Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender.


Hakoda and others

Year of the Dove-Year of the Phoenix


I went away from the Fire Nation as a sole person and I arrived at the Southern Water Tribes with a little boy on my arm.

No, even the journey from the Fire Nation to the Southern Water Tribe was that long.

As I continued to paddle one day, I saw another boat coming in my direction. A spare boat never hurt, I thought, so I paddled up to it and looked inside. In the boat was a toddler; about two years younger than Iroke when I had last seen him.

I saw that in the boat besides him was a small slip of paper and a shiny object. Pulling the boat closer, I saw it was Water Tribe-Earth Kingdom interbreeding appearance; the child had the dark, though not coppery, skin of the Water Tribes and the lightened brown-ebony hair common in the Earth Kingdom. I pulled out my hunting knife, one of Iroh's parting gifts, and pressed the sharp end close to the toddler's throat.

For some reason, I hesitated. It's just another killing, I tried to tell myself, and my hand shook even more.

I sheathed my knife and pulled the toddler into my arms. He opened his eyes, they were a bright blue, and looked right at me.

'He is a child; take him in and raise him.' One voice said to me in my head.

'Kill him! He will only be one more enemy to your nature!' Another one interrupted

'But you can raise him to be different; you can raise him to be tolerant.'

'You could raise him, but his peers will all talk about how they want to kill your people; how your people are supposedly savages. Then he will turn against you!'

'He is a child! Wasted youth is a terrible thing.'

'He will waste his entire life anyways! He will be raised in the Water Tribes! D'you think they would suddenly change their ways and what they teach their children?'

'Take him and raise him; like you would have raised Iroke.'

'No one could ever replace Iroke; and this child is too weak to even bother.'

It could have been the greatest mistake of my life, but I spared him.

I rocked him to sleep and put him at my feet; taking out the note and shiny object. On the note was a simple letter addressing whoever found the canoe. The mother, who did not sign her name, said that the child's name was Hakoda and that his birthday was on the nineteenth day of the fifth month.

The shiny object was a medal with a crest carved on one side, and something like a map on the other; possibly showing where he came from. Along with it was a small box full of things in Earth Kingdom value.

With the second boat tied so it was behind mine, I continued to paddle southeast.


The tribe wasn't ruined, but the surviving citizens had changed so much.

Warily, they met me and then aided me—at least with most of the manual labor—in constructing an igloo for myself to give in. I was grateful that the igloo was a good distance away from the rest of the tribe; I wouldn't be bothered too much then. After the igloo was completed, the first thing I did was look around the wasteland; wondering if that spot was still there.

I noticed it immediately; the memory replaying.

Undoing one of my bindles, I took out a single candle, the little portrait of Tai I had made into a large necklace and wore under all of my clothes for years, and some of the Fire Nation fruits and vegetables I had managed to take before I went; laying them down as I would in a grave.

Quietly, I knelt—Hakoda being left with another woman from the village I had just barely befriended—before it and said a silent prayer; feeling myself sink a bit into the 'ground'.

The next day, I went outside and found that tiger-seals were eating the food! I screamed in rage, Firebending for the first time since I had arrived, and almost minced them all. As I dragged the two corpses back—both of them leaving a trail of blood—I grit my teeth in anger; this really was a land of savages, I thought.

After all, what kind of animal would sacrilegiously eat an offering to the dead?


I admit, I did not raise Hakoda in the same way I did with my other sons, but I only thought that because I was not his actual mother, it wasn't my job to coddle him senseless; only to raise him correctly so that when I do tell him and he goes to search for his real parents, he will be ready for the real world.

When he was four, he stated that he didn't like the fish stew I had prepared.

I snatched his bowl from him; dumping it back into my cauldron.

"If you don't like it, don't eat." I said tersely. I raised him in a very practical manner and taught him what I saw fit to.

"Ingo's mom makes him whatever he wants." He once complained to me.

"Well I'm not Ingo's mother; why don't you go and live with them if you want?" I lashed out.

He was gone for three days before trying to reconcile with me.

As he continued to grow, he noticed how different I was from the rest of the mothers, and he began to ask questions. He asked why every summer, we would go up to the northern-most islands of the Southern Water Tribe and spend a week there picking fruits and vegetables, collecting kindling, and thoroughly washing our hair and bodies. I told him that we were doing so because it was important.

