"I had not intended to love him: the reader knows I have wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and no, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, green and strong! He made me love him without looking at me."
Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
"Don't worry," his sister's words melted unctuously into the grayness of the day. "I didn't come here to kill you this time." And with that, she sauntered listlessly away.
Gritting his teeth, Zuko ran dauntlessly into the fire.
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Katara blinked as a hazy mist began to creep around her. She gingerly placed the boy's arm around her shoulder as she stood up, assimilating her surroundings.
A flicker of gold tantalized her peripheral vision. She bit her lip. Was that fire?
Taking a precarious step forward, she looked for a clearing in the haze, but the longer she scrutinized, the faster the haze writhed closer to where she was.
As the seconds sprinted by, she became certain that the haze was actually smoke. She could hear the clicks and sizzle of distant embers, but she could also hear the thuds of expeditiously advancing footfalls.
Turning her head, she saw a nebulous form emerge from the haze. As she squinted her eyes, she almost laughed with relief when she recognized that it was Zuko.
"We don't have much time," he called, slightly out of breath.
"Here," Katara advanced slowly towards him. "Take Reni first. I'll be okay."
Zuko shook his head, "What?"
"You can't take both of us at once. I don't know what's going on, but I'm pretty sure he has nothing to do with it. Get him out of here first," she adjusted her position to the boy's weight.
"No, no. I have an obligation to you-"
"No. Take Reni. Go. I'll be fine until you get back." She lowered one shoulder, and Zuko caught the boy as he slid off. Hoisting the boy onto his back, Zuko opened his mouth to protest, but he stopped himself before he could utter a syllable.
"Go," Katara whispered. She watched as Zuko hesitated and then sprang into the obfuscated shadows.
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Dodging smoldering ashes that fell like rain, Zuko mentally upbraided himself for listening to the girl. He had a goddamn obligation. He was responsible for the girl, not some Earth Kingdom child.
His fingers clawed irately into the boy's arms. Zuko felt the boy fidget at the pain.
Why did he leave her behind?
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Katara began to cough as the smoke slowly enveloped the little clearing. The fire had begun to careen and waltz in time with its own jovial rhythm. She tempestuously tore a piece of cloth from the bottom of her robe, and she wrapped it around her nose and mouth.
Her eyes began to water, but she promptly wiped the tears away before they could form. What could crying do for her now?
Underneath the revelry and gaiety of the fire, the distant gurgling of the stream could be heard. It was too far away to be of any use to Katara, but the stream observed the scene with a scintillating curiosity. The girl was slowly being forced into the middle of the clearing. She was becoming desperate.
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After Zuko had placed the boy in the care of his uncle, he raced back into the forest.
Faster, faster, faster. His feet pounded beneath him, but they obstinately refused to quicken their pace. His lungs burned, but he didn't stop.
The fire had spread with an agile quickness, and he had to use the most advanced firebending that he knew to part the walls of the conflagration.
When he found her, she had been forced into the middle of an incessantly shrinking circle.
"Can you run?" he asked breathlessly.
She nodded.
He took her hand and led her through the first few embers.
Her eyes fluttered as she tried to concentrate on the path before her.
He began to pick up his pace, and she felt quite gauche in comparison to his dexterous maneuvering. She watched as he bent several burning branches out of their way.
Her vision wavered, and the edges of the forest seemed to melt and fade.
What was the point? They were both going to be killed. Futile. Everything was so futile. She closed her eyes.
Katara's hand loosened from his grip. Zuko turned around and caught her as she gracefully swayed forward. He placed one arm under the bend of her knees and the other a little above her waist.
He could no longer bend the fire out of their way.
As he swerved and ducked under smoking ashes that fell apathetically around him, he felt a searing burn on his back. A warm liquid seeped lethargically from the wound. Soon after, Zuko felt another scorch on his right shoulder.
As he continued, the flora of the forest seemed to bite at him; the denizens of the forest flew away at his approach.
He ran for what seemed like hours, and yet he never felt more alive. He took the hits without issuing a sound, and his speed never vitiated. The smoke grew thicker as he neared the heart of the holocaust.
How could he cross this barrier? He spotted an exit that was exponentially shrinking. Everything was becoming spontaneous. Desperate.
Almost there. Almost. Almost.
Almost there.
Keep going.
Too.
Much.
Fire.
Passion.
Hate.
War.
Love.
I'm home.
When he emerged from the fire, he was almost certain that he was feverish with delirium. Glancing downwards, he saw that Katara remained unscathed. She was immaculate and unadulterated; she was whole.
He saw the choleric face of her brother and the appalled face of his uncle. Then, he let everything go.
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Zuko groaned as he held a hand to his forehead. What had happened?
"Don't try to move. I haven't healed your shoulder yet," a voice drifted from far away.
He closed his eyes and breathed. He felt a coolness wrap around his shoulder, and he relaxed at the touch.
He slowly opened both eyes. It was night, and the moon shone ethereally through the canopy of the forest. He heard the imminent babble of the stream.
Katara knelt beside him with a dampened cloth. She began to dab at his face, and he felt relieved at the serenity of the touch.
"How long have I been asleep?" he muttered.
"Not too long. You missed dinner. Oh!" she dropped the cloth and stood up. "Sorry, I forgot about your dinner."
