I guess that sometimes when you won't let yourself think about something when you're awake, you kind of force yourself to dream about it.

Because if I could choose what to dream, I wouldn't have dreamt about the day I met Jet.

I was six. I lived in a small town, a few miles north of Omashu. The Fire Nation had just launched a (failed) invasion there. I guess they were upset and thought they'd take it out on a nearby village. Make themselves feel better.

My father had gone off to war. My mother and older brother were at home. I was playing outside the village walls.

I heard the soldiers before I saw them. I recognized the heavy multitude of footsteps, the clang of their weapons. It wasn't the first time they'd come around.

My mother had told me that if they ever came and I wasn't with her, I needed to hide.

I was in an area in between the wall and the forest. I found a tight little cluster of trees and ran behind them.

The footsteps stopped several yards in front of me. I couldn't see what was going on without revealing myself, but I could still hear. Very clearly.

"Hey, Admiral! Check this out! A little village. Can we?"

He must've nodded, 'cause I heard cheering. Then the fwoom of fire. And then screams. And laughter.

I was terrified. I had no idea what was going on. I knew it couldn't be good, but…

I poked my head around a tree, just to check. A hand grabbed my tunic and lifted me up.

"Hey, Admiral!" the man called. He had black hair, so slick it was almost dripping, a mustache, and a goatee. That was bad enough, but his eyes… they were gold, they should've sparkled, looked warm.

But they looked like bottomless pits. Like there was no soul behind them.

"You forgot one!" he yelled.

The admiral walked over and looked me up and down. I was trying not to cry, to call for help. I'd seen the still-burning ruins of my home. I knew no one would save me.

"What should I do with 'er?" the man holding me asked.

"Bring her with us," the admiral said after a moment. "She could be of use in the mines."

He walked away. "Come on, men! Let's move!" he called.

Everyone but the man holding me started marching.

He grinned evilly… hungrily. "Here that?" he asked. "You'll be staying with us."

"Not if I have anything to do with it!" a voice yelled from behind me.

Again, I wasn't sure what was going on. All I knew was that one moment I was in the man's hands, struggling not to burst out in tears, the next, something cold – metal – was around my waist and I was torn out of his hands and set on the ground.

A blur of metal, and the man was on the ground, his throat sliced open.

There was a boy standing in front of his body, about two years older than me. He had a mess of cinnamon-y hair, and was holding a pair of tiger-hook swords.

He looked at the body and shuddered, then turned to me. "Are you okay?" he whispered, coming closer.

I just stared. I'd seen a body before, but only a couple times, and I'd never seen anyone get killed.

"It's okay," he said, slowly edging closer. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

I looked at him, my eyes wide. He knelt down a few feet in front of me. "I'm just trying to help," he said.

I ran at him, threw my arms around him, and sobbed.

We stayed like that for at least ten minutes: me crying, him trying to comfort me.

I finally calmed down enough to talk. "Wh-who are you? What's your name?" I asked, letting go.

He chuckled, then looked thoughtful. "I don't really have one."

I was confused. "How can you not have a name?" I asked.

"Well, I used to…" His face got dark. "But things were… different then."

"What do you mean? What happened?" I'd almost completely forgotten about everything that'd happened.

"The Fire Nation happened. You know what they did to you?"

Everything came crashing back down on me. I bit my lip and nodded.

"They did that to me, too. They burned my village, just like they burned yours. It's only been a few months, but it feels like a lifetime. I was a different person back then. So I don't use my old name."

"Well, you can't go around with no name forever."

He smiled. "I've got it. How about you give me a name?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Jet."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why Jet?"

"'Cause you're so fast. I could barely see you when you attacked that soldier."

"Hmmm… Okay. Jet it is."

"Now you think of one for me."

He looked surprised. "Why?"

"You said you don't use your old name because the Fire Nation took away your old life. Look around. They took mine, too."

He looked around. The scorch marks on the ground, the ruins, the burned bodies.

"You're right." He looked thoughtful. "Let me see something first." He took a dagger from his belt and handed it to me.

I looked at it. "What should I do with it?"

"Try to use it."

"Um…"

My father had taught my brother how to use a dagger before he went off to war. He, in turn, had taught me a bit. Nothing fancy, just the basics.

Jet turned me toward the forest. "Why don't you try it out on that tree over there," he said, pointing.

"Okay." I walked over to it. After thinking for a moment, I struck.

I jabbed at it, then ducked as if it had attacked back. I "ended it" by stabbing it just above where my neck was.

