She turned to look at him, eyes downcast.
Aang became uncertain, his smile receding. The whispers behind him faded and a murmur of sea and sand brushed through her hair. He closed his eyes, feeling days spent spread-eagle on the shore, a breeze stirring the salt as Sokka bent over dinner, grinning as Katara practiced "magic water."
I won't make it! I can't!
Anguish caused him to step away, disbelieving, wishing her resignation meant something else. He begged her in silence to give him freedom. She bit her lip and was ruined inside.
Aang had always known that he would go, but he'd always hoped… he'd always had some thought…
Before he had come here, he had always believed in after.
They wanted a hero. They cried for him to make everything better. Children wailed at his feet and made him promise he would save them. Aang gave them a reassuring smile, and told them.
"I will."
And when they were alone Aang cried on her lap and told her how he would go, he would go, he would… but he wished so bad that he could remember how to go on forever.
And she had been scared for him, too.
The whispers grew to pleas. He shuddered to see them falling to their knees at his feet, beseeching him with their repression. They spoke of ancient evils, a hero alone, a bloody, desperate hope, and battle, flame from the sky…
Aang clung to memory and wished for yesterdays.
Her hand slipped from his. Her eyes told him what he had to do. He knew she was right.
But it hurt.
"You too, Katara?"
And crying, she sent him into death.