He watched as she walked briskly into the frondescence of the forest. As soon as her figure faded from view, the buoyant face of his uncle materialized beside him.
"Zuko! I'm so glad to see that you're awake! You were quite the hero today!"
Zuko grimaced.
"Oh, come now! Don't be modest; that was the most romantic rescue I've ever seen!"
Zuko narrowed his eyes.
"Platonic! That was the most platonic rescue I've ever seen!"
Zuko sighed.
"Unfortunately," Iroh smiled broadly. "You nearly killed yourself. You really would have died had it not been for the apt healing abilities of-"
"What?"
Iroh chuckled, "It is incumbent upon me to inform you that the girl has saved your life once again."
Zuko was silent.
"Ah, she is coming back. You two should talk."
"About what?"
"Everything."
Katara emerged with an earthen bowl and spoon. She placed both next to Zuko.
"Hello, Katara!" Iroh beamed.
She smiled, "How are you?"
"Excellent, excellent. I'm just checking on my nephew, but I see he is already in good hands. I'll be at camp if you need anything!"
She watched as he perambulated away, humming blissfully to himself.
"How are you feeling?" she turned to Zuko.
He looked away, incoherently muttering something Katara chose not to understand.
She sighed and sat down by the stream. She listened as the stream babbled excitedly beside her.
"Look, I think I should explain," he began after a pause.
"Explain what?"
"The fire."
"Oh, your uncle already told us about how it happened."
"Oh."
"It's a beautiful night," she chirped. "The moon really outdid herself today."
Zuko gazed at the girl. She was acting as if nothing had happened. She was completely nonchalant, blasé. She was a terrible actress.
"How was it put out?" he asked.
"The fire? Oh, um, Sokka said Aang took care of everything. I wasn't awake when all of that happened, so I really don't know."
Zuko leaned over and peered into his bowl. Another stew. He chewed reticently on the indubitable pieces of his dinner as she watched him silently. Her hand was dipped playfully into the stream, and her breathing was a bit irregular.
"How is it?" her voice was trembling.
"Tolerable," the corners of his lips curved into a subtle simper.
She smiled and looked away. "How's your back feeling?"
He twisted his shoulders back and forth, gauging the efficacy of her healing. "Fine."
She walked behind him and began to examine the newly formed skin. She gently placed a hand on the newly-healed wound, and his body tightened in response.
"You could have died," she whispered, her voice dangerously precarious.
"I didn't."
He felt two cool hands slide around his shoulders. She quivered as she tightened her embrace.
Zuko froze. What was she doing? Why was she shaking? He could feel her breath on his skin. Her touch was brisk, renewing, salubrious. He felt something wet. Was she crying? Crying for him? What was she doing?
She suddenly stood up, leaving him in chagrin.
As she turned around to leave, she felt him seize her hand.
"W-wait," he stammered.
She turned around.
"I just wanted to-" He took a step forward. She craned her neck upwards.
His lips were inches from hers. His fervor, his zeal, his avidity: he was so close to quenching that unknown thirst that so few of us ever satisfy. He could feel her breath. Stray strands of her hair tickled his forehead.
"Good night, Zuko," Katara breathed as she lowered her head. She left him befuddled, unfulfilled. Foreign emotions had been stirred, and he was indignant at himself for seeing what was never there.
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Katara stared at the campfire. What just happened? What didn't just happen?
She listened to the silence. Running a hand through the grass, she tried to breathe in a sense of tranquility.
It didn't come.
She sprawled herself on the grass and closed her eyes. She had a dreamless sleep that night.
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She awoke to shouts of confusion and animosity. She could see faint outlines of soldiers.
Springing upwards, she felt a bit relieved to discover that they were from the Earth Kingdom. Reni was in the front of the regiment, pointing frantically towards the campsite.
Katara squinted. She had heard a familiar voice.
Running towards the soldiers, she found herself laughing giddily, "Haru!" she shouted.
A/N: Instead of doing my homework, I wrote this. I'm a bad child. :-p
A big chocolate heart to all my reviewers!
Make me a happy kid. Drop a review.
A/N: In response to those of you complaining of my "vocabulary overusage:"
I fervently assure you that I do not "overuse" a thesaurus. I like to read. A lot. I also like to look up words when I read. Consequently, I've gained a huge vocabulary over the years. I'm known as the walking dictionary at school. Everything I write just kind of flows. I don't really stop to think about what I've written or how I've written it. I've also assimilated the writing styles of such authors as Thoreau, Bronte, Hawthorne, Austen, Dickens, and the like. They use convoluted sentences. I suppose I like convoluted sentences. I admit to using a thesaurus every now and then when I use the same word five times in the same paragraph. In general, however, I am against using external tools in writing. It's all about the flow. It's all about getting it down in your own style, just the way you like it. In brief, I really don't use the thesaurus more than one time per chapter, and it's just to stop any redundancies.
I think that the best thing authors can do for their readers is to write naturally. None of that pretentious business. Just writing the way they write.
If you are still averse to my writing, then I suggest reading something else. Or, deal. This is how I write. This is what comes to me when I sit down and let it flow. C'est tout que je suis.
P.S. Studying for SATs may have gone to my head?