I heard clapping behind me. I turned around and Jet was stroking his chin, thinking. I giggled. (Yes, I know, Smellerbee giggled? What is the world coming to? This was eight years ago, people!)

"So?" I asked.

He thought another moment. "Bee."

I cocked my head. "Why Bee?"

He smiled. "You're small, but you can sting."

I smiled back. Then I remembered the dagger. I pulled it out of the tree and held it out to Jet.

"Keep it," he said, pushing my hand away.

I beamed.

The dream skipped forward through a few months – actually, almost a year – of sleeping on the ground, running, hiding from the soldiers, just me and Jet.

Until I found someone else.

This memory was better. I could think about it while I was awake without bursting into tears.

We were tracking a group of about seven soldiers. With just the two of us, we couldn't really do anything, but we could at least learn more about them.

Well, we thought we could. We'd been tailing them for at least a week, and it seemed like they were just like we'd expected. Cold, heartless. At night they sat around a campfire, talking about villages they'd scorched and lives they'd ruined, and laughing.

They were coming back from a reconnaissance mission. They were inspecting Ba Sing Se's outer wall. Looking for any weak spot. They didn't come up with anything. They were just going to meet up with another troop in a town about three days away.

Then they came across a little village. A lot like mine, actually.

I was alone that day. Jet was off looking for food.

It was a bit like my situation. The soldiers were just walking, and then they noticed the village. They talked, but I was too high up – and too far back, trying to stay hidden – to hear what they were saying.

And then they torched the place.

Four of them were fire benders. They took their stances, more-or-less covering the four "sides" of the wall, and blasted.

There were screams from inside. A few of the flames were put out, but they kept on coming, until the entire wall was ablaze.

Almost.

None of them noticed the small spot two feet off the ground, about three feet high, two across, that for some reason wasn't catching on fire. And then it dropped away.

And a boy was pushed through.

As soon as he climbed to his feet, it slammed shut.

As soon as the wall burned, they torched everything that wasn't already on fire.

The whole time, I was watching the boy. He looked around quickly, scrambling to figure out what to do. He wound up darting behind a tree. Huh. It really was like me.

But this time, after everything was fried, they just laughed and left.

After making sure they were gone, I swung over to the tree he was hiding behind.

He looked a couple years older than me, about Jet's age. He was tall, though. Thin. Black hair, pale. He had a cone-shaped hat hanging from a strap around his neck and a quiver of arrows and bow strapped to his back. I knew not to try to talk to him yet. Jet had only approached me so quickly because I was in danger. It was better to let him be alone for a minute, and to judge his reaction to everything.

He looked sad, but mostly shocked. He didn't cry. After a few minutes, he just took an arrow out of his quiver, notched it in his bow, and shot it at a tree.

It landed straight, well-shot. Even though I didn't know much about archery, and neither did Jet, I could tell when an arrow was well-shot.

He shot a few more, each one landing in the exact same spot, splitting the last one in half.

"You're good at that." The words were out of my mouth before I even thought them.

He didn't jump, just turned and looked up at me. I climbed down.

It was the first time I could see his eyes. They were like orbs. Big, chocolate-colored orbs. I could read the emotion behind them like a scroll – but better. (I was only seven! I couldn't read all that well! … Okay, so I still can't read that well. What do you expect from someone who's lived in the forest for more than half her life?)

He was more upset than it'd seemed. The pain was bare in his eyes. (Not good enough,) they seemed to say.

"I know what you're feeling," I said. "Pain, betrayal, sadness. You feel alone."

In just the few seconds that I was with those soldiers, all those feelings had come crashing down on me.

He looked back at me, questioning. I noticed his arms were pretty badly burnt.

"I've got some salve," I said. "And, if you want, I can tell you my story."

He considered it for a moment, then sat down.

"My name's Bee," I said, taking the jar from my little bundle of supplies.

I told him everything. Jet saving me, how we came up with our names, the danger – and fun – of the past few months, even about how, sometimes, I wished there were more of us. Maybe that way we could actually do something. Start a little group.

(And what would this group be called?) the boy "asked", smiling.

I thought a moment. "The Freedom Fighters." I thought for a couple more seconds. "Do you wanna join?"

He looked surprised. (Why?)

"Well, the whole point is that the Fire Nation burned our old lives…" I looked around. "I think you can relate."

He thought, then nodded.

"You got a name in mind?" I asked.

He thought a moment, then shook his head. (Why don't you come up with one?)

I thought about the way mine and Jet's had both been based on our fighting. I thought about how good he was at archery…

"Longshot."