"Young master!—young master!", old attendant Shao cried.
His ostrich horse galloped faster than lightning, so much so that the guards riding at his side had to spur their own mounts to keep from falling behind in the hopes of reaching the captain.
"—Young master!"
The young captain in question, atop his own ostrich horse near a clearing not too far away, sat at the head of a large entourage of a few hundred heavy footed warriors.
"Enough shouting, you idiot!", he gritted, annoyed at his servant's lack of foresight.
What was the point of sending them out to scout for refuge, if he'd get them all killed in the process?
With one last pat to his steed's neck, he slowly dismounted, snapping his finger at the nearest foot solider to come mind it.
"Hurry up and spit out what you need to say, before you expose us all", he hissed, once the attendant and the rest of his men were close enough to jump off their own beasts and greet him with the customary bow.
"Good news!", Shao informed, as always undeterred by his young master's sour mood, though he did fail, rather terribly, in quelling his breathlessness.
At his frantic urging, the soldier besides him graciously stepped forward.
"—Just as expected, captain", he informed promptly after saluting, "Lieutenant Colonel Gong's regiment arrived several days earlier. His camp is stationed north of the great divide, sir."
That would only be less than half a days ride away.
The captain smirked—just as he had hoped, everything was going according to schedule.
Turning back to face the rest of the men in his charge, he observed their worn, surly faces with a roll of his eyes and motioned at them to fall back behind.
You'd assume every single one of them would be jumping for joy at being chose and given the privilege to serve his grandfather—to seek eternal glory.
Though, he supposed with an unimpressed tisk, that they could never be as ravenous as him for it—this mediocre lot of unpolished peasants.
After all, this was perhaps even farther than any of their miserable ancestors had ever dreamed of achieving for themselves.
His own father had been of the opinion that greatness had to be honed just as much as loyalty earned. To him however, these were merely some of the stepping stones he must climb on his journey to greatness.
Honing and loyalty, he contemplated with disgust—all it will get you is more riff-raff to polish.
The scouts, barely finishing the last of their water purses, were ordered to remount at once.
As far as the captain was concerned, there would be no more breaks until they reached camp.
"Lead the way", he prompted, snapping impatiently for his ostrich horse.
And just like that, almost as soon as they had stopped to rest, the company, the animals, and the entirety of their provisions, once again set on restlessly to their destination.
The road was steep, the earth kingdom sun unforgiving, and nightfall, they feared, would not put them out of their misery for some time yet.
On and on they marched anyway—on and on.
A few several yards away, however—if anyone cared to notice—behind the calvary and within the safe halo of the flanking solders making their way by foot—swayed a small, unassuming palanquin, slowly trialing behind.
And among the very few beauties crowded inside, rested the reluctant owner of a worn pair of dull blue eyes.
Awoken from yet another strange dream, the young woman yawned, ignoring the delicate chirp like chatter of the three girls gossiping besides her and instead discretely lifted the cover on her window to take a peek outside.
To her surprise, the sudden brightness of the sun blinded her momentarily.
Ah, so it was daytime again.
She attempted to stretch, to no avail, as the palanquin continued to sway deeply from side to side, it's journey seemingly unending.
Two weeks of travel and already her tender back ached something awful—scrunching her nose she wiggled her toes.
Still, she would not envy the poor souls tasked with carrying them.
So instead she contented herself with observing how the countless bright, green leaves atop the trees they passed, one by one, undulated much too vigorously for such a dry summer month.
That, however, did give her pause.
Strange.
Hadn't the weather been sunny and clear all throughout the expedition?
—Why, only just last week they had heard from poor, traveling peasants of the harsh drought that had long dried out the rice patties and pushed them all out of their farms.
Hmm.
Strange, indeed.
There was also something in this wind, she felt, something not quite right.
It wasn't howling as it normally did, but rather, if one bothered to listen, it seemed to sing.
Her heart skipped a beat at that thought—the skin on her arm tingled.
But before she could get a better feel, a hand reached out and grabbed her—it was only Shu, who had been a comfort slave for three winters longer than she—the grip she held around her wrist tightening in warning, their matching gold bangles clanking noisily.
Pulling away, the young woman leaned forward and eagerly pressed her ear closer against the curtain anyway.
