It hasn't worked.

It's been almost two weeks since I sent my missive, to be personally read by the eyes of the Earth King himself. Those were my explicit instructions, and my word should carry enough weight for it to be, at the very least, considered. But I expected it to be adhered to. It seems, however, that either my missive did not reach the Earth King, or it did and has simply been dismissed. I lean towards the latter possibility.

The situation in Ba Sing Se is deteriorating by the day. The signs are there. They aren't huge, headline dominating signs, but for those who know how to read them, they are there. My husband can't see what I can, so he does not fully appreciate all that is going on. He has counselled me to be patient since the day I wrote the missive. He continues to counsel me as such when I begin to meet more frequently with Tenzin and the United Council. He advises me over and again, though never directly, that I need not commit myself so readily to this issue, that I have done what I needed to do and that I should now leave things in the hands of others.

I wish I could.

From experience, personal and otherwise, I recognise arrogance. The Earth King is pushing, day upon day; testing the boundaries to see how far he can get them to bend. But they are brittle, and close to snapping. I can see it, and so can Tenzin. But Mako doesn't.

I snapped at him earlier in the week, when he tugged a newspaper from underneath my fingers. And again, when I decided to attend a Council meeting late into the evening the following day. I wish that I hadn't. I wish I could not read my husband's eyes so well, because I am forced to look directly at a possibility I have shunned to the corners of my own sight, one I have not quite dismissed as I perhaps should.

Today is another day however; a new day, and I resolve not to think about the things that have dominated my thoughts for the past several. Instead, I focus only on my little girl and the time I'm spending with her.

We're sitting on the floor in the living room, my daughter resting against me between my legs and a small bowl sitting on the ground between my outstretched feet. I'm showing her waterbending for the first time, her first personal display of bending at all, in fact.

When I've brought her along with me to visit Air Temple Island, the children do not bend around her, per my askance, their mother's stern instruction, and Tenzin's mere look. I know how excitable they can be, and I remember how enthusiastic I was when I discovered my own bending. The charred walls, pitted floor and overflowing basins of my parent's home were testament to that. I do not want my daughter to be frightened by bending, but I want her to understand, even if unconsciously for now, that there exists a strange and wonderful energy in all the elements that surround her. I'm going to show her that her mother can harness that energy, and that it will bring no harm to her, nor give her reason to fear.

The hand that she is not gripping and playing with, I lift into the air so that she can see it. Her babbling pauses when I turn my wrist and curl my fingers inwards, beckoning a thin string of water from the bowl in front of us. Her attention is caught in an instant, and when I glance down, her eyes are unblinking and attentive, mouth open as though in wonder. I smile warmly and beckon the water a little closer, just outside her reach.

I don't need to gesture with my hand as much as I do to make the string of water loop and turn through the air, but I do so for her benefit, so that she can make a connection between it and the peculiar things the water is doing. As I'd hoped, her eyes turn from the water to my raised hand and back again, particularly as I make a show of pushing it away and then pulling it back towards us. When I do, she soon lifts her own little hands and makes grabbing motions, leaning forwards. I hold her back with my hand at her stomach, but I bring the water closer.

"This is waterbending," I tell her simply, and she babbles as the long string is made to dance before her eyes. "Are you going to be a waterbender, like mommy?" I wonder aloud.

My daughter has her father's eyes and black hair, though the tone of her skin is closer to mine than it is to Mako's. Her smile slants in the same direction as his typically does, and she laughs loud and long like her mother. We've discussed both before and after her birth which element she might bend, my being the Avatar making things a little more challenging to predict.

I once asked Katara, during a visit to the South Pole while I was pregnant, whether it was possible for the child to inherit earth or airbending. She told me first that she was no expert, and then that she surmised that despite my capability to manipulate all four elements, waterbending was the inherent ability with which I was born, passing down from my father to me, and so that was the one she thought would be passed down to my child.

