Teeth chatter.
A body, somewhere in the heart of the Fire Nation, shivers. For a nation surrounded by volcanoes, it's surprisingly cold at night. As the sun sets, a thin layer of fog sets over the field. Katara pulls her stolen red cloak closer to her shoulders in attempt to stop the subtle shivers. The feeling of freedom remained from earlier, though the energy was gone; her shoulders are slumped and her feet drag slightly through the rippling grass. As she trudges on, step after painful step, the scenery stays stagnant. She's stuck in the same eternal grassy field that she'd been in since she escaped the palace, heading towards a goal that never stops running away from her, longing for the horizon that she can never quite reach.
A distant shout shatters the silence of the serene field. Katara stops in her tracks and turns around. No one can still be following me, right? For a moment she thinks the shout resembles her name, though she quickly waves off the thought and continues walking.
But the second time she hears it, she's sure of it.
Someone's shouting her name. Not in an accusatory way - not someone who wants to drag her back to the palace to be punished for running. Someone's shouting her name frantically, worriedly, longingly. Katara whips around to face the source of the voice, and her long, messy hair follows in a graceful yet feeble manner. All she can see is the blinding sunset on the horizon; the palace has long been out of sight.
The third shout sounds closer than before, though still a ways away. And then she sees it - a tiny spec of silhouette bobs up and down right underneath what's left of the sun.
Katara runs. She's all out of energy; her legs are almost limp and her arms can hardly swing. Every step feels like a mile closer to collapsing, though she can't stop. Not now. She's running on hope. The hope that someone needs her - someone wants her.
The tiny spec grows to be a dot, and then slowly to be a very small figure. As Katara bounds wearily towards that figure, she can feel the strength returning to her legs - hardly, but it's there. And as she grows nearer the small figure grows larger, until she's sure of who it is.
"Zuko," she breathes, and she's shocked at how hoarse and quiet her voice is. She swallows hard and shouts his name again. The outline of his hair and clothes define themselves, and a warm tear slowly cascades down the curve of her cheek.
And before she could make out his face they collide, her face buried in his chest and their arms gripping desperately around each other.
"I thought I'd never see you again."
"You can't get rid of me that easy." Zuko laughs and plants a long kiss atop her head.
Katara smiles. Her limbs relax, and the two stand there, drowned in each other.
One lone thought drifts through Katara's mind:
Finally.