Was she losing her mind at last or—
Yes.
It did sing, she confirmed.
Just like an old friend.
. . . . .
It was almost five hours of travel later, that they were met with the same consideration, within minutes of their arrival at Lieutenant Colonel Gong's camp.
And though only boasting of six hundred strong, the colonel expressed his concern at not only their slowly depleting provisions but also the sudden and unexpected turn in the weather.
"It must be the water benders", he grunted in response, as soon as the young captain had made the remark himself that evening, just as they all sat before a small, humble feast within the largest tent.
The water tribe girl, the one serving the general's grandson his wine, resisted with all her might, from flinching at the words so quietly whispered in her vicinity.
Instead she stepped back and quickly lowered the canister in her grip, lest she ran the risk of dropping it.
Though if her master had bothered to notice at all, he merely ignored her.
"Don't tell me those filthy barbarians are here?", he hissed, dropping with disdain and little disgust the meat he had only just a mere minute ago, torn into with gusto, "my grandfather made no mention of them in his massive!"
"The North and South Poles are in the midst of a terrible standstill", Colonel Gong supplied with a shrug.
It was no great secret, as far as he knew.
He then gestured for the servant girl to come forward as he reached for his own cup, "they say that one side is bound to strike the other at any moment, though only Agni knows which ships belong to who."
"Does it matter?", the younger of the two scoffed, though as he watched his slave girl timidly reach for the wine canister, his annoyance bloomed, "both sides fight like animals over tooth and nail for the most worthless plots of snow either of them have to offer. The very last thing we need now is to get caught in the middle of their braindead crossfire!"
He despised the way her hands trembled before the colonel and how her chest heaved a little faster, and the way her long lashes looked when she lowered her eyes demurely for him upon his gently uttered gratitude.
And at that moment the captain felt she was an even greater, ungrateful little slut and a perfect credit to her kind.
He expressed it as well, when he pushed away the cup she now offered him so harshly it slid out of her hands and shattered at her feet.
"See?", he spoke to his companion, though sneered down at her in contempt to see her lower herself before him, as was her place, "they can't manage anything right. Who's to say they can keep to themselves in war?"
Lieutenant Colonel Gong frowned, watching in regret as the girl, brought to her knees, rushed to pick up every last piece of the broken ceramic, though he realized any engagement further would only make matters worse.
People like the captain, he had long learned from his time spent with his betters, had a very perverse way of showing their favoritism.
And a far worse way of displaying ownership.
Such a pretty little thing, the colonel mourned—such captivating blue eyes.
They were, of course, the very qualities that only made her subject to all the more suffering.
Qualities that he himself was normally not prone to overlooking.
Though, he supposed, there was very little beauty in war to covet—or to compare to. Which, naturally, made her all the more alluring.
As a man, though he did not respect it, he could understand.
Still, it was a cruel practice, even for him and all that he has seen.
He himself had never participated, nor cared to, but it was a shame all the same that women like her were so ruthlessly enslaved simply to justify the need for those temptations.
Colonel Gong resisted the urge to sigh as he prolonged his observation of the girl for as long as he dared.
—Wide eyed, cautious, and terrified beyond her wits.
Quite a rarity, he thought, for one of her people.
Unless, of course, she understood something they decidedly did not.
And if she, who at some point had been a part of them, was afraid, what then did it mean for his men?
For though only just two unsophisticated nations of such little power and prestige— much as the captain had implied—a water warrior from whichever of the tundras, above or below the middle kingdom, was no laughing matter.
Even this overcompensated boy, still much too wet behind the ears, with all his mocking, knew it very well.
He could patronize his slaves until his voice ran hoarse all he wanted, and it still would not change the fact that the men of the poles—born and raised in the unforgiving cold, with little resources and only water—were feared not for their numbers or military prowess, but for the sheer hunger in their strikes and how little they stood to lose all the more for it.
If one were to think of it—and Gong had—it truly was no real feat at all to steal their vulnerable, when it was said that every single man and boy never thought twice at answering the first call for blood.
And bloodthirsty they were.
Much like the ice water encapsulating what snow covered land they dominated at home, these terrifying warriors were known to be unpredictable as they were dangerous—and just as cruel.
