The waters of the swamp slosh around her; the stale liquid sucks her shoes to the mud floor. A ground mist winds its way among knotted, deformed tree roots, so thick that she can barely see the shadowed vegetation beyond the clearing. The warm air hangs thick and heavy around her, a suffocating shawl. Birds call in the distance, but the swamp morphs the sounds into a harsh laugh, jeering at the lost girl. The place is creepy to say the least, and Katara isn't too happy to be by herself.

"Aang? Sokka?" The words are suspended in the air for a few minutes, vulnerable and lost- not even their echoes return to her. If the air is thick, the loneliness and fear is thicker.

She turns, looking for a familiar face. Her eyes catch on white flowers dappled along the limbs of two trees, so out of place- like an evergreen in the desert. Some fallen blossoms float on the scummy green water, only to be contaminated with its toxin.

But someone is there, a blurred blue and gray smudge against the fog. A spark of hope grows in Katara, driving a bit of the isolation away.

She holds her arm out in front of her, as if to part the curtain of air between them, to make her voice heard. "Hello? Hello? Can you help me?" She wades toward the silhouette, watching as it begins to detach from the mist. Katara squints, trying to bring the figure into focus. The person begins to solidify into something terrifyingly familiar: the blue cloth of the water tribe and a straight backed, self assured stance.

"Mom?" The word leaves her lips in a whisper. That was word she had tried so hard to avoid, that when spoken aloud her throat becomes thick and tongue clumsy. Her ember of hope grows into something tangible, so real she could almost cup it in her palms, hold it close to her. It becomes something beautiful, precious and delicate, like glass.

"Mom!" she dashes forward, speeding towards the figure that had grown more and more distant over time. A lingering dread had always hovered over the water bender's conscience, that she would forget, forget her mother's lips forever quicker to smile than frown, the cool hands that seemed to chase away fevered nightmares. That face grew blurrier and blurrier every day, memories became fragmented and few. Most of all, she feared that forgetting would make her mother truly dead, a last nail hammered into the coffin. Every detail lost frayed her last tie to the woman she missed so much.

But that dread is gone now, and her feet carry her forward as if the worry had been dead weight on her shoulders, dragging her down. Tears she hadn't noticed burning her eyes stream out behind her. She bears her hope with her, so intense that it blazes inside. It's an offering really, proof that she had believed that a bond between mother and daughter could not be broken by death, that she is never forsaken when she carries the memories with her.

She grabs the shoulder, feels something real beneath her fingers. It's impossible, yes; she knows that, but maybe…. Maybe she can stay here awhile, talk to the woman she didn't want to grow up without, feel safe and whole again.

"I can't believe….."

The fabric changes to wood grain, coarse against her hand. The vision falls away, hits her face with the slap of reality. Nothing but a wood stump remains. She stumbles backward, and the girl searches for the mother she sorely needed.

No one's there.

She holds up her hands that only moments ago held her naivety. In her mind's eye, that bit of delicate, treacherous hope shatters in her hands and leaves the skin bleeding hopelessness. Katara sinks to her knees, covering her face with the traitor hands that do little to suppress her sobs. That dangerous bit of faith mocks her now, cuts deep into soft skin, leaves her with nothing.