One summer, I saw a hawk in the skyline. "Hakoda, come here!" When he rushed over, I took him and pointed to the skyline. "See that bird?" I asked, and he nodded. "That is a spirit bird. It will guide you through your life. If you ever need help, look for it; it will not fail you." It was one of the few times that I had exposed him to Fire Nation myths.

Hakoda was not the one who looked upon my ways with curiosity, if not suspicion. It seems to me that the Water Tribe, due to its small size, wanted conformity of all of its citizens above all.


One day, when Hakoda was eight and had made many friends with the other boys of the tribe, about half a dozen mothers appeared outside of my igloo.

Upon coming out, I saw Kinas—one of the boys' mother and apparently the unofficial queen of the Water Tribe at the time—leading them.

"Kana—." I chose to go by my old name again since no one has heard it in such a long time. "—it has recently come to our attention that Hakoda feels neglected at home with you." She regarded me with disdain in her eyes.

"How so?" I asked calmly; staring right back at her.

"He says that you do not know his preferences, that you never comfort him, and that you are not motherly at all." It was a direct insult at my so-called mothering abilities.

"As his mother, it is my job to raise him in the ways I was taught and to prepare him for the world. Not to coddle him to death." I replied coolly.

"And as a mother, you should at least provide him with care, like I do for my son." It took me all of my strength to not roll my eyes.

"Yes, every mother who cares for her son should definitely take off her clothes in public because her son and his friends wanted to know what 'tittles' are." Kinas blanched; before me, no one else had dared to talk about that...'incident.'

"Tell me," I continued, "Did it feel good? Your own husband has not touched you since your son was born. Did you like being touched by a man, any man, even your own adolescent son?"

Kinas was so enraged that she could not speak. She turned and walked away.

The other women with her were impressed, but not enough to approach and talk with me in public. When they showed up at my igloo bringing some food, I turned them away.

"If you don't have enough spine to come near me in public, don't come near me at all." I snapped at them and went back inside to continue working on my knitting.


Yao had 'miraculously' survived the Fire Nation attack years ago and, when I met up with him again, he did not hesitate to being speaking to me.

"And what happened afterwards?" he asked about my journey.

"I traveled around; saw sights, met new people, those kinds of things." I watched as his dimple--yes, he had a dimple--stuck out in the cute way that made him look as if he were a child again and laughed. For a man over fifty years, he looked and acted so childishly sometimes.

And, less than a month after we were speaking again, his new wife came charging at me on the street with a knife in her hand and screaming bloody murder to 'keep my hands off of her husband'.


The sole time I could think that I was accepted, if only for a very short time, in the society of the Water Tribe was with an incident involving Hakoda's friend Bato.

It was when they were both ten years old, in the year of the Koi; Hakoda came running towards me when I was fishing one day, saying that Bato had fallen into the water, and I had managed to pull him out and into the igloo before most of the other 'help' had arrived.

People were crowding into my igloo, some of them leaning dangerously against the snow bricks, and demanding a way to heal him. I knew a way, but it would expose me as a Firebender, I had to get those people away.

"I can heal him, but I cannot show you how I will do so. It is a family secret." I yelled at them all.

At first, they all stared at me, dumbstruck. "Go!" I yelled.

They seemed wary at my request, but complied. I hoped that I still remembered that technique. Concentrating my fire to my hands, I placed one on Bato's forehead and the other to his abdomen. I pushed down and transferred the fire into the main chakras of his body; feeling as he reacted to the sudden flood of heat. By the time the others came back, Bato was breathing regularly and asleep inside my sleeping bag.

Many healers approached me, eager to find out how I had done it, but I refused to tell them. Within days, I was avoided in public once again.

I almost revealed myself then; I had saved a life of one of their own but because I chose not to tell about my healing technique, I was ostracized! It's an outrage! As a result, I pushed myself further away from the tribe.


My self-imposed exile hurt Hakoda more than it did myself.

When I found out that he was a Waterbender, I spoke with--perhaps harassed is a better word--the old Waterbending master until he agreed to train Hakoda.

"Mother." Hakoda said softly one day. I turned to him.

"Yes?"

"The—The other Waterbending students…and everyone else in general says that you're different." He spewed out quickly.