Only a true simpleton would be proud enough to boast about taking advantage of their women and children—and stupid enough to underestimate the actual threat ahead.
How many horrors have already been credited to these barbarians already? Gong only had so many fingers with which to count, and all of it solely for the sake of their own clan disputes.
What fire nation solider has not been kept awake at the knowledge of the thousand bodies so effortlessly ripped apart and torn to little pieces of fish food that have already been lost at sea—never, ever to be burned at a pyre. Their spirits forever trapped in the inky depths, unable to be properly mourned.
So rarely are they concerned, it is said, with leaving anything of their victims to be returned home.
And if such unspeakable things could so heartlessly be done to their own brethren—what then might one expect for those who dare stand in their way?
"In that matter, at least, we are both in agreement", tearing his eyes away from the comfort slave at last, the colonel spoke, "any and all possible encounter with the water tribes is not something I particularly look forward to."
"If it were my call to make, we would head out at dusk tonight", he added, then sighed, "but I have not heard back from Colonel Mung's forces—have you?"
The captain, kicking away his slave's hand before it had a chance to reach past his leg for the last piece of the broken cup, tutted in aggravation, "No."
At the clear petulant annoyance in the young boy's scowl, Gong chuckled, "we still have our orders", he reminded him.
"What good are orders that will get us compromised?"
What little amusement teased Lieutenant Colonel Gong's demeanor, immediately soured then.
He glared, taken aback, "you are not serious."
At the look of determination on the captain's face, he scoffed, "how could we possibly show our faces anywhere near Tachi Dai with only three fourths of what was asked?"
"At least we would still have faces to show", the pampered grandson of their general grumbled.
More concerning still, a low murmur of agreement seemed to spread across some of the men around them.
And much to Gong's chagrin, even one of his own subordinates stood at attention, "I agree with the captain!", the man declared.
"Stand down, private!"
"You, colonel, were the first to notice that the clouds have turned dark", the soldier reasoned, heedless of his superior's disapproval.
"—The wind is carrying west and we have also observed the coastal waters growing turgid", he added, "it is better to be one fourth weaker than three fourths dead."
"Yes!", another man, the major, agreed, striking his heavy palm against the wooden plank he had earlier fashioned as a table, "what good are we to the general dead?"
"Have you a vessel to sail away—or a mountain to hide?", Colonel Gong questioned, gesturing around him and dropping what little patience had remained of his calm visage.
"Must I remind you all that the nearest higher ground is even closer to the coastline and, no doubt, already taken over by this water tribe, whoever they may be."
"That, as of now, is only an assumption!"
"That is why I have sent over a few scouts to confirm for us", Gong agreed, "I suggest we wait for their reports before deciding on our best course of action—or is it that we have all lost our heads already?"
Though the request seemed reasonable, it did little to calm the restless.
More men than few openly voiced their concerns at subjecting themselves to sitting ducks.
The mood for the night was undoubtedly spoiled.
"The change in weather…", an old woman's cryptic voice broke through the argument that had ensued, "should be proof enough."
It's owner stood proud in her conviction, standing tall before her betters, despite the onset of arthritis curving her aging bones.
She grimaced at the effort it took to help up the girl left kneeling at the captain's feet when she bent over to attend her—her foreign accent heavy and broken despite so many years under fire nation servitude.
"The clouds will grow heavier the more the ocean cries out in anger", she murmured, softening her hold on the girl, if only to wipe away at some of the perspiration on the clammy skin of her pretty face, "this is indeed the war cry of the water tribesmen who will want your heads."
"Who is this old crone?", the boyish captain before her sneered, already disliking the way she coddled so fondly his father's precious snow flower, "and what makes her so proud?"
"You—cook?", the lieutenant colonel questioned—for once just as unamused as the others—though he wondered if he should thank her just for proving his point alone, "enough with your babbling. Go then, and take that woman with you, if such little talk of death already makes her so ill."
Taking notice of the captain's dissatisfied scowl, Gong cleared his throat to catch his attention, "just an old servant", he assured, willing both women away with a single wave of his hand.
"Where is she taking my whore?", the boy demanded, clearly disgruntled with having the argument snuffed from under him before he could have derived any true pleasure from it.
"To rest, hopefully."
