As they made their way south, the rolling hills of the Republic gave way to the level plains of the southern Earth Kingdom. That evening they made camp beside a thick stand of broad leafed trees on the banks of a flat, wide river. The nights were noticeably cooler here, and as the evening passed Asami was grateful for a steady supply of steaming tea.

When she awoke the next morning though, Iroh was gone. It was late again, about the time he'd woken her the day before, and she saw that his camp was mostly packed. He must not be far then.

Asami packed up her own things and settled in on a nearby rock to wait. It wasn't long before she saw Iroh returning from the trees. He'd removed his shirt, and appeared to be sopping wet. His hair, a little longer than she'd first thought, hung in dripping clumps around his face. As he got closer, she saw he was carrying a bundle of clothes and what looked like a small shaving kit. He must have gone in the river then, she thought.

He was nearly at camp before she realized that he hadn't seen her yet over on her rock. Not wanting to startle a man who could shoot fire out of his fists, Asami opted for being obvious. "Good morning," she called.

Iroh jumped. So much for not surprising the firebender. But he seemed neither angry nor about to attack her. Instead, Asami was astonished to see that General Iroh was embarrassed.

"Ah!" he said, turning to face her, blushing to the roots of his hair. At the same time he reflexively clutched the clothes bundle to his chest in an almost protective gesture. "Miss Sato, I'm… I'm…" He raised one hand to push his sopping wet hair out of his eyes. He seemed lost for words.

"Clean?" she said helpfully, raising one eyebrow and grinning. Asami was tall for a woman, but Iroh had four inches on her at least and outweighed her by a considerable amount. To see him so startled by her struck Asami as distinctly hilarious.

"It's just that, you usually sleep late," he said quickly. His next words came out in a jumble. "So I ran quite a ways... um... didn't think it would... ah, be good? You know, this was my last..." Asami couldn't take it. She snorted once, then burst out laughing. Iroh stopped talking and turned, if possible, even redder.

Asami, noticing he was truly uncomfortable, quickly recovered herself. "There's nothing wrong with cleaning up after a workout," she said. She slid down from the rock she'd been sitting on and walked over to him. "Especially while camping. I'm feeling kind of crusty myself." She smiled. "How's the water?"

"Cold," said Iroh truthfully. He seemed to be regaining some composure. He stopped clutching his shirt to his chest and moved to put it on. As he did, he revealed the massive scar on his left bicep.

"Oh, Iroh!" Asami said, "Your arm!"

"What?" He paused, shirt in hand, and looked down at her. Asami reached out and touched the scar, gently tracing it with her fingers. It was the size of a teacup and nearly as round, the healed skin a shiny surface a shade pinker than the surrounding area.

"General Iroh, I thought you said that the arm injury from last year was nothing?" She lifted her head to look him in the eyes. His skin felt very warm to the touch, despite his dip in the icy river. Firebenders tended to run hot. He looked back at her, a strange, unreadable expression on his face. "This is hardly nothing. I'm surprised it healed as cleanly as it did."

"It's fine," Iroh said quickly, and moved away from her hand. "Avatar Korra fixed the worst of it, and my grandfather knows a good healer. In the South Pole, actually. I think you may have met her once. Nice woman, and one of the few who will give my grandfather the hard time he so richly deserves." Asami smiled at that. Master Katara had certainly seemed like a woman who could give it as good as she got, even to the former Firelord. It made sense that, with her and Avatar Aang's friendship with Zuko, she would know Iroh as well, but Asami had never put the two together.

Iroh frowned slightly, as if thinking, and absently reached his own hand up to touch the scar. "Comparatively speaking," he mused, "it really wasn't so bad."

"Oh?" Asami raised an eyebrow. She thought the puckered scar looked awful. "What's worse than losing all the skin on your arm?"

"This is the one that almost killed me," he said, and lifted his scarred arm to reveal a small white mark just above the bottom of his ribcage. It was about two inches long, almost perfectly horizontal, and roughly the thickness of her little finger. "Sword cut," he said. "Got infected. I heard I was completely out of it for almost a month. I got another from it's pair, too." He turned again, this time revealing a long, thin white scar on his right side. It ran diagonally for 10 or 11 inches from just under his armpit almost to his navel. "This one looks ugly, but it's all surface stuff. Once we got to them, the waterbenders healed it in about a minute. The stab wound was worse by far. I've found that injuries are rarely about what you can see on the outside."

Asami looked back at the small scar again. He was right. It didn't look like much at all. "Do you still have a spleen?" she asked, noting the placement.

Iroh chuckled. His embarrassment seemed to have faded in the face of a clinical examination, though to Asami his eyes still seemed wary. "Smart woman," he said. "And yes. A very, very lucky spleen, too." He turned more serious. "I've actually found knowing anatomy to be an advantage in a fight. It's a little like the chi blockers in some ways. If you know where things are, you know how to hit. And if you have to take a hit yourself, moving a quarter inch one way or another could save your life." He looked down at the healed gash. "It probably saved mine."

