Her fingers moved nimbly against the needle and fabric, the glimmering blue thread slipping in and out of the torn shirt. The send-off was at sundown, she reminded herself glancing outside the window where the blue sky began to taint orange. Katara pictured her father, out in the boat covered by the traditional branches with the smell of the scented oil lingering about the air, before he would be set alight and launched into the next world. Like any warrior should. A deep sigh, Katara didn't care if he was a warrior... he was her father and he was gone.
Looking up briefly as the sun started to dip under the window, she willed her fingers faster. Zuko told her to get help. 'Women's work' Sokka's voice ventured into her mind. No! she would do it, who else? The Prince probably wouldn't be far from the door as it were, to ensure he was close in case he was needed. Momentarily Katara closed her eyes. She had hurt Zuko with her harsh words, sharpened by grief. She hoped she could make it up to him.
As she pulled and cut with her teeth one of the last threads, Katara regained her confidence. Maybe not perfect but still the blue shimmered. Finding the next hole and beginning the process again, the job was getting done.
"Ouch" she breathed. Pricking her thumb, but she didn't hesitate keeping pace. A tear rolled down her cheek but it was not from pain. Dad, she whispered. Failing to slow down she pricked her finger again... and again, leaving a small hole. Looking down she saw the shoddy work and again stabbed herself. A drop of blood trailing along the cotton and down, soaking into the garment.
"Ah, dam it!" she sobbed, throwing the shirt across the room accidently hitting one of the many vases of frost flowers. Shattering it with a heart-wrenching thud, Katara thrust her trembling hands around her head. Soon enough Zuko came through the door and put his arms around the violently sobbing girl. Caressing her back gently he whispered in her ear.
"C'mon now, we'll do it together hey?"
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