"I am different." I replied; knowing what the others were really implying. It was unconfirmed, but I'm sure that someone of the Water Tribe had seen me Firebend to carve a hole in the ice. I was not able to stop using Firebending: I had to eat and I could not carve ice using only a bone knife and my bare hands.

"They—they're saying that you're not one of us." Hakoda said tentatively.

"Wouldn't that make yourself an outcast as well, since you are my son?" I retorted.

He looked hurt for a moment, taking in my statement, and then looked back at me. "But…you don't do anything in the tribe and they're all talking about you." He stated.

I looked directly at him; the gleam of his eyes strangely familiar. "Hakoda, one day, probably when you're as old as I am, you won't care anymore. You'll find that it doesn't matter. Real friends accept you for who you are, not for who your mother is." With that, I turned away from him and continued to watch my pot of melted snow; hoping that it would boil soon enough. A watched pot never boiled, as they say.

"If they bring it up again, tell them what they want to hear. Tell them that I am a monster, a madwoman, whatever they say that I am, and say that you are not my son. I will understand." I told him. He left without another word.

It turns out, instead of doing what I suggested for him to do, he'd beaten up the entire group of boys who had mocked me.


Contrary to what Hakoda claimed, I did help the tribe--unconventionally and piecemeal, but helped nonetheless.

It began with Hakoda, and then he brought his friends, and they brought theirs, and soon, everyone in the tribe knew that I was literate and fluent in the modern common language.

As a result of the tribe's isolation, the reading and speaking system that they taught the children was almost one hundred years old: the tribesmen who journeyed to the Earth Kingdom having learned only the old style were laughed at by the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation citizens. Some of the citizens, mostly traders, asked me to write or translate a message and promised goods in exchange. I also began to give lessons to children every few days. I had made some progress in ingratiating myself with the tribe, but, once again, my "outsider" status halted teh progress.

In the middle of a lesson, a woman burst into the room and glared at me. "What lies are you feeding my children?" she demanded. "I am teaching them how to read." I replied, pointing to the ice slabs in front of my students. She looked from the slabs to the students, and her eyes widened in horror. It took me a minute to realize why: there were girls in the classroom. The girls were not only there and learning, but also sitting next to the boys. I had arranged my students in a boy-girl seating pattern, as I had seen in the primary schools of the Fire Nation.

Among the girls in the classroom was the woman's daughter.

The woman angrily called for both her daughter and son. "Excuse me, but you are disrupting my class." I said as evenly as I could. "Have you told everyone of the lies that you tell them?" The woman spat. "What lies?" I demanded.

She told me that a few nights ago, she had seen her children practicing characters and that her daughter had told her son that she was better at it, and her son congratulated her.

By then, the children had gone up to their mother and she grabbed her daughter. "A girl does not need to learn how to read or write; only to become a wife."

"That's not true!" I screamed. In my classes, I had taught everyone that no one needs to be only one kind of person. When the boys in the class first spoke out against girls being my students, I pointed out that I was a female and that I was teaching them. I hated to witness gender discrimination, especially when women echoed the views of my father.

The woman looked at me with overt disgust. "You will never get married with that. I am a good wife. I provide a home for my husband and respect his authority and superior knowledge."

I wanted to grab her and shake her, to yell out that "you take pride in illiteracy and ignorance? Look beyond tradition! Girls are just as good as boys! They deserve to learn too!" Instead, I watched as the woman dragged her children away. Before leaving, she said to me, "Our lives here are peaceful and simple: we do not want outsiders to come and spread lies with their outside ways."

I crushed a ball of snow in my hand and turned back to my students. "Go back to your writing: it is over now." I lifted my hand back up, watching as the wisps of water vapor floated into the air, and imagined that the water vapor was my class. The prophacy was fulfilled when, within three days, all of the parents pulled their children out of my class and began avoiding me.

In a strange form of spite, I taught Hakoda more of the common language. The more everyone avoided me, the more I taught him. I would wake him up when the sun shone brightly enough into the ice window of my igloo and teach him or quiz him on characters. Every day, when he came back from waterbending lessons, I would set out sentences that I wrote on ice slabs and tell him to read them to me. By the time he was sixteen, he was fluent in the common language.

I dug my own grave by teaching him so much. Since he was considered less of an outsider, everyone asked Hakoda to teach, write, or translate the modern common language. They had no more need for me, nor to promise me goods, and Hakoda was of such a good nature that he often used his teachings and did not ask for anything in return. I lost my connection to the outside world, but I was still proud of Hakoda: he was going to go beyond the borders of the Water Tribe.


