The Undertow
Three more minutes. Three more minutes and he would move on to the next set, now matter what his uncle advised. He moved smoothly from the horse into the dragon stance, wondering if he should add another tablet to his iron shirt exercises. He was still aching from the water woman's attack on him at the humiliating defeat at the North Pole. In fact, he was surprised that none of his ribs were broken – he had thought he had heard them crack when she slammed him up against the wall, and they had certainly ached enough when he had been dragging the Avatar around, but when he came to they seemed to be merely bruised. But water could heal as well as hurt…
His concentration wavered, and he fumbled his kick.
"You should rest some time. You'll injure yourself." Iroh commented placidly from his seat. The clack of moving pieces was lost in Zuko's angry snort.
"I don't need to rest." He snapped, getting back onto his feet. "I need to get stronger. Don't we have anyone on this ship that knows how a water bender fights? Or even just how to counter them properly?"
"Perhaps you could ask the Avatar's friend next time you see them. She seems helpful."
Zuko re-started his set, adding a little unnecessary flare to his knifehand strike, "I hardly need the Avatar, or his two sidekicks to give me advice. Next time I meet them I will be strong enough to crush them in an instant." His foot lashed out, kicking the phantom group apart, separating them. "They will not humiliate me again with their… their… urgh!" He moved on to the next set, and began viciously attacking the air.
Iroh watched him for a little while, his face telling nothing. Finally he sighed, and looked down at his board.
"Ah!" He said, frowning, "I seem to have trapped myself. I had better start again." And nothing more was said.