"Well, tell that toad to have her delivered to my tent and that if she's not there by the time I get back", the captain threatened, loud enough to be heard from the outside, "I will want nothing short of her ugly, old head!"
"It will be done.", the lieutenant colonel assured, willing himself to keep his eyes from rolling up to the heavens, though he openly frowned at a thought.
"Just two little slave women", he questioned with a short, dismissive snort, "what harm could they do if they sit and talk for a while?"
Though the young captain sat back and stared him down with his usual haughty look, the slight tick of his jaw betrayed the exasperation seeping through.
"Enemy born, weak, little women", he sneered in response, "are enemies all the same."
Colonel Gong raised a dark brow at that, "then why have one share your bed?"
"Why have one at all?', the youth acquiesced with a nonchalant shrug, "that was not my choice—but since I do posses her, I might as well keep her occupied. Don't you agree?"
The older of the two sputtered at that, and despite his attempt to conduct himself with dignity, the already much too rowdy men surrounding them both, whistled, snickered, and hollered in agreement.
None of them, it seemed, could blame any man shackled to the burdens of war, for wanting to enjoy what rare and little delights were offered him along the journey.
In fact they toasted it all the more, drinking greedily from their overflowing cups as if they too
might find the great fortune to soon be granted the same.
"If colonel wants to have a turn, you need only ask", the boy added, enjoying the wary looking blush dusting the not all that much older man's cheeks, as well as his averted gaze.
He did not like this man, the seventeen year old decided—what exactly made him so righteous anyway?
As if he hadn't caught him staring at his whore longer than he should know better.
"I hear you have not yet taken a wife", he mocked, knowing full well that the man's disgraced father had been the reason for his enlistment in the first place.
He also knew, that unless he made it back alive and with some distinction, no good family of rank or means would dare give him their daughter to wed.
"Perhaps you would feel more at ease if you were served some release once in a while."
"Captain is too generous", the colonel gritted, indignation surpassing his discomfort even as he lifted his intertwined fists in a bowing gesture, "this undeserving solider does not dare."
. . . . .
"If your legs are still weak, do not be afraid to lean your weight on me. I am sturdier than I look"
The old woman smiled as the blue eyed girl she supported heaved her breaths, in and out, just as the tight grip she held on her arm slowly loosened.
"Thank you, auntie", she muttered, "I can walk on my own now."
"It was good that you only showed fear, rather than what your heart is feeling inside", the old cooking servant replied, her compliment spoken softer than the slight howl of the night wind.
"You are smart."
The young woman grimaced, avoiding the unsettling grey gaze that followed her every step.
"I do not know what auntie is implying."
The old woman merely chuckled as she lead her farther away from the tents.
"Oh, I think you do…"
She was not rude, only confident.
"We have been away from our people long enough and now that the land of the blue moon is calling us home at last", she warned, "dare you not answer that call?"
The comfort slave shook her head, "I fear I can no longer hear it", she admitted, following her new companion towards the outskirts of camp, despite what should be her better judgment.
The old woman laughed again, soft and ever knowing, as if somehow she could indeed see into every last secret hidden in her heart.
Had they ever met before? The younger couldn't help but wonder it.
"Where is auntie from, north or south?"
"North of course", though the older woman's warm, easy smile, faded slightly a degree or two as she answered, "we are all from the north. Don't you know?"
The young woman shook her head and for once seemed genuinely stumped.
She knew that though not all from her exact region, every comfort woman of the poles—every slave she had come across—throughout all these many miserable years, were always from the north.
But never once, she admitted, had she assumed that there weren't at least one or even two little handfuls from the south as well.
"They call me Fēifēi", the old crone offered, bowing shallowly, her tired bones creaking as she did so, then gestured for the younger woman to take a seat by the meager fire the other slaves, those of their own countrymen, had managed to build.
"It is from the Book of Songs", she explained, when only silence greeted her in return, slowly reciting in the foreign tongue, "Snow is falling thick and fast."
The name it seemed, came from the last two characters, the ones describing the fallen snow.
The girl snorted, waving away the aged, dried squid that was offered her, "what is your real name?"
The crone—Fēifēi—smiled, showing off a knowing grin.
"What is yours?"
The captain's comfort woman looked away.
"I don't have one."
