Lieutenant Jee sits opposite Katara, sipping on a cup of tea. It's from the same set that the commander had placed between them the last time she was questioned. This time, she isn't offered a cup.
"How did you find our camp?" the lieutenant asks her. The delicate porcelain chimes when he sets the cup down on the saucer.
"Money and luck," Katara says. She sits with her legs crossed. She's found in the past days that it's the only comfortable position possible to her. "If someone wants to find where you're camped, it isn't entirely impossible. The good thing for you is that most people are too scared to find you, or they have other targets that are better worth their time."
He takes some notes like he has been doing periodically throughout the questioning. Katara relaxes slightly in her chains. She'd expected her time in the camp to play out as one of the horror stories that Earth townspeople spread around through whispers. They talked of a metal prison in the midst of boiling water, torture chambers hotter than what the human body should be able to withstand, the long, curling scars of lashes from a whip.
"Have you been in contact with the Northern Water Tribe?"
Katara thinks briefly of the letters that they've received from Chief Arnook, containing evtyerything from maps to waterbending forms to warnings. All ashes floating in the ocean and scattered across the Earth Kingdom now.
"No," she says.
"Have you been in contact with the Northern Water Tribe recently?"
"No."
"Have you ever been in contact with the Northern Water Tribe?"
"Yes. They warned us of the Earth coalition blockade."
"How did they warn you?"
"They sent a messenger by boat."
"Even though the North and South have lost communication for some decades now?"
"I assume they realize that it is not in their interest to have the South lost to the Earth coalition."
"And it is in their interest to have the South occupied by the Fire Nation?"
"That was my tribe's own decision."
"Why?"
"We would rather have Fire Nation in our tribe on set terms, by our choice, rather than have the Earth coalition take it by force. At least we know you as an enemy. We know nothing about the coalition and what it wants."
Katara can see that the lieutenant's tea cup is still half-full, and must have gone stale by now. He records more notes on his parchment and shifts to leave.
Katara's expression must have changed because he says, pointedly, "Don't look too relieved, girl. The only reason we won't whip or burn whatever we need out of you is because we don't have enough medical supplies to take care of whatever infection you might get in this godforsaken forest if we end up needing you alive."
He stands, and looks down at her, considering. "If you've lied to us, spare us the trouble of hauling a walking corpse to Caldera. I promise the Fire Lord will not let you off as easy as we might."
Katara watches the soldiers - she'd counted twenty-eight when she'd been circling the camp in the trees, but she was off by two - and pays attention to their fighting style. The weapons they use are slender and rigid, a stark contrast to the wide, curved blade she carries on her. The weapon strapped to her thigh is her only comfort, and every time it digs into her skin is reassurance that she is not entirely helpless.
The soldiers' commander - "Prince Zuko," she mutters, the sharp syllables cutting her tongue - hasn't come for the final blade yet, though she figures he'll take it soon. The commander has joined the other soldiers in their sparring today, having ventured out of the tent he is usually holed in. He takes every meal in his tent and seldom sits at the campfire with the other soldiers, who start off their meals in stern silence and gradually ease into conversation and laughter.
They all fight with precision, in clean strikes and swift jabs. The commander, however, has an unsettling grace about him when he moves, and in the two hours that Katara has been watching off-and-on, she doesn't see anyone land a hit on him.
After a while, the sounds of clashes and jeers become white noise, and Katara closes her eyes and leans her head back against the tree. Eventually, she hears soft strides come up beside her, and then the sound of her noon meal being put down on the wet earth. The small cloth bag and canister contain her share of the soldiers' rations and water.
"Thank you," she says, looking up at Inh.
She'd acknowledged the solemn-looking soldier with nothing but hardness in her eyes and something akin grimace the first few weeks, but a few days ago, he'd brought her a coin-sized amount of healing salve for her chafing wrists. Katara can't help seeing the man who killed her mother in every soldier but she figures being polite won't hurt.
He doesn't quite smile but his voice is kind enough when he says, "You're welcome."
"Inh?" she says, before he can go back to training.
He turns and looks at her, his expression twisted in question. She's never addressed him this directly. And, she realizes belatedly, he's never actually told her his name.
"Could you tell me what date it is?"
He considers it for a moment, and then tells her. Katara nods and he's gone. She's been in the camp for almost three weeks now, for a total of nearly forty days since she left home.
