Off Hiatus I
'There's a tea shop in this village.' Katara wonders if he knows, if he saw it. 'On the market street, by the noodle bar.'
The Blue Spirit doesn't reply, the whetstone on the stolen knives is all the acknowledgement she gets.
'If you wait here, I could go get—'
'No.'
Shhhhhhhick, goes the stone.
'You haven't really eaten anything today. Don't you think—'
'We better get back,' says the arctic ice behind her companion's mask, 'before they wonder where we've gone.'
Katara's heart sinks. 'Sure.
Destroyed III
Another night, another town. Sokka thinks she's counselling him, hearing him cry for the old man they barely knew but keenly felt the loss of. Sokka would almost approve of the form the "counselling" actually took. He was a fan of the masked vigilante after all.
But Zuko hadn't cried since that night, desperately fleeing caverns and lightning.
Zuko has, however, taken to the new mask and the night time world it offers.
But he takes no joy in the food for the orphanage or the sabotage of the communications post. He is more mute than ever. Even his fingers in her grip are dead things, devoid of curiosity or thrill or wonder. He lets her hold his hand, but he may as well have severed it at the wrist for all her touch can do to make him feel.