Now that she was close, Asami started to see other scars as well. Nothing as bad as the burn or the sword cuts, but it was obvious that General Iroh had seen his share of combat. He noticed her looking and the blank, unreadable look returned to his face. His wet hair had fallen over his eyes again, and he absently pushed it back with one hand. To Asami the gesture made him seem younger somehow, and she found herself wondering just how old Iroh really was. Up close, without the United Forces uniform or any trappings of royalty, she thought he might only be a few years older than she was. And if that was true, to have so many scars already? He was either very brave or a lousy fighter, and she'd seen enough of him in action to doubt the latter.

"So," Asami said, changing the subject. "You run? I don't know many benders that train distance."

Iroh smiled, finally shrugging into his clean shirt. "Not often," he admitted. "It's one of the disadvantages of living on a battleship most of the year. But I enjoy it, so I do it when I'm able. I find the solitude relaxing."

That made sense. The gym the Fire Ferrets used was always loud, filled with clangs and shouts and the sound of breaking rock. Mako and Korra seemed to like the energy, and Bolin wanted to have an audience whenever he could. She couldn't really see a quiet, deliberate man like Iroh fitting in there.

She looked at General Iroh with new appreciation. She had been used to thinking of him, with his obvious Fire Nation looks, as a slightly stuffy, older version of Mako. She realized now that they were probably closer in age than she'd thought, but that the general carried himself in a way that made him seem more mature. Whereas Mako was always waffling between decisions, looking over his shoulder for approval while trying to play it cool, Iroh was much more straightforward. If he wanted to run, he ran, and the fact that it was unusual hadn't seemed to factor into his decision. She had obviously loved Mako—had, past tense?—but she realized that the last few days of relatively little drama had been a refreshing change of pace.

She was starting to notice physical differences between the men as well. For example, Mako and Iroh's coloring, which had once seemed the same, was now quite distinct. Mako's eyes were more copper to Iroh's bronze, and Iroh's hair was thicker and darker. Their builds were different, too. Mako was the classic good-looking athlete; broad, compact, and heavily muscled—as, come to think of it, were Bolin and Korra as well. Iroh, in turn, was taller and leaner. Though obviously very fit, he was all flat, hard muscle rather than bulk. It made sense that he ran. In fact, when Asami thought about it, she wasn't sure how she'd ever thought he and Mako looked anything alike.

The next few days settled into an easy rhythm. Iroh would wake early, exercise, eat, and do most of the packing before, if necessary, waking Asami. She was ashamed to admit that it was almost always necessary. Asami would then fly them as far south as she could reasonably go before getting tired. Some days they stopped halfway to rest, but more often they pushed on through. Between Iroh's detailed terrain maps and Asami's sharp eye, they were always able to find a safe and secluded landing spot by nightfall.

Evenings were taken up with any repairs (Asami), preparing dinner (Iroh), followed by a mix of route planning and small talk over tea. She caught Iroh up on what had happened in Republic City since Amon's disappearance, shared her hopes and fears for Future Industries, and gave her honest assessment of Republic City's recovery efforts. She found that, wherever possible, she avoided talking about her family, and was grateful that Iroh didn't press her on this. He in turn told her more about his moms and siblings, the ups and downs of life in the Forces, his progress rebuilding the fleet, and some of the places he'd seen on his travels. She found that Iroh knew a surprising amount, even about places he hadn't been, and he admitted to being somewhat bookish. He'd even brought a novel with him, despite his admonishment to her to travel light. She then shared with him her love of math and science, and how difficult it had been growing up to have male engineers take her seriously. He marveled at the pocket-sized portable electric light—one of her own recent inventions—that she'd brought for the trip, and after some prodding she talked about some of her other ideas for new Future Industries products. He himself had no knack for machinery, she saw that at once, but with patience, a few illustrations, and one memorable pantomime, she was surprised by his thoughtful feedback.

They also discovered a shared pain and excitement in having taken command at a young age. Iroh, she learned, had at 22 become the youngest man ever to serve as General of the United Forces. Like Asami herself when she became the new owner and president of Future Industries, Iroh had faced skepticism, paternalism, and open accusations of nepotism from competitors and colleagues alike. To her horror, she also learned that the loss of most of his fleet to the Equalists the year before had nearly resulted in his removal from command. Only eyewitness testimony as to his significant involvement in preventing her father's air squadron from doing further damage had saved his position.

She noticed, however, that Iroh shared little of what he had planned for after he reached the South Pole. Together they pored over his maps to identify and rank suitable landing sites, but beyond that she found him evasive. She, in turn, was reluctant to talk much about the rest of Team Avatar. Mako's decision to leave her for Korra, and their now ambiguous relationship following he and Korra's breakup, had completely consumed her only a short time ago. But beside a roaring fire, under the bright southern stars, and in pleasant company, her other relationships seemed remote and unimportant.