Sokka's face, his eyebrows and mouth set grimly, flashes into her mind at the thought of home. He'd seen her off from what was left of the tribe's port, at the northernmost tip of the tundra - just beyond the limits of where Sokka and some of the tribe's boys hunted. They'd been creating a small stock of supplies for her in one of the tribe's two fishing boats, from whatever dried meats could be spared to boiled rags to valuables. Money was somewhat of a foreign concept to them, since their tribe was more of an extended family than anything, and everyone hoped Katara could buy her way to wherever she needed to be by selling the boat and trinkets.
She has nothing now; not even the ratty cloth bag she'd carried everything around in.
Katara hears screeching from the leaves above her and lets out a startled cry when a messenger hawk bursts through the foliage, flying haphazardly through the air. Its feet graze the top of her head, nearly taking off a patch of hair, and the soldiers shoot her amused glances. The one closest to her calls out, "Looks like it thought it saw a nest!"
His remark is met with both groans and chuckles and Katara mutters something about creativity under her breath, and she tries to ice over her heart, because now she can hear Gran Gran tutting at the state of her hair.. The messenger hawk disappears into the commander's tent.
Katara hopes that the scroll on the hawk's back was from Caldera.
She flexes her fingers and drops of water accumulate on the tips. Katara turns the water into a small globe of ice, and then back into water. She guides it to creep up her hand and to her wrists, and then across the surface of her metal shackles. If she wanted to, she could've iced over the manacles and broken through them long ago. The metal is hammered too thin to pose much of a barrier.
"Trying to escape?"
Katara drops her hand into her lap immediately. The soldier who'd called her hair a nest is standing a few inches from the tree, amusement playing across his features.
"That would defeat the purpose of my coming here," she says truthfully.
He shrugs, shifting towards her, and Katara sees the key in his hands. "Hold out your wrists," he says. "The commander wants to see you."
Katara heaves a sigh of relief when her bare wrists meet the air. She rolls them slowly and pulls some water from the air.
"I could knock you out right now and run off into the woods," she says, soothing her aching wrists.
He smirks as she pulls herself onto her feet. Her knees almost buckle from disuse but she plants her feet firmly into the ground to keep them from shaking.
"Even if you could, the commander said you wouldn't." He turns and starts to walk, and Katara follows.
They cross the encampment - 200 paces from her tree to the center - and the soldier leads her right into the tent without pause.
The scarred side of the commander's face is in her full view, and Katara's attention cannot help but snag on the marred skin. She notes the slightly raised texture of the mottled flesh, the pinkish edges of it. A burn scar, she'd decided the first time she'd seen the commander up close, sitting across from her. She had noted that he had full control over the muscles around his burned eye, and so the scar had to be old for it to heal through the nerves.
She thought of the boys who followed Sokka around back home, playing warrior, and imagined that the commander must've been like them - too young, baby fat still on his cheeks - when he got the scar. She'd traced the area around her own left eye afterwards, wondering at what kind of brutality could've given him it.
"Thank you, Raiden," the commander says, and Katara's gaze snaps away and to the soldier beside her.
Raiden sketches a bow and leaves.
Last time Katara was here, she couldn't see anything but the soldiers in front of her and the commander a little ways off, looking awfully calm and collected. It was his calmness, she decided afterwards, that had pushed her anger into rage. She'd travelled alone across the ocean and into this foreign land, picked her way across towns and used every last coin she had to bribe her way to a vague location; spent days pinning down the camp. And he'd looked almost bored.
Now, he is again picture of calm as he regards her, and the tent seems much, much smaller than it did on the day she first arrived; as if fury had given her a distorted lens to look through. It is just tall enough that there is a few inches of space above the commander's head, and wide enough that one man could stand to each side of Katara comfortably. They must've torn the front off in the struggle.
One neatly packed bag in the corner, a few scrolls in the other, and a map tacked onto one panel, and an antsy-looking messenger hawk are the only furnishings.
"Usually, foreigners are expected bow to royalty," the commander says, hands behind his back. His posture is easy.
Katara bites back a response and presses her right fist to her other open palm and inclines her head, the way she saw the soldier do before he left.
"The soldiers can bow that way because I'm their commanding officer." His gaze slips to the floor and the implication is clear.
Katara is expected to get down on her knees for this man, and she can't help but say, "You are not my sovereign."