When Hakoda was fourteen, Bato's father took him ice-dodging—I wondered why steering a ship among split-second appearing ice points was so important; it's not a skill that is applicable on land—and a year later, he began courtship.

It occurred to me that I had never been there for my sons when they went through adolescence: I went away when they were children, and saw some of them again when they were young adults. The guilt ate at me, and then I forced myself to let go: I could not undo the past, no matter how much I wanted to, and I needed to move forward.

He began to ask me for trinkets to give as presents—I laughed the first time he had asked; buying a woman?—and after my suggestions of using words, he did not take me seriously, he was often laughed at for his gallantries, I gave him some amber teardrops.

The girls whom he had courted were amazed by them—its color, its luster, its brilliance—and began to visit me more in trying to see if I had any more treasures. During their visits, they asked ever-so often why I always placed my right hand over my left; it had become a habit, considering that my wedding ring was still under the layer of mitten, and often I would press my digits against it to help me realize that my life in the Fire Nation was not all part of my imagination.

It cost me about half of my fortune in amber droplets—it would have cost me a lot more had I not been assertive and demanded for half of them back once he and a girl ended their courtship—and nine years that he stuttered through any gallantry that he tried to say to a female, but he did finally seem to meet someone.

Her name was Kita, she was fifteen at the time. In the year of the Komodo Rhino, he burst in and began to talk, dare I say it, amorously, about her.

"Her father would never consider you." I replied to his comments. It was true; Kita's father, though a fisherman, was one of the wealthiest men in the tribe due to his business of trade with the Earth Kingdom. Hakoda's supposed fortune came solely from me.

"He will accept me." Hakoda replied; haughtiness in his tone.

"As an understudy, of course, but as a suitor—he'll consider it when it snows in the Fire Nation." I repeated his catchphrase when he was responding to some ridiculous question.

Besides, Kita was in love with that rogue cousin of hers, Sikano, and due to the small population of the Water Tribes, it was perfectly acceptable for cousins to wed and Kita, as I thought at the time, would not have settled for anyone less. Sikano, though, had no desire to marry or sire his own generation; he wished to sail around the world--I admit, my stint as a storyteller during his youth had left an indelible mark on him, which is probably a reason why his family hated me--but the tribe's mores would not let him.

"Then I will woo her." He declared and went out again.

I shook my head. Wooing Kita, a snob, would be like training a lion to eat vegetables; it just could not be done.

Two months passed after Hakoda made his vow and, since Sikano had sailed away, Kita was heartbroken and vulnerable.

Hakoda came to me a week later asking for me to give him five amber droplets and a strand of silk to make a bracelet—an uncommon courtship present—and when I accused him of buying a woman, he grew angry; stating that Kita had predicted that I would say that, and that I was only saying it because I wished to hoard my valuables.

"Fine then," I snapped back. "Go and find your own stones and string to make her that courtship present."


Then came the day he proposed marriage.

He had gotten a job with Kita's father and was paid, but he had yet to actually sail the distance to the Earth Kingdom. Again, he came to me asking for an engagement proposal.

"I have nothing." I replied dully.

He flared up, Kita's thoughts had poisoned his mind. He began to scream that it was a lie; that I did have much more and that I was hiding it from him out of spite.

"You never speak to your mother that way!" I shouted back at him. We had gotten into loud screaming matches that sometimes lasted for the entire day before one of us backed down.

"I am in love!" Hakoda declared.

"Love? You know nothing about love, you gullible nitwit!" Oh, how I longed to scream those words at him.

Instead, I decided to let him make his choice. I was not his mother, so why should I try and mop up his tears and reassure him that everything would be alright after his mistakes? He needed to learn about real life.

Without thinking, I took the old necklace Pakku once gave me—returned to me by Iroh a bit before I'd left—out of my pouch and threw it at him.

"Now leave." I snapped; watching as he rubbed his forehead at the afflicted spot.

Once he was outside, I heard his whoop of joy and, following him, watched him present the engagement necklace to Kita. Her eyes widened, but it was not from amazement that Hakoda had proposed to her; it was a fascination with the fine, and pricey, turquoise stone that the necklace had been carved on.