"Not here, no", Fēifēi agreed, taking a rather unbothered bite of the piece of squid, herself—in her own humble opinion, if others chose to starve, that was their own prerogative.
"We are nobody in this land, or in the masters' land for that matter, but in our own hearts no one can take away who we truly are."
The girl laughed at that, but it was cold and dead.
"We have no land", she reminded, "we are barely even people."
And she said it as if she truly believed it within every inch of the little soul left between the gaps of her bones.
"We are not even the soil they step on. We are only spilled water—water thrown away."
"Who is spilled water?", her companion retorted—this time it was she who snorted, "I am nothing less than half ocean, like my father", she assured, "and part lake, like my mother."
"You cannot spill me", she added, so convincing it ached, "no more than anyone can spill you."
"—Though if you carry on like this", she chuckled, making a point of meeting the girl's worn, doubtful eyes, "you'll be nothing left, but a puddle."
At that, the comfort slave couldn't help but smile, wide enough to make the corners of her mouth ache, in fact.
It must have been years since she had done so genuinely.
But it did feel so good to hear her mother tongue again, if even for just a little while.
"Auntie", she taunted, in a rare show of playfulness, "how is it that you still have more fire in your veins than all the benders in this camp?"
This old woman had to be at least sixty by the looks of her.
"Hope, of course", Fēifēi grinned as if it were obvious, and perhaps it was, "in this world, there is nothing more precious than hope".
That, however, soured the slave girl's mood all over again—her nose scrunching in irritation at such fairytale notions.
She could very well think of several things far more precious still.
Necessities, anyone in their situation should know, were above whatever illusions preciousness could offer anyway.
"Hope is the one thing no one can take from you", the crone preached, wholly unbothered by the open look of skepticism displaying on the girl's face.
"Someday, when it can no longer serve my purpose—even long after I greet the jaded gates of heaven", she said, "it will still live in you, and later, in those who will come after…"
"That", the old woman guaranteed, "is of outmost importance."
The young woman's dark brows furrowed in response, her thin fingers coming to press at her temple.
"Auntie is making my head hurt", she complained, though she refrained from saying the words she truly wanted to say, in respect for the old woman's advanced age, "why did you bring me here?"
—Hope, faith, endurance.
These were only words.
Sure, they can be spoken—they may be believed—but did that make them any more real?
Anymore palpable?
This little comfort woman—this mere pleasure slave—was no longer young and spritely herself.
Or at least she has long failed to retain the energy to believe herself to be.
She was nowhere near the happy, oblivious, budding maiden this old woman seemed to think her to be—had she ever been?
Her heart, she knew, was no longer soft and healthy.
In the last ten years it had become a shadow of itself—hard, cold, and so empty it was pitch black.
Noble as this old woman's thoughts were, and pleasant as the ideas rung in her ears, it did not change one, simple truth.
Hope did not feed her.
It could not even shield her from the rain.
It would not free her.
—Much less could it cool, nor soothe, the painful, raw, burning flesh between her legs.
Only she—she had long realized, after each unanswered prayer, every unheard cry—only she could guaranteed any of that herself.
Or at least parish trying.
Yet just as before, as if she really had heard every unspoken word, the old woman only nodded empathetically.
The pale gray of her eyes glinted in the firelight nonetheless as they seemed to trace something over the younger woman's shoulder.
"Somewhere past that valley", she eventually spoke, "hide our brethren."
Her bony fingers openly gestured past the makeshift gate and towards the tiny distant crest of the tallest ridge along the far hidden paths littering the mountainous planes of what the captain had called Serpents Pass.
—So very far away, and yet, so, so near.
Near enough to be able to make the journey by foot.
Perhaps, even with the right ostrich horse, it would only take less than a single night.
"Or the sister tribe who wishes them dead", the girl reminded her—reminded herself.
Not to mention that if this old crone was able to come up with the same idea as her, what then would stop the well fed, strategy focused warlords at her back?
"Yes", Fēifēi nodded solemnly, "who is to know?"
As the two of them contemplated their plight in silence, the gentle cricking of the night bugs competed against the far away howls of a mountain dog pack, surely prowling for a hunt.
Whether ready for their pray or not, the girl knew they would not hesitate to strike when the opportunity presented itself.
Not when it guaranteed their meal for the night.