"No, I'm not. But you could try harder to respect the customs of the nation you're asking for help from." He exhales a chuckle. "Otherwise, your tribe could be under my father's rule, and then I could be your sovereign, given a few years."
Katara stares at him for a moment and then he says, "Sit down."
He settles onto the earth and lays out the rolled pages in his hands in front of him. Katara follows suit after a moment's hesitation.
"There's no proper census of your tribe, but we have documentation that the Southern Raids were successful. The last waterbender in the South was a middle-aged woman, killed nine years ago." His eyes are trained downwards, skimming the page as he talks, but at his last words he looks up at Katara. "You should not exist."
Katara feels like the breath has gone out of her and she touches her necklace. "Clearly, they weren't the success you thought they were."
The commander puts down the paper. "I don't appreciate riddles."
"I was the last waterbender. My mother was the woman they killed in place of me." Katara makes her voice as flat as possible, and looks right at the commander as she says it. "I don't know how I can prove that to you."
Something in his eyes flinches, and Katara thinks she must have imagined it, because the reaction is gone in a heartbeat.
He regards her for a few moments, and then says eventually, "I believe you." He puts the page at the end of the short pile he's holding. "Fire Lord Ozai has sent a signed copy of an edited treaty. If you sign it, the treaty goes into effect immediately."
"Edited," Katara repeats, taking the scroll that he offers.
He gives her a pointed look. "Negotiations go two ways. If you're not in agreement with the amended terms, I can burn the treaty and you're free to go back to your tribe."
She suppresses a scowl, reading carefully through the scroll. The Fire Nation writes their characters narrower and more closely together than Katara's seen before, and she feels a headache blooming once she's finished.
There is only one change, she discovers. "I will have to swear loyalty to the Fire Nation."
"Yes," he says simply. "That's what's written on the scroll."
"And my people?"
"There's no mention of them." He studies her for a few moments. "If there is a problem-"
"No," Katara says, too quickly. "There's no problem."
Yet, her hand holds the parchment a bit tighter.
Yet, she hesitates to take the ink-dipped pen the commander is offering her.
"Every person staying in Caldera is required to stay under the oath. It ensures that, should you commit any acts against the interests of the Fire Nation, you can be punished rightfully under Fire law."
"As an emissary, I'm not acting in the interest of the Fire Nation. I'm acting in the interests of my tribe."
"A tribe that, under the treaty, is essentially Fire territory."
Katara stares down at the scroll, as if looking at it long enough will change the terms. She feels both the commander's and messenger hawk's eyes on her, waiting to see what she does, but at least one of them knows she is going to sign anyway. There is no other choice.
Katara takes the pen from his outstretched hand and inks her name.
The commander takes the parchment and rolls it back up, then slips it into the sleeve on the messenger hawk's back.
"Congratulations," he says, and the messenger hawk flies. Katara closes her eyes and hopes that they aren't all damned.
She is out of chains, at least, and is offered a distant place at the extinguished campfire that night. She sits a good four feet away from Inh, the closest person to her, and chews silently on the dried meat she is given. It is raining lightly, and Katara feels her inside well up in the brightest way at the feel of water on her skin.
"We're moving camp," the commander announces, a lantern in one hand. "We're as close to the river as we can get while avoiding the flooding right now, so we'll have to move back southwest a few miles. Crossing is in a few weeks' time now."
"And when we cross, we'll send our guest on her way to Caldera with those of you who are leaving to be reassigned to new squadrons," Lieutenant Jee says. "Katara of the Southern Water Tribe is an emissary under treaty now, and will be taking oath in Caldera."
A murmur goes through the soldiers. When the voices start to grow louder, the commander holds up a hand, and the sounds immediately cut out.
"I don't care if you cry peasant, scum, barbarian like petulant children," Lieutenant Jee says. Katara's cheeks flush with anger. "You may not like this decision, but it's been made by Fire Lord Ozai. If you want to take it up with him you're welcome to accompany our emissary to Caldera and do so."
"We leave in ten minutes," the commander says curtly, and retreats to his tent.
Katara doesn't have anything to pack and so she wanders back to her tree - it is, strangely, the most familiar thing to her right now - and sits against the trunk as she watches everyone. The earth is muddy underneath her but her clothes are already filthy and torn; the sleeves uneven since the commander used one of them as a bandage.
Leaving in ten minutes, she quickly discovers, means that everyone is packed with backpacks strapped across their shoulders in two, the ostrich horses are rounded up in three, the campsite is restored as much as possible in two, and they are ready to set off around the nine-minute mark.