When he mentioned that it was an heirloom of mine, I saw her eyes widen and then gleam with avarice; most likely wondering what other hidden treasures I'd had with me. If I died, all of what I had—and if only she knew what I truly had—would go to her as inheritance; no doubt she was first planning to try and see what else I'd had before deciding to kill me or not.

I don't believe that she would have cared if that turquoise stone was all I'd had of my possessions of value; all throughout her marriage, we'd barely salvaged a tolerant relationship. After their wedding, they'd 'bought' a house of their own and lived there. In the rare times I went to town, they would invite me inside for a time to talk.

Kita and her father kept holding off the day of the wedding, they wanted an 'auspicious day' according to his sister the astrologer who loved Kita as a daughter, and it turns out that it was custom in the Water Tribes for the male's family to pay the female's family portions of a dowry from the day the couple becomes engaged to their wedding day; to give the couple 'a good start'.

As the days passed, I watched as Hakoda walked off with little bells, lengths of ribbon, and practically any other trinket uncommon in the Water Tribes until the day finally came.

He stuttered through his vows, she looked sick the moment they were pronounced husband and wife, and no one bothered to cheer as the couple shared the drink and 'tied the knot'. And like that, they were married.

Hakoda, deprived of any parental figure in his life, knew nothing about what he was supposed to do or be, so he usually withdrew himself. Kita and I at least had that point to bond and talk about on, though we differed and loathed each other about everything else. At least during his so-called marital bliss, he was blind to the signs I had noticed and he did make himself better for the sake of his marriage.

Kita, though it was obvious that she was the head of her own household, kept trying to assert herself with me as well; thinking that because I was old, I would comply.

It was obvious that she thought of me as Kana; an old, soft-hearted and weak woman she could manipulate to her will and grew irritable whenever she found that I was not what she had thought I would be.

Our little tension-filled battle had its major swings, but the breaking point came when Kita bought up a question of marriage for me.

"Mother, how would you feel to remarry?" she asked a bit too cordially for my comfort.

"I do not wish to remarry." I replied simply as I tried to will myself to shove another mouthful of that (good gods, it was horrible) stewed sea prunes into my mouth.

Kita's face fell slightly, and then tried again.

"But a woman like you needs to be taken care of." She persisted.

"To take care of someone doesn't mean that they must marry." I said calmly. Knowing that she would not get anywhere with that matter, her eyes darted about elsewhere.

"You're not eating." She said frankly.

"I follow my philosophy. If I do not like it, I do not eat." Hakoda obviously heard it, but he demurely lowered his head and went back to eating.

"And in the Water Tribes, not eating the food prepared for you is taken as an insult." Kita hissed; her eyes narrowing.

"Well, if I had the choice of starving or having to come in here, eat with you, and let you verbally abuse me, I choose to starve." I said coolly and, without another word, left their house and went back to my own, where I sacrificed one more package of dried noodles and broth powder for a day's meal.


I awoke to Hakoda screaming and shaking me awake.

"What the—?" I asked drowsily. Kita had missed her course and had chosen to tell him.

I pulled out a small can of tea leaves and crackers from a pocket in my backpack.

"Make weak tea with it and feed these to her; she'll feel a bit nauseous at about this time, go on—you're her husband, and you have to soothe her." It was hours after I'd woken up that I realized that the canister where I had kept my tea leaves in had Huowen and Fire Nation symbols all over the metal.

Even if Kita suspected it, she did not hint so; she only accepted my things without a word and continued to lie down. No wonder so many women here die in childbirth, I thought.

I had begun to work as a midwife to make ends meet and though I wasn't the best, I did know enough about children and childbirth.


From my first months back in the Southern Water Tribe, I felt the cold air seep under my skin and freeze in a layer, and now it had begun to show; my skin sagged more and more every time I dared to look into a reflective object and the chill of the arctic never evaded me; not even as I practiced my Firebending in secrecy or slept in my sleeping bag wearing all of the Water Tribe clothing I had owned.

The chill became increasingly stronger and there were days that I had to stay in my sleeping bag and constantly feed the fire I had made with the dung I had collected and dried; Kita always did complain of an atrocious smell in my igloo afterward.

One night, though I was freezing to death, Hakoda shook me awake and begged for me to come; Kita had gone into a premature labor. I told him to let the healers handle it, but he shook me again; stating that the healers had done nothing and were just waiting for her to die.

