In acres, leagues, miles

On the first night Zuko dreamed of his uncle, and of his own guilt and unworthy behavior.

He knew his uncle had escaped, he knew and fiercely believed that the man was strong enough to endure, no matter how many times he'd ungraciously called him fat or lazy. Iroh was strong, Iroh would survive, had to survive, because Zuko's own penchant for surviving any obstacle (not whole or unmarked, perhaps, but still surviving) was in no small part a product of the three years with the Dragon of the West.

But still Zuko dreamed of him, of his trials and possible glories. He had no thought for where Iroh might have gone (of course, he'd done nothing to deserve such privileged information), but he needed to believe that wherever Uncle was, he was well.

Zuko had to hope, because the fear that Iroh was beyond his reach forever almost crippled him if he didn't.