The commander approaches Katara as most of the soldiers mount an ostrich horse. He carries her waterskin and offers it to her once he is close enough. Katara takes it silently and slings it across her shoulders, letting it come to rest on her hip.
"You'll join the formation at the end, in front of Lieutenant Jee," he says. Katara's blade burns on her thigh, and she waits for him to say something, but he turns to leave for the front.
She takes her own place in front of Lieutenant Jee - she finds that he is one of the five without an ostrich horse, with the other four in front of her - and she hears the commander shout the order to leave. They set off at a hard walk; unable to manage anything faster without trails.
The rain hardens to a steady downpour as they move on, and the animals' steps are heavy as they tread across the forest floor. Branches whip across their faces and leaves catch in Katara's hair; she glances down at her clothes and sees that they're a dull brownish gray, as if the mud has become a part of the weave.
Katara limbs burn after being immobile for so long. The first time she trips, she catches herself, and Lieutenant Jee only makes an admonishing sound behind her. Her feet start to stick in the muddy ground longer and longer with each step, until the energy needed to lift them back out of the clinging earth almost becomes too much to spare, and she all but plods through the mud.
The second time, her toes of her shoes catch on loose roots and she falls forward onto her knees, her hands dug into the wet soil. She pulls herself up quickly, wiping her hands off on her filthy tunic. "Want me to carry you?" Lieutenant Jee asks sarcastically. Katara grits her teeth and wills her dragging legs to cooperate.
The third time, her head hits the backs of the soldier in front of her's legs when she pitches forward, and she lies in the mud with one cheek pressed into the ground.
"Didn't think we'd be babysitting a Water bitch," the soldier remarks caustically, low enough that only she can hear. Katara grinds her teeth, briefly contemplating giving him a face full of mud, and then quietly pulls herself first to her knees and then onto her feet with gnashing teeth.
Lieutenant Jee studies her when she's standing.
"Where are we going?" Katara asks before she can stop herself. The commander had said a few miles southwest, but she guesses they've travelled at least five by now.
"The commander's taking us further back. The rain's picking up."
Katara looks up. The leaf cover is shielding them from the brunt of it, but the rain falls in sheets. Her chest tightens more than it has already. The monsoon rains should've been slowing down in the past few weeks, but the water is falling like they're in the thick of them.
"It'll cost another week," the lieutenant says, reading her thoughts.
Two, three weeks then. Too long. A restlessness comes over Katara as she recounts every day since she's left the South.
''I could get us across the river," she says suddenly.
"What are going to do? Part the water?"
"I can freeze it over."
Lieutenant Jee considers her silently, and then tilts his chin towards the front, saying, "We'd better catch up."
"Lieutenant Jee said you could help us cross the river."
Katara bends her water back into her pouch. When she turns to look at the commander, the severed branches at her feet creak.
The soldiers had roughly cleared away a space about a quarter of the size of their previous camp, only cutting down the thickest branches and roots, and have pitched their tents amongst the damp greenery. The ostrich horses are tied up amongst the trees at one edge of the camp, and Katara has cut away her own niche; a spot nestled against a tree and mostly shaded from the rain by the leaves overhead.
"I could," Katara says, and then corrects herself. "I can."
The commander's eyes are a bright liquid gold, standing out brightly against the dreary backdrop as they survey Katara and her surroundings. He frowns lightly. "We're not cruel. You don't need to sleep out in the rain-"
"I'm a waterbender, your Highness. I don't mind the rain."
His lips twitch, and Katara thinks he might say more, but he moves on and says, "You'll accompany me to the river on ostrich horse. It's about eight miles from here. I want to see what you can manage."
Katara nods. "When do we leave?"
He looks up at the sky; his expression grim. The rain has slowed back to a drizzle. "Now."
Lieutenant Jee is waiting for them with four ostrich horses and a soldier on either of side him when they cross the camp. Katara recognizes one of them as Raiden.
"This isn't necessary," the commander says, his brow creasing.
"A precaution."
"Jee-"
"You're no use to us dead, Zuko."
The commander's expression darkens, and he mounts an ostrich horse in silence. Raiden and the other soldier follow, and Katara scrambles to get onto the ostrich horse left to her. She feels a slight pang of pride - that they think she is capable of endangering a master firebender - and then her own brow wrinkles. She cannot be the sole, or even main, source of concern.