"I am not a miracle worker." I snapped back at him and turned over.

Hakoda left and came back with friends who lifted me, sleeping bag and all, and hauled me to where Kita was giving birth.

The scene was a mess; blood had already spilled over and was staining the blankets and Kita was screaming like a banshee—"Let me die! Let me die!"—while everyone else looked on helplessly. Rolling up my sleeves, I felt for the baby and tried to pull him out; apparently, the baby was turned on its side and I felt only his back when I reached inside.

After Iroke's birth, I did ask the midwives about that operation they would have tried on me, and I guessed that that time was the best time to see if their advice would work.

"Move!" I shouted. I took a small carving knife, washing off the bloodstains, ran my finger over the area and vertically slit the lower area of her abdomen.

I had not cut in a long time, and my follow-through was sloppy; some of the blood did not come from the womb or infant. Reaching inside, grabbing a stray limb, I guided the protruding body part to the 'hole' and pulled it out: it began to wail. I stared at the upside down infant, dangling by his right leg: he seemed so small, albeit that his limbs were quickly kicking and swinging. The healers took him from my hand, commenting on how fine the baby was. Kita took one look at her abdomen and screamed.

"What have you done to me?" she screeched.

"Relax; we'll sew you up." She screamed again; possibly since I was apparently comparing her to a rag doll. The healers stepped in at that time and repaired the surface, but stated that recovery would still be months away.

The little boy, cleaned and swaddled, was placed in Kita's arms with Hakoda looking over her shoulder.

"What shall we name him?" Hakoda asked; carefully stroking the baby's head as if he had seen nothing like it before.

"We can call him Sokka; after my uncle." Kita suggested.


"Damn him! Damn her! Damn them all!" I swore in Huowen in my igloo. Out of anger, I kicked the fire; watching as it flared out and melted the extra chamber I had made especially for it.

It was barely a month after Sokka was born that Kita marched right up to me in public and demanded that I hand over any valuables I'd had. When I'd asked her what in the thirteen hells she was talking about, she screamed that Hakoda had told her about the amber droplets and copper chain—an object in the Earth Kingdom box—and brooch and an entire list of what she thought I'd supposedly had.

"And why should I hand them over to you?" I snapped. Her father was behind her.

"Your son's dowry was not enough." He said coldly.

"Are you that desperate for money? Let me guess; your trade business is failing." I asked with a scoff.

Both Kita and her father looked like they'd wanted to strangle me on the spot. Hakoda joined in on our argument and, of course not wanting to displease his new father, siding with his 'family'.

"Here's a lesson, boy—!" I spat; lunging at Kita and tearing her necklace from her neck. "—Never bite the hand that feeds you!" they only watched in horror as I gathered every hairpin, amber drop, and piece of jewelry I had ever given to Hakoda to give to Kita as a present.

"I'll—I'll get you shunned for this, you…you old hag!" Kita spat out. They never taught her many profanities here, and as if I was not shunned enough already.

"Just try, you bitch!" I shouted back and left the town center with a staring crowd, a shocked father, a confused daughter-in-law, a humiliated husband, and the pieces needed for gossip by the townspeople.

I considered burning all of the valuable items for a moment, but decided against it; I could always sell it later, when I left the icy hell of the Water Tribes.

They did not like me at all, but they all had to grudgingly admit that I held the valuables they needed to pawn off for spare money.

I pulled out the mahogany box and slid it over to Hakoda. Inside, he found valuables mainly consisting of copper and bronze with the occasional gold and silver, some pearls and emeralds, and sapphires and diamonds. As for the unmarked rubies, I snatched them from the box long ago; I doubted anyone on the Earth Kingdom or Water Tribe side liked the color of red.

"You're just giving it to me?" Hakoda asked; his shaking hand reaching to touch a jewel.

"Are you going to demand more—do you think I'm hiding more from you?" I questioned mockingly. He shook his head.

"It's your inheritance; I was supposed to give it to you when you when you came of age, but since your wife and her family want it so much, why not?" I said with a shrug.

Neither Hakoda nor I ever saw the mahogany box and its contents again after he'd handed it over to Kita's father.


My luck changed—for better or for worst, I am not the most clear on.

It started on the second month in the year of the Phoenix; a young boy said that he'd spotted a canoe coming towards the land and that "one of their own" was coming.


Is he really?

Review, please.