Sokka was enraptured by the sword he now carried, enthralled by its shiny blackness. Even long after the others had fallen asleep, he kept stroking the silk-smooth length of it, hefting it in his hand –
"Sokka," whispered Aang, surprising him.
"Yeah?"
"I never meant to make you feel bad about not bending," Aang whispered across the campsite. Before Sokka could reply, he continued. "You're no less than us, even without bending. You're smart, strong, really funny – When you were gone, we missed you more than you know."
A lump rose suddenly in Sokka's throat. Swallowing hard, he whispered, "Thank you."