Katara shifts uncomfortably on her horse, and the commander's voice sounds behind her. "You've never ridden an ostrich horse." It isn't a question.
"No."
"Toran," he says, addressing the second soldier.
"Yes, sir."
"Get an extra lead from one of the other ostrich horses."
When he returns, the commander pulls up beside her and unwinds the length of rope. He hooks one end under the leather band that's secured across his horse's muzzle, and stretches over to Katara's horse, and hooks the other end under her horse's muzzle.
"Sit a bit lower and you'll be fine," he says, his arm brushing hers when he settles back onto his horse.
The ostrich horses move at a brisk pace, their feet moving lithely over the exposed roots and muddy grounds. Katara keeps her gaze focused on the commander's back. The ground grows rockier as they tread on, and Katara feels the river somewhere inside her before she hears or sees it. When the mix of soil and rock grows coarser, the commander stops them.
"We'll tie off the ostrich horses here," he says. The river bank is a little ways off, and the sound of it moving past fills the space between the four of them.
"Shit," Katara mutters, drawing closer to the bank's edge. It fades shallowly into the water at first, and then after a few feet, is invisible as it drops steeply. The river stretches for at least half a mile.
"This is the narrowest part," the commander says, walking up to the edge a bit ways off from her.
Though the rain has stopped for now, having retreated back into the gray cast of clouds above them, its effect on the river isn't lost. Although the speed of the current can't be much faster than Katara can run, it's unusually fast for a river of this depth and width.
"It runs at a slight angle downhill, then widens slowly and leads off into a basin."
Katara looks sideways at him. His gaze is trained on the river.
"I'll try freezing the surface first, but the problem-"
"The current could carry off the ice."
Katara nods even though he doesn't see it.
She steps into the shallowest part of the river, and the water beneath her foot turns to ice. She continues to walk out onto the water, ice crystals blooming beneath her, beyond the shallows and onto the bulk of the river. She stands on her bridge of ice for a few moments, gauging the current, and then inhales deeply and pushes out her arms as she exhales, freezing another length of ice, and continues walking.
When she stops and turns to look back, the commander's gaze is trained on her, and the soldiers watch her with curiosity.
"It feels stable," she says, but the current is already lapping at the ice and carrying pieces of it off. When she walks back to the bank the ice wobbles beneath her.
"The ice is drifting," the commander says.
"We'll have to split into smaller groups and move fast, but I can make it."
"And if it rains?"
"We'll just have to move faster."
"The ostrich horses won't cross," Toran says. "They're land animals. If they get skitterish it's hard to control them."
Katara looks over to where they're tied.
"Let's try."
The commander nods. "We can't leave them behind. Let's go."
Toran and Raiden exchange a look. Raiden starts, "Commander, I think we should be the ones-"
"Stand back."
Raiden's mouth curls in disapproval, but he steps back as the commander unties one of their horses and leads it to the river's bank - near Katara - by its reins. It lets out a nervous whine right in her ear when the commander tries to bring it into the shallows. He nods at Katara.
She turns around and inhales, drives her elbow down first and crouches to get more depth, and then rises and pushes her arms out like before. The bridge of ice materializes parallel to her first one. She starts walking onto it, hyper aware of the commander stepping on with the horse behind her. The ice is sturdier now, holding the weight of all three of them well, but the ostrich horse grows more agitated with each step.
"Hey, hey," the commander mumbles behind her, punctuated by the animal's whines. When they reach the end of the ice, the ostrich horse turns around obediently; its legs steadied.
Back on the bank, Raiden says, "Looks like it should be okay as long as we have someone leading each one."
They look to the commander, and he nods curtly.
"Toran, Raiden. We're going to head back now."
The commander hands over the reins of the ostrich horse to Toran, and the two of them head off to untie the others. Katara makes her way towards the river again.
"Where are you going?" the commander asks, and Katara pauses.
"To wash off," she says. Dirt clings to her like a second skin, and she has nearly forgotten what being clean feels like.
She doesn't wait for him to answer and approaches the river at a run and dives in neatly, resurfacing as quickly as possible. She swims back to the shore at a diagonal and hopes that it is enough to take the edge off of the grime. The river's current has already displaced her a good six feet from where she dove in, and she can't risk being carried off for more time.
Katara bends the water out of her clothes and hair at the bank. When she turns to walk back to the others, the commander is standing behind her. She startles, and the water in her control splashes to the ground.