Katara thinks my daughter will be a waterbender, and Mako shares the sentiment. I'm not so sure. I don't really mind whether she will eventually bend with utter brilliance or not at all. However, if I'm honest with myself, I know my daughter is going to be a firebender. I was the one being kept awake at night and uncomfortable throughout the day by frequent hot flashes that seemed to last for hours, after all. The joys of pregnancy. I was told that was an entirely normal affair for a pregnant woman, but I am getting used to this thing they call 'mother's intuition'.

I lean down and rest my cheek lightly against my daughter's, afterwards lifting my right hand as I call a second string of water from the bowl. Her babbling is punctuated by laughter, both as I make the water loop elaborately through the air, and as I blow raspberries into the crook of her neck. She's always liked that, particularly when her father does it.

All the while, I speak softly to her, answering to the enthusiastic sounds she makes with smiles and laughter of my own. First and foremost, I want her to feel comfortable around bending, and safe. Showing her waterbending first was a conscious choice on my part. The element is calm and non-intrusive. She's also seen and interacted with moving water before, when we bathe her, so this is almost a natural progression of that experience.

It brings warmth to my smile and heart when I notice my little girl imitating the movements of my hands. Her grabbing motions are accompanied by similar turns of the wrist, and once I study their pattern, I make the water move according to them. She has inherited that gleam of intelligence that sparkles in her father's eyes, and it shines in her own now.

I'm inexplicably proud. I know such content and happiness, to simply be able to share this moment with my daughter, to see her laugh and smile and turn at the sound of my voice when I speak. She is a warm and wonderful presence against me, her gaze bright with powerful curiosity and each sound she makes bubbling with fascination. For a moment, all I can do is close my eyes and rest against her. I can't find the words to truly describe how I feel, to properly paint the picture of the emotions that blossom in my chest.

I open them again when I feel something cool splashing my face. Determined, my little girl leaned forward and slapped at the ribbon I'd unknowingly brought within her reach. And now she's laughing like a maniac. It's difficult not to join in, particularly when I look and see that she has droplets of water all over her face. Well done, you little menace.

"If you are a waterbender, we're all in trouble," I say, gently wiping her face dry with my sleeve. She just keeps laughing.

I turn my head when I hear the telephone ringing. "We can play again afterwards," I tell my daughter when she makes a noise of complaint. I pick her up after returning the water back to the bowl, settling her against my hip. The telephone sits on a small table out in the corridor, and her hands are already reaching forwards to explore it when I pick it up.

"Hello?"

I can take a good guess as to who is calling, given the time of day, but it's better to play it safe than risk embarrassment. A secretary or two has been greeted more fondly than they probably expected to be.

"Hey babe, it's me."

Thought so.

"Lunch hour check-in?" I say.

"Mm. How is everyone?"

"We're doing fine. Say hello to daddy," I tell our daughter, bringing the bell of the listening device close to her ear. She babbles more in curiosity of the peculiar thing from which her father's voice appears to be coming than in greeting. I bring it back to my own ear after a few moments.

"Listen, Korra," Mako says, "I'll be coming home a little earlier today."

Strange. He more often than not has to tell me that he'll be coming back later than he'd planned.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, thinking I hear a slight tightness in his voice.

"No," he answers, and then, "I'll see you later."

And just like that, before I can even ask around what time I should expect him, Mako hangs up. Bemused, I set down the telephone, looking at it for a long moment as though it will provide me answers. Whether she senses my mood and seeks to distract me, or simply wants to return to play, my little girl starts imitating the movements of my hands again, looking up at me with askance in her eyes.

I smile with uncertainty at first, as my bemusement is slowly tinged with concern. Now that I think about it, my husband's voice did seem a little tight. Has something happened at work? Like questions begin forming in my mind as I return to the living room, and persist throughout the day. The only respite I get from them is the moment where my daughter reaches towards the bowl and I see the surface of the water ripple, just for a second.

Well, they never told me mother's intuition was perfect.