A/N: Long time no update, I know. I can't apologize enough to prevent the inevitable and indifferent hatred. Good thing I don't actually own anything A:TLA related…

Prompt: Aang, Sokka, drawing, the avatar state

Requester: GirlWaterShaman (Thanks so much!)

Words: 860

Little Glimpse of Light

After sunset, the light began to pale, fading from the vibrant and rosy colors that had painted the sky to a dusky orange, fading to gray. The wind ruffled the treetops affectionately, and the golden walls of Ba Sing Se were darkening into a dull brown. Within the walls, a lone figure leaned against the handrail that marked the entrance to the most popular tea shop in the Upper Ring.

Aang's chin was propped in his hands as he gazed over the dying sun's last rays. Most of his friends had retired for the night, and Iroh's rumbling snores could already be heard in the back room the old General had made into an apartment.

"Ugh, stupid ink!"

The airbender's ears perked up at the sound of a frustrated grunt. He turned toward the noise, and spotted Sokka hunched over a table in the corner of the tea shop's main room, where the customers were served. The warrior's injured leg was bound tightly in a splint and bandages, and his wooden crutch was propped up against the edge of the table beside his chair. That, however, wasn't the object of Sokka's attention.

A sheet of parchment was spread out before the Water tribesman, and a small clay container sat beside it, filled with ink. The source of Sokka's anguish seemed to be the thin writing brush in his hand, and a small splotch of black ink that had dripped onto the bleached goat-sheep skin.

Aang stepped away from the balcony and across the threshold of the shop, shutting the large slatted doors behind him with a soft click. Muted orange rays of sunlight slanted in through the shuttered windows and lit the floor near the door with the day's last dying throes, but most of the shop fell into deep shadow.

Weaving through the rows of tables, the airbender made his way toward Sokka's corner booth, where a small open-flame lamp provided the warrior with light to work by. Situating himself in a chair across from Sokka, Aang folded his arms across his chest.

"How goes the drawing?"

The Water tribesman glanced up, exasperation flashing in his crystal blue eyes. "Not good," he muttered. After a moment of silence, Sokka set his brush down on the table with an irritated sigh. "I wish there was some sort of device that could allow people to instantly draw a perfect picture of what is in front of them." He propped up his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands, staring dejectedly at the parchment from between ink-stained fingers. "Then you wouldn't actually need talent to do portraits. Ugh," Sokka groaned again, folding his hands on the table, leaving a smear of ink across his left cheek.

Aang smiled wanly. "Like anything else, drawing just takes practice," the airbender's smile widened. "While drawing realistically is good for mapmaking and some jobs like portrait painting, it's not the only kind of drawing there is." Aang pressed his index finger to the parchment, pointing to the indistinct blotch of ink in emphasis on his words. "Monk Gyatso always told me that drawing is just as much an art as it is a science. It's more than replicating reality, it's recreating reality through your eyes."

Sokka leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing his friend strangely. "So you're saying, I don't have to be realistic as long as I am true to what or who the subject of the drawing is?"

The airbender nodded. "Yes, exactly."

Sokka's eyes lit up, and, finally in the grip of inspiration, he picked up the brush again and dabbed it into the container of ink.

Seeing the effect his words had on the Water tribesman, Aang leaned forward inquisitively. "So…what are you drawing, anyway?"

Sokka suddenly jerked forward, pressing his free hand protectively over the parchment and scowling angrily. "It's a surprise! You're not allowed to see it yet!" The warrior's blue eyes flashed with radiant light—something that Aang had never seen on anyone but himself or in a vision of one of his past lives.

The airbender recoiled, half apologetic and half frightened of what had come over his non-bender friend. Aang held up his palms in an appeasing manner. "Okay—okay! I'm sorry. I'll just—" he searched for an excuse, "Go to bed now, I guess. Have fun." Then he got up from the table and scrambled toward the staircase that led to the second-floor apartment where the rest of his friends had probably already turned in for the night.

When Aang reached the first landing, he glanced back over the banister to where Sokka sat huddled over his soon-to-be masterpiece, and wondered. Had he been imagining it? Or did Sokka possess something that even the Avatar wasn't aware of?

Suddenly, the warrior turned up his chin to glare scathingly at the airbender peering over the railing, his eyes still sparkling with an unnatural glow.

Aang made a quick escape, leaving Sokka muttering and laughing quietly to himself as he wielded the small brush with a deftness that caused ink to dance, sparkling, over the parchment.

A/N: The oddballness of this particular ficlet has resulted from my deep-seated personal belief that the future Avatar Korra is a descendant of Sokka. If any of you have seen some of the creators' drawings of Korra, the resemblance is startling. CHECK IT! :D