"I-" she starts, and he throws a punch of fire at her.
She dodges it. "Your Highness-" she begins, wondering wildly why her wanting to be clean has pissed him off so much, and is cut off by more fire. She ducks and sidesteps, avoiding the brunt of the flames, but her already ripped sleeve becomes singed.
Another blow, this one passing so close to her ears that it takes her breath away, and another, and another until Katara's heartbeat pounds in her head. The commander is silent, watching her as he presses the flames closer and closer, and when he rears back his fist to throw another punch, this one aimed at her head, she pops open her waterskin in a fraction of a second and throws up a water shield.
She thinks she sees him smirk before he throws a flurry of short jabs at her. Katara moves her hands quickly and forms waterwhips that lash out at each burst and neutralize them before dissipating, then pulls water from the river to send ice projectiles flying at him. While he ducks and twists around the projectiles -he's moving fast towards her, too fast - she streams water in a circle around herself and sends it flying in bullets towards him, but he throws fire at each one, all the while charging, and they evaporate immediately.
He is too close - too close - and she pulls another stream of water from the river, aiming it towards his heart in a jet, but in one smooth movement, he sidesteps her aim and spins to the right, crouching low with his leg extended. His foot catches her ankle and Katara stumbles, the water dropping uselessly, and she catches herself in a crouch. The commander is already standing.
Katara rolls backwards and pushes onto her feet, and the commander's fist catches her side. His second first aims for her other side and she throws out her forearm to block him, catching him at the wrist. He grabs her wrist and twists her arm behind her back, and Katara wheezes out a breath, her opposite leg coming up to hook around his thigh. She throws her body weight to the side and they slam into the ground with Katara's leg pinned underneath the commander. She pulls away quickly, grasping at the rocky soil for leverage, and rolls forward into a crouch; all of her muscles tense and ready to charge at him, but then she notices that he is holding a dagger.
Katara's blood turns to ice and some part of her mind shuts down. She automatically draws her own blade from underneath her tunic's hiked-up hem, and quickly pulls onto her feet; the trees at her back. The commander stands between her and the river, her waterskin is empty, he's pushed her back too far to draw water from the current -
"Commander?" Raiden's voice comes from somewhere to the left. She faintly hears the other two soldiers draw their own weapons.
The commander's eyes never leave Katara's. He hasn't spoken the whole time but now he tells them to stand down, and then charges.
Katara sidesteps and the commander's blade meets air before he swiftly turns and lands a fist to Katara's side. She gasps for breath as he jabs his dagger towards her belly and she brings up her blade to deflect the blow, gritting her teeth as she tries to put more distance between herself and the tip of his dagger. He forces her hand down then pulls back neatly and stabs at her other side, and Katara is almost too slow to bring up her blade to catch his. She stumbles back a few steps and they draw nearer and nearer to the trees.
Her fingers twitch anxiously around her hilt. She needs to get closer to the water, not away, he's the Fire prince, he's been trained for this since birth, she can't escape without water -
Katara thrusts her blade towards his chest with a surge and he counters seamlessly, driving her blade down and to the side, twisting her arm, and she pulls away with a grunt and throws her body weight into a series of heavy stabs, aimed for his shoulders, chest, stomach; anything, but he deflects and deflects and deflects. He is bigger than her; heavier than her, and when their blades catch again he presses her back, closer and closer to the trees, and her feet can't find purchase.
She breathes heavily - her head is becoming light - and he goes onto the offense again, neatly pulling back his blade and then swinging it towards her head. They catch, and Katara is pushed back a few more inches; her heel hits a root and she falters, a bit of the force behind her defense slipping. The commander presses harder, and Katara has lost what little leverage she had and she stumbles backwards until her back hits a tree.
The blade is knocked from her hands and she can't turn to watch it fall because the commander's dagger is at her throat. There is less than a hand's width worth of space between them.
He lets her go abruptly and she pitches forward, her breathing still not quite even.
"You grew up at the South Pole," the commander says, looking down at her.
Katara glances up in bewilderment. "Yes," she manages.
"Why did a girl who lives on the tundra need to learn hand-to-hand combat?"
Katara's gaze fixes on an empty point over his shoulder.
"Why" - the commander leans forward - "does a waterbending girl who lives on the tundra know how to fight with a blade?"
"To protect her people," Katara grates out, looking right at him.