Author's Note: I apologize for the lack of activity! I know, I've been busier than a bee. I've been writing, but have never really had time to finish things. So, hopefully, I can get back into the swing of updating these regularly!
This one isn't within the timeline of the others. Just thought I'd make that apparent. Plus, this one is really simple. Oh, well. I'm still trying to get back into the swing of things after my long hiatus.
Two in one day! I rock (yeah, right). Thanks again for the reviews, faves, and PMs! You readers are great!
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012: Wet
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Autumn leaves of red and orange clinging to the branches of the tree in the palace garden hold their grip as a steady wind teases them. Few have already descended, landing gently into the pond below. There, they float on their backs like miniature rafts.
A pale but beautiful hand picks one leaf up by its twig and pulls it from the water. Water dribbles down it in the female's grasp. Its back is like a cheek; teardrops simply flow from it. She examines it and soon drops it back into the pond, watching as the slight current sends it off.
She speaks solemnly, "My mother and I used to sit at this pond. We'd talk but never had much to say."
"Why, Azula?" her companion, male, asks. He touches the top of her hand.
"Because," Azula answers, her head dipping low, "I never appreciated my mother. She loved me, that much I knew but could never admit, and I never loved her back."
The companion rests his back against the large tree. Closing his eyes, he replies, "I'm sure you loved her when you were a kid, and I'm sure she knew you did."
"You can't just assume that, Sokka." Azula flips her raven hair behind her back as she says his name in an unmistakably bitter tone. She immediately regrets being so snappy with him; she knows he's simply comforting her.
"Sure I can," Sokka states in a way that suggests that he was unfazed by her manner. "All mothers know their kids love them. You never have to tell them anything."
"And how would you know that? Have you ever been a mother before?" Azula giggles at her own joke, eying Sokka's face as his dark cheeks flush to red.
"Come on, Azula," he pleads with a scowl on his face, "be serious."
Defeated, the former princess sighs. "If you insist, but I doubt your assumption still. My mother knew exactly how I felt."
"You want to know something?" Sokka inquires, breaking into Azula's bout of recollection. "Even though I never even had the chance to tell my mom goodbye before she died, I feel, to this day, that she knows I loved her. She sort of taught me to treat every greeting as if they are the last."
"I never had a chance to say goodbye to my mother either. She up and left without ever saying a word as to why."
"But… do you love her?"
"Well…" Azula says, pausing, "I do. Now." She shrugs, looking off at the perfectly trim grass bordering the pond. She hears a small splash as Sokka lets his bare feet fall gently into the cool water. He elicits a tired breath (his way of showing that the conversation is, indeed, over and passed) and further presses his back against the tree. Azula snuggles next to him, allowing his arm to fall over her shoulder.
Another breeze whistles in the background. A couple more leaves fall. The forgotten pond-dwelling turtleducks gather by the leaves collecting, whizzing past them effortlessly. There are three of them: two adults and a baby. The baby is practically squeezed between the adults. The three of them swim closer to the edge of the pond, until…
"Ow!" comes the yelp. A frantic splash follows. Sokka is up in a heartbeat, clutching his now swollen toe.
Azula cannot help but laugh; he did deserve it after all. She offers a falsely affectionate glare, and says, "Now, that is what mothers do."
"What? Protect their children?"
"No. They hurt you."
