"The orchestra was playing 'Poor Butterfly.'"
"I'm sorry, Sokka, but your sister…is dead."
Sokka sat up straight to find himself among his furs. He was covered in sweat despite his frozen surroundings. It had been the same wretched dream that had first plagued him when he had had to leave Katara in the Fire Nation while she was recovering. He reminded himself that no one had ever spoken those words with such finality except for the phantoms of the night whose words he would not trust. Katara was not dead; she was simply on her way to Omashu. Sokka pulled on his thickest parka and went outside to watch the moon. He was comforted enough by the fact that the same moon watched Katara and so he soon returned to his bed, overcome by a deep and dreamless sleep.