There are a million questions he wants to ask. How the frozen spires came to be, how long this crystalline grove has stood to house the spirits of her people.
But this is sacred ground, sacred silence, and he knows better than to break it.
Zuko sits cross-legged on the frozen ground, his back resting against Katara's.
There are whispers all around them, and silvery shapes coalesce into human forms. One looks like Katara. The spirit looms nearer and studies him a moment, then smiles.
His breath catches in his throat. He can feel it. He has the spirits' blessing.