Ok - I'm a be gone for a week or so (camp SUCKS!) so momentarily put on hold, unless I comfiscate a labtop...which is unlikely.And also i'm a junior, since people have been askin me about my age and stuff.
Wait a second...I'm unconscious from a whacking spoon. Dammit...
There was a hollow, metallic thud as Zuko's ice-coated boot hit the deck. Iroh looked up from where he sat and burst into prayers of thanks. Calling for Aang and Sokka, he rushed towards his nephew with a deep, relieved smile. Zuko did not move, his body blurred by flying snow, his eyes hidden in the howling winds.
"Zuko! We have been searching high and low for you! Never be that irresponsible again -" Iroh's voice caught and feld from his throat. Zuko was motionless, his body frozen into the posture of a cold, living statue. But the feeling that emanated from him was anything but cold.
It stirred through him, more fierce than it had all those days ago when he was possessed with the thought of capturing the Avatar. Passionate flashes of flowing, hidden pain, a constant river of betrayal, anger, ferocity. He stared headlong at his Uncle, pure hatred, his body pouring with anger the same way his hands poured with red flame, licking his armored side, unbound, uncontrollable, ruthless as the fierce gold light that sprang like daggers from his scarred eyes.
Iroh knew his nephew's mind, and the old man's hardened heart sliced open with a loud, despairing crack. His grizzled head bowed, his feet shifted backwards, his love for his dear nephew torn cruelly. His eyes shook as he stared at the floor, utterly obedient to the terrible Prince, but nonetheless crying deeply for the foundations of his broken heart.
Zuko did not heed his Uncle. He didn't heed anything, for that matter. Apathy entered his soul and stayed there like a parasite, feeding greedily off the unjustified pain that plagued his tortured soul.
Sounds all dulled and silence encased him. The very spirit of the world was glaring at him, savoring his anguish, his loss, his despair. There was nothing to describe what he saw; in black and white, completely emotionless, his only glimmer of feeling being one of the most dangerous he had ever felt. Hatred.
He hated the world for its unfairness. He hated Zhao for his devilishness. He hated Fire Nation for their subtle righteousness, he hated the Avatar for his friendliness, he hated Sokka for his clumsiness. He hated Uncle Iroh for his understanding, he hated Earth Kingdom, Water Tribe, the Air Nomads, the earth, the sky, the ocean, the stars, the moon, the very breathe in his lungs, the flame that burned his hands, the blood that pumped in each creature's veins as it walked the earth, unknowing of such terrible and irreplaceable loss.
But he hated one thing most of all. His hands clenched. His scarred eye slitted. The flames grew furious.
He hated himself.
Aang was stumbling onto deck, confused and concerned, rushing towards the Prince. Sokka was close behind, but he tripped over Momo on the way. Zuko did not move.
It all happened slowly. Sokka caught sight of the army of Zhao's Rebellion behind the Prince and gave a bewildered gasp; Aang skidded to a stop before the rigid form of his fire bending friend, opening his mouth to say something.
There was a hiss and Zuko spun, body burning. Aang'spupils shrank and a fearsome, red light glittered in the reflection of his eyes.
Katara's eyes snapped open.
She sprang to her knees but the effort made her double over in exhaustion. For a moment she sat there, breathing heavily, her eyes wide, red-rimmed and terrified.
She quickly concluded that if she was not accustomed to harsh climes she would already be dead. Icicles were hanging from nearly every likely place on her body, her eyelashes frosted, her lips blue and numb. She scrabbled across the ground with numb, partially mobile hands but her fingernails scraped nothing but ice. Panic began to set in as she looked hazily at her surroundings, the back of her head throbbing cruelly.
Snow was flying everywhere and all she could catch was glimpses of blue, white, blue again; in one direction was the ocean - a direction she decided against heading - and in another the continuation of the iceberg, which hopefully led back to land.
Her coat had been taken and she was facing the temperature with less than substantial protection. Struggling against the ice, she clawed her way up the incline of the iceberg, slipping away from the perilously freezing depths of the northern ocean. Mist was always at her lips, her joints tight and difficult to maneuver in the sub-zero atmosphere. She kept her eyes open, though it caused her terrible pain and turned her vision to blurs, and continued her ascent of the slope, searching in vain for some sort of far-off shelter.
She was reminded, vaguely, of a time long ago when she had climbed a different cliff. A warmer cliff, a cliff on an island where a Fire Nation temple...where golden eyes had gazed at her, falling across her features with layers of love, comfort, strength...
There was a loud snap and Katara gave a startled gasp. The platform of ice she had leant her weight into crumbled beneath her body fell, heavy and harsh, down the slick slope of the cliff side.
Her back banged against the ground and the wind flew from her lungs. She rolled into the snow, gasping desperately for air, her body screaming with pain, her gaze going in and out of focus as it met white powder. Bruises were forming along her back and she felt her body shiver violently as she sank into the snow.
She laid there for a minute, forcing oxygen back into her lungs, and stared up at the gray sky. She gave a very fain whimper and was just about to begin sobbing, when her eye caught something.
It was a big, black hole, cut into the side of the cliff she had just fallen down. Her gave sparkled with hope and she forced herself to roll over, facing the dark sanctuary in the midst of the merciless tundra.
Her fingers dug into the snow and she forced herself into a crawl, trying to focus on Zuko as her mind fluttered and she fought to remain conscious.