Not when it put at risk their energy for the next day.
"If your body had the ability to carry you through it", the younger of the two could not stop herself from wondering it out loud, "would you, auntie, have been willing to risk your life for such a big gamble?"
Though even as the last of her words left the dryness of her lips, she already regretted them immensely.
So as punishment, she immediately closed her mouth shut for her gall and bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood.
Saying less would get them both killed, she knew, should anyone overhear them.
The old crone, as seemed to be her general disposition, was unbothered with such a prospect.
Only observed her silently for a while.
"Even though these useless bones of mine cannot carry me far", she replied at last, "this old woman is more than ready to take that gamble."
Her pale eyes had grown hard and very serious as she spoke, though as if it were a trick of the light, when she smiled once again, her cheerful demeanor returned as if it had never gone.
She then, once again, offered her companion the last remaining piece of the dried squid.
This time the young woman only hesitated for a moment, seeming to deliberate carefully over a decision that she knew might lead her past a point of no return.
Then, rather gingerly, she finally reached forward and accepted the offering.
The salted jerky meat was lukewarm to the touch and stale. One might be right in assuming it was slightly rotted as well.
But to her metallic, blood soaked tongue, somehow, strangely, it tasted sweater than candy.
Contended at last, Fēifēi's smile widened as she pat the girl's lightly trembling hand.
"You must always eat whenever the opportunity arises", she advised, it was hard enough trying to stay alive, "even if you feel your heart is empty, at least the rest of your insides will be full."
The girl nodded as she once again tore into the jerky with her teeth and barely even chewed before swallowing.
Not having realized, it seemed, the hunger burning her stomach.
"How should it be done?"
The question itself, so easily said, reverted between them for one, silent moment. The weight of it, in it's entirety, suddenly stifling the air around them.
"First it must be understood that any brave soul here who would be willing to go show them their face, even if they are met with our norther warriors, would not be guaranteed their life.", the old crone warned.
"No man will easily promise to trust a woman who has slept with his enemy", she added with a regretful sigh, "even if he accepts it was by force."
Though in their world, this went without saying, Fēifēi felt it had to be said.
The girl for her part, snorted in response, "in this life, who doesn't have their challenges?"
"Some more than others", Fēifēi agreed, "which is why one must first be certain of their own ability and how far they are willing to rise to the occasion."
Not understanding the sudden reluctance, much less appreciating it, the comfort woman's face hardened.
Who has time to be certain about anything?
She straightened and sat up rigidly, as if insulted that she might have been seen anywhere near lacking.
"If I die there, it will be no different than staying alive here", she argued, voice cold.
As Feifei sighed, the little cracks exposing the shell of her otherwise gentle mask, shifted.
"There is much youth in you still—"
"I do not want to become a regretful ghost!", the girl seethed.
"Forever haunting these monsters" she gritted, gesturing at the tents far behind them, "cursed for all eternity with reliving every second of this…this shame!"
Unable, it seemed, to tolerate such patronizing from anyone—not after all these years.
Especially not from this strange old woman with her disorienting grey eyes.
Said old woman, for her part, made no criticism, only stayed silent, allowing the girl to spew away to her heart's desire.
For who was she, really, to deny this helpless child that?
The comfort woman forcefully chewed the rest of her dried meat as her trembles intensified.
Suddenly this sour morsel of food no longer satisfied again and instead she wished for nothing more than the steel cold embrace of her pipe.
Ten long years of suffering.
—Of smoke turned to bile in her throat, forcefully swallowed down until it congealed past her lungs and to her stomach.
All that bitterness, a dark disgusting tar, flowing deep into her veins.
And it did flow—it flowed and flowed, darker and darker each day.
How long had it taken, she briefly wondered, for her heart to pump it out in rivers of sickly, sticky, inky black?
So much so that now it suddenly seemed to seep from her eyes, sliding down her cheek, and staining past her throat.
As if the the flood gates within her had been ripped open once and for all, the poor overworked damn sealing it all in, collapsing at last.
"I don't even know if my parents are dead or alive", she heaved through her tears, no longer caring who might hear, "or if they could ever dream to imagine I am still here!"
Did this old woman not understand?—How could she possible not?
"If they are already gone and I die too, we can reunite at last", she reasoned, