boy doesn't bother to tell him that it isn't the bending that bothers him about fire anymore, but the heat and the sound and the color (he still remembers hot hot bright loud flame at his face and then pain, more pain than he had ever felt) and settles for simply appreciating the gesture.

"Thank you, Uncle," he says aloud finally, quietly, looking down at the letter still in his hand. He doesn't mean just for the lizard carp, and he is sure Uncle knows this.

But he doesn't say anything about it. "Of course," Iroh replies. "I would not let a nephew of mine starve!" The words are light, humorous even, but Zuko knows they mean more than it sounds like. He is grateful for his uncle's presence, even if he wishes for his mother at times.

Zuko glances back at the letter. He studies it for what seems a long while, imagining how the characters look on the page despite the fact that what he sees are mere dark blurs.

Then Iroh is speaking again. "It looks like our meal is done. Once we have finished here, I think we should head into town."

Zuko looks up, surprised, but does not protest, only nodding his assent as he folds the letter back up again and moves to join his uncle for the meal. Iroh must have noticed his shock, though, because he is speaking again, softer now that Zuko is nearer.

"Don't worry. From what I have heard, this town has been untouched by the war so far. We will be safe there."

"I wasn't worried," he replies, words probably a tad too sharp, but he makes no attempt to say anything more. Iroh is too far for him to make out well, but he sees him nod and tilt his head a bit, and Zuko imagines he is smiling at him.

"Of course," Uncle says to him kindly. "Now, let's eat."

The town is calmer than Zuko had expected, less populated than the one he and his mother had lived in for so long. Earth Kingdom towns aren't so bad, really - though he admits he misses home. (No, he corrects himself, he misses the Fire Nation. It is not home, not anymore, cannot be home, not now that he is the Avatar.) As he and his uncle make their way into town, they pass a group of men using their earthbending to ... do something. He isn't sure entirely what - build some sort of structure or building, maybe? Whatever it is, they all seem to be working together, the movements he can catch synchronized completely. Zuko has never met any earthbenders before, not that he can remember - there had not been any in the previous town - and he lingers a bit as they pass them, feeling the vibrations as the earth is moved and frowning a bit in thought. He supposes that, technically, he is also an earthbender, though it is odd to think about.

Iroh seems to notice his pause, and then he, too, is turning to the earthbenders, approaching them and waving a greeting. Zuko follows with some trepidation, staying behind his uncle as was sort of his habit ever since ... well. Ever since a year or so ago. (Except before it had been his mother who he had a habit of tailing when he felt nervous, instead.)

"Good morning," Iroh says to the men, and a few respond to him in a manner that does not sound unfriendly. "Do you think perhaps one of you could point out the nearest inn for a couple of weary travelers?"

"Refugees?" one man, whose deep voice seems to be almost commanding in its confidence (some sort of authority?), asks, and though Zuko can't see where any of these men are looking exactly, he can still almost feel their eyes on his scarred face. He looks at Uncle, not wanting to look at the earthbenders any longer, and catches his head moving in a nod.

"We have come a long way," Uncle tells them. "And it would certainly be nice to sleep on a bed again."

"I'm sure it would be," the deep-voiced man agrees. "My name is Tyro. I'm the leader of this village. We don't have much in the way of inns here - we're a mining town - but my wife, Senge, runs the shop here, and there's a barn just out back. We would be more than willing to let you stay there for the night."

Zuko expects his uncle to decline - that is what is polite, he thinks - but instead his Uncle gives a pleased sort of nod. "That would be very kind of you. I know that I will feel better once I know that my nephew has a roof over his head, even if only for the night."

"You and your nephew will be safe here," another man says, not Tyro this time. "The Fire Nation wouldn't dare attack our town."

"Good to hear," Zuko mumbles, as he hears that assurance for the second time (though not entirely the same as the first time he has heard them, in truth). He looks down at his feet, feeling wholly out of place all of a sudden. They hate the Fire Nation, he realizes. Is it like this everywhere? He'd heard whispers, in the other town - but never as blatant as this. Did they really believe that his nation would attack an innocent village?

... Would his nation attack an innocent village?

"Ah, and where are my manners?" Iroh adds cheerfully as Tyro starts to move out of the group. Zuko looks up to see making some kind of gesture with his hands, probably for them to follow. They do. "Let me introduce myself - my name is Mushi, and this is Li. You said your wife's name was Senge?"

"Yes, it is," Tyro says, as he leads them through the town, presumably to his wife's shop. "And my son's name is Haru. He's about Li's age - maybe a little older."

"How wonderful," Uncle replies. "Perhaps Li will finally make a friend!" He laughs a little as he says it, and Zuko narrows his eyes. He tunes out the rest of their conversation then.

It does not take long to reach the shop anyway. Senge is a nice enough woman, older maybe (he can tell a little in the way she carries herself - plus, her hair seems to be a shade of gray, differing greatly from Tyro's own silver) and she does not hesitate to agree to her husband's earlier suggestion of them staying in their barn, though she does chide him a little (good-naturedly) on making those sorts of decisions without her input. Tyro laughs. It is somewhat odd for Zuko to be around a married couple such as this - they are such a stark contrast to his own parents, it is almost shocking.

When Iroh offers to brew a pot of tea, Senge not-too-subtly sends Zuko out back to meet with her son, hinting that she would like for the two to become friends. Zuko guesses he's glad that he won't have to sit around a stuffy shop making small talk - but he isn't sure that making small talk with some strange kid will be so much fun either.

It turns out that small talk isn't what's on the agenda first, however. When Zuko finds Haru, he isn't just playing - he's practicing. Earthbending. A number of rocks seem to litter the ground, and one by one, Haru lifts each, seemingly an exercise in control. Zuko stops and stares, watching, fascinated.

"Oh, hi," Haru says, as he turns to look at Zuko. "Who're you?"

"Li," he tells him. "My uncle and I are staying in your barn tonight." Zuko thinks Haru nods, then. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"My dad taught me," Haru tells him, and Zuko blinks at him for a moment, unsure what to say. Then he turns to stare at the rocks littering the ground, frowning in thought.

He concentrates for a long moment, brow furrowing, and feels for a small, particularly jagged-outlined form, then focuses hard on it, moving one hand up and forward almost instinctively. It takes a lot of effort, and it seems like forever passes - but then, suddenly, the rock is moving, up up up into the air.

"You're an earthbender, too!" Haru exclaims, sounding surprised, and Zuko is, too - he had almost forgotten about the other boy's presence entirely. The rock drops, making a hard thump when it hits the ground again, though in truth it hadn't had far to fall - he'd only managed to move it upwards about a foot off the ground. When he tries to move it again, he finds he can only give it a little nudge; has he exhausted his chi already? Or had that first move only been beginner's luck?

"I guess I am," Zuko says to Haru, quietly, looking back up at him. He thinks Haru must be smiling at him.

"That's great!" he tells him, sounding excited now. "I haven't met another earthbender my age before."

Zuko resists the urge to point out that they aren't the same age, settling on a simple "Oh" instead. There is a long pause, and perhaps with someone else the silence would be awkward, but Haru seems to be concentrating again, and then two rocks move upwards at once, spiraling in the air.

"You said your dad teaches you?" Zuko says then, and he turns to offer the other boy a shy - and probably somewhat awkward-looking, but sue him - smile.

One night turns out to be one month, once Tyro gets a taste for Uncle Iroh's apparently-amazing tea brewing skills. He refers him to the town's resident tea shop (which Zuko finds just a little silly - that they have a tea shop, and not an inn, but that's the Earth Kingdom, he supposes) and before long, his uncle has a job, helping out the older man who runs the place. There isn't a vacant place for them to stay in town, though, not yet at least, so they end up just paying Haru's family rent to keep staying in the barn, for now. (Rent had not even been Tyro and Senge's idea - it was Iroh who insisted on paying it, in fact.)

Zuko doesn't know if his uncle means for this to be long-term. He guesses he wouldn't mind, really, if they lived here for a while. (Though he would hope they would get a real place - and not just keep staying in a smelly barn.) Haru is nice enough, and Zuko thinks they might even be friends. They spend a lot of their time together nowadays - Haru likes to practice his earthbending, and Zuko likes to watch; sometimes Haru even tries to give him lessons of his own, passed on from his father. Zuko tries to follow along as best he can, though it's difficult to try and copy the forms when he can't quite see them (and he doesn't really want to remind Haru that he can't see as well as he can, even if it means he might get better instruction. Haru is so far one of the only people who treats him like he isn't useless, and he would like to keep it that way.)

It feels wrong, almost, trying to bend the earth. Uncle tells him it is because it is out of order, because he is meant to master fire and air first, before he can truly master earthbending. Zuko isn't so sure about that - if that were true, why would he be able to bend earth yet at all? - but he is sure that it does not come easy for him. There is a block in his mind where earthbending should flow, it seems; perhaps he will simply never be any good. (But he is not, naturally, exceptionally good at anything, not even firebending, even when he had not struggled with his panic. Zuko often thinks that the world has messed something up, to have made an Avatar who isn't a natural prodigy. Would not his sister have been a better choice? She had always excelled where he did not, and his father had - well. Zuko was not born lucky as she was, that was the point.)

It is on one of these such days, when Haru and Zuko are out spending the day in the woods (though never too far from town), Haru practicing drawing rocks out of the soil below their feet, when Haru notices the letter Zuko is holding in his hands. He supposes notices would be the wrong word - while he isn't exactly obvious about it, he doesn't really make any huge attempts to hide the paper either, occasionally pulling it out to glance at it when he's feeling particularly far from home. He guesses it's only his luck that Haru would be the one to notice it was a habit and not just a coincidence, that it happened more than once.

"Hey, Li, what is that, anyway?" he asks Zuko, tone and voice casual, but his sudden ceasing of his earthbending giving away his curiosity. (Zuko knew Haru - if he really didn't care either way, he would have just kept on practicing while he asked.) "You're always looking at it."

Zuko pauses, considers lying to him, considers snapping to him or brushing him off - but does none of these things.

Instead, he tells him the truth.

"It's a letter," he replies, quietly. "My mom wrote something on it, just before she..." He trails off then, looking away, and hoping that the gesture will explain enough to Haru. When no more words are forthcoming after his abrupt silence, he shrugs noncommittally and makes as if to begin folding the letter back up.

"Can I see it?" Haru asks him mildly, and Zuko shakes his head sharply then, bites his lip, says nothing, but only returns it quickly to his pocket. He knows, even if he did want to show his friend the letter (and really, he does not) that he could not. He isn't sure what the letter itself says, but he figures there might be information there that Haru could not read - not to mention the note from his mother itself, which would definitely be a hard thing to explain.

Thankfully, Haru seems to understand. There's a pause, and while Zuko is looking away deliberately, he bets that he nods. "Okay," he agrees. "No problem." Then he is turning back to face forward again, almost as if nothing had happened.

"Want to try out this earthbending move my dad showed me?" he asks then, and Zuko tells him he does.

From then on, whenever Haru notices Zuko looking at the letter, he will pause in whatever he's doing. He doesn't always speak, when he does - sometime he will just fall silent, as if paying some sort of quiet respect, and allow Zuko a moment to look at it before they move on with whatever had been going on. Other times, though, he does speak - questions, always about Zuko's mother, but surprisingly not the type he had been expecting. 'How did you lose her' or 'how long ago', he might have assumed - but instead, Haru asked things about who she was, how she was - little things, and all things which, surprisingly, seemed to help Zuko with his numbness rather than hinder him. It was like, whenever he answered, a part of her was there again - like in remembering her, and sharing his memories with someone else, he could keep her alive.

"What color were her eyes?" Haru asks of him one such time, before adding, as if it wasn't clear enough already, "Your mother's, I mean."

Zuko looks up from the letter, folds it, and places it neatly back in his pocket. "The same color as mine, almost, except darker," he says. "I think someone once called them ochre. Whatever that means."

"That's cool," Haru tells him. "I've always thought you and your uncle's eyes were pretty unique. I guess she was his sister, huh?"

Zuko blinks; he guesses, living this far into the Earth Kingdom and in such a small village, that Haru has never known the connotations behind having warmer-toned eyes. They were commonly associated with the Fire Nation, he knew - he and his mother had faced at least some small amount of trepidation, before, in the last town, because of their eyes. It's odd, for him, to be here in a place so far from his old home, not just physically, but in this way as well. Haru has probably never even seen a Fire Nation citizen - well. Unless you were to count Zuko or his uncle.

Oh, right. Haru had ended that last part with a very audible question, and he hadn't said anything yet. "Something like that," Zuko replies, and then he focuses on the two rocks Haru had just been practicing with, lifting them somewhat ungracefully and then attempting to do as he had, swirling them around each other in the air. He manages it, surprisingly, but he can't hold it for long, and before more than a few heartbeats have passed, the rocks are crashing back to the ground, that feeling of wrongness settling in Zuko's chest again. He does not like the feeling of earthbending, even while he does like the feelings of triumph he feels when he manages to do it. But it just feels... wrong, and besides, he isn't very naturally talented. Maybe uncle was right about the order of things. Huh.

"Good job," Haru tells him. "You're a natural!"

Zuko rolls his eyes. Sure I am. He doesn't say the words aloud. He's working on that whole gratitude thing. After all, his friend is being quite patient with him. It's been five weeks since he and his uncle started staying here - surely Haru should be growing tired of Zuko's lack of any real talent as far as earthbending, but instead he simply remains encouraging.

A sudden noise, from the village nearby, catches him off guard. A blast of some sort - Haru hasn't noticed it, but even as Zuko whirls around to cast his senses towards the town, listening closely, he feels his stomach drop.

He can hear it, that familiar, familiar sound-

Fire.

The town is on fire.

"Li?" Haru says. "What's -"

Then he, too, freezes, looking off into the distance, and Zuko's eyes widen as he realizes the trails of darkness in the air are smoke.

"Oh, no," is all Haru gasps, and then he's running, towards the town. Zuko is right behind him, panting in an effort to keep up, because Haru is taller than him by a lot, and they have to get home right now.

He doesn't know how long it takes to get back, because time doesn't seem to exist for him anymore. All he knows is that once they are there, he follows Haru closely to the center of town, despite all of his trepidation (he knows this is where the flames are coming from, knows he isn't safe here), and barely breathes once he realizes what is happening.

Fire Nation soldiers are here. That much, he guesses, should have been obvious.

But there are so many.

They outnumber the earthbenders here ten to one, he can tell, even just through comparing the mass of red (and fire, so much fire) to the familiar browns and greens of the town's earthbenders. And yet still, they are fighting, and Zuko thinks he can hear Tyro's deep voice calling out, leading the resistance.

He manages to deal for a long time, frozen beside Haru, before he just can't anymore - the flames are too much, the heat and the ash and the smoke and the screaming. People are being hurt. Buildings are being set aflame.

He runs, ducks into the nearest building he can find that's not made up at least partly of wood, a small, earthbender-made shack that they'd made to store tools. He curls into a ball in the corner, focusing on his breathing the way his mother had instructed him, so long ago, and pictures her stroking his hair like she had then.

By the time he is calm, and by the time he is willing to come out of hiding, the fight is over.

And the earthbenders have lost.

So many have been injured. Zuko doesn't know what all happens, but somehow or other, the town's doctor gets those he can treated, and burials are arranged for those who have not made it, though they will not occur until tomorrow. The firebenders have gone. Haru, who catches Zuko as he wanders sort of aimlessly around as all the commotion dies down, tells him that they have said they will be back tomorrow, and that the town will have to submit then. He says that his father will never give up.

But later, back in the shop, while Haru and Zuko are sent out back while the adults 'discuss,' Zuko overhears Tyro saying that there will be no more deaths, not anymore. He intends to surrender.

Zuko doesn't say anything to Haru about it. There is nothing to say. Instead, he pulls out the folded paper from his pocket and stares.

The next morning brings more tragedy. Tyro does not get his chance to surrender. He had been taken in the night, along with all of the other earthbenders - simply gone, without a trace. As the fire nation soldiers gather the villagers after they march into town, they are told that they have taken them, to work in prison camps. This is what happens when you try and fight back, they say. This is what happens when you mess with the Fire Nation.

Zuko shivers as he is led back to the barn by his uncle after the soldiers have dispersed. Is this the Nation he had grown up supporting? What kind of soldiers were they, to threaten and kidnap the people he'd always been told that they wanted to protect? The Earth Kingdom was a different nation, sure - but the motive behind the war had always been to spread Fire Nation prosperity and wellbeing across the world, hadn't it?

He isn't sure anymore.

"Zuko," his uncle says to him, voice soft. "Gather your things. We are leaving tonight."

"What?" he says, sharply, turning at last to fully look at him, snapping out of his panicked stupor completely for the first time that day. "But I thought..."

"I'm sorry," Iroh sighs. "I know that we have made friends here. But it is not safe, not anymore. And if they are to recognize you..."

Zuko grits his teeth. "It's not fair," he snaps. "What if I don't care about safety? Haru is my friend! His father - they took him! He..."

"Zuko," his uncle says, and Zuko is surprised by the sharpness of his own tone, though it is not unkind. "Listen to me. I know that you mean well. But the best way to help your friend is not to stay here. You know that."

Zuko falls silent then, clenching his hands into fists, and entirely unable to think up a snappy response. What can he even say, to that? He knows, deep down, that his uncle must be right.

He is the Avatar. Even if his uncle does not say the words, they hang in the air, looming over him, and he shrinks down a bit suddenly, no longer outwardly projecting any sort of frustration or anger. Instead, he withdraws in upon himself, raising his gaze a bit to try and meet Iroh's eyes.

"I understand," he says, hoarsely, and then he turns and slips into the little makeshift hay bed he has called his own for the past five weeks. It is not even evening, and yet he is so tired.

Iroh says nothing. Zuko sleeps.

When he awakens, it is late afternoon, he thinks - perhaps early evening. He moves quickly out of the barn, one thing at the forefront of his mind: Haru. He must talk to Haru.

He knows he doesn't have much time. He wishes he had not slept their last day together away, but then - he guesses Haru probably needed some time alone, anyway. His father...

Well. Zuko will not think on it. As it is, he has found Haru already - just on the edge of the woods, sitting upon the ground. He swirls two rocks out in front of him, but it seems somewhat idle, like his mind is somewhere else entirely.

"Haru," Zuko says, and his voice is raspy from disuse. His friend jumps a little, obviously not having noticed him - then he rises and turns to face him.

"Li? What is it? I... I don't know if we should earthbend today," come's Haru's voice, and though his tone is mild, Zuko hears the slight tremor there.

"Haru, my uncle and I are leaving," Zuko blurts out. "Tonight. We can't stay here anymore."

"No," Haru says, softly, but there is no force to it; instead there is a defeated, sad quality to his voice. "Li, you can't..."

"It isn't my choice," Zuko cuts him off, curtly, words only half-true. He stares at the ground, not willing to meet the other boy's eyes - though he knows he would not be able to see it anyway, he does not want to face the hurt that he knows will be there, in his gaze, like not looking could somehow make it not real.

"Li," Haru tries again, his tone sharper now. "We're the only ones left." His voice breaks, a little, like he might cry, but he doesn't - at least, Zuko is fairly certain he doesn't. He guesses Haru could be crying silently, but there is no telltale shake of his shoulders, no visible tremor in any part of him besides his voice.

Zuko doesn't know what to say, anymore. "I'm sorry," he settles on telling him. "About your dad." For a long moment, he stares at his feet; then he lifts his head at last, face and voice both steely. "I have to go. You'll move on. You're strong."

He thinks his words have been reassuring, maybe - so he is shocked when Haru is suddenly angry, taking an abrupt and jerky step forward and whole body language changing without so much as a warning. Zuko imagines his face drawn into a furious scowl. "You have no right to say something like that to me!" Haru is shouting at him, and Zuko flinches away, taking a step backwards without really meaning to, eyes widening in surprise. "Like I could just move on after losing my best friend - and after losing my dad!"

There is a pause, then, and all he hears are Haru's angry breaths, like he is struggling to keep himself from bending a rock into Zuko's head (no, he doubts that's actually the case, he is always so quick to assume others mean him harm but Haru would never hurt him) or like he expects Zuko to say something back. He must take too long, though, biting his lip and staring at the other boy instead of answering, because before he can actually reply, Haru speaks again.

"It's not so easy," Haru says. The rage and shouting is gone now, leaving behind only a coldness that nearly makes Zuko shiver. "You should know. Could you forget your mother?"

Zuko feels cold all over, and he thinks he stops breathing for a moment, staring. His fingers move of their own accord to feel for the letter still folded in his pocket. He rests them on it for a long moment, frozen where he stands and silence deafening around him as Haru simply stares at him.

And then, without saying another word, Zuko turns and runs.

When he comes back to town from his impromptu escapade in the woods, it is nearly nightfall. Haru is nowhere to be found on his way back - he is probably already asleep - and he finds his uncle in the barn, gathering up the last of their things. Zuko does not say goodbye. They leave.

They travel through the night. Zuko isn't tired - probably because he slept so much of the day, he thinks. Eventually, though, Iroh says that they must rest, and the two settle down for the night. But Zuko does not sleep. Not yet. Instead, he lays curled with one hand held out somewhat awkwardly in front of him, clutching the letter near his chest.

He is angry - so angry, and he does not even know who at. The soldiers? Haru? Himself? Maybe all three. Everything is unfair and he wants to scream and shout until his throat is raw. His chest hurts.

Mostly he is angry with Haru, and not even for a good reason, he knows. But he's so so upset and hurt, because why couldn't he just understand? Zuko had not wanted to leave him. He hadn't had a choice. Why couldn't he understand?

But a part of him, the more mature, too-old-too-fast part of him that seems to be growing every day, knows that Haru had been right. How can he justify telling others to move on, when he himself cannot seem to let go of the past?

If Zuko were stronger, he thinks he might clench and unclench the muscles of his hand, aim at the letter, and conjure up a flame.

But he is not strong, and when he does point a trembling hand at the page, he finds no flame will come. He does not know if it is out of fear of the fire itself, or simple inability to sever the last tie he has to her. When he realizes that he cannot act, that he is so undeniably weak, he shudders, freezing for one long moment as he stares blankly ahead of him at the parchment.

Then he rolls over onto his side and buries his face into his knees, letter still held tightly in his grasp. And if he is crying, warm tears spilling forth unbidden from useless eyes and body shaking with quiet sobs muffled by his uncle's snoring, it is not like there is anyone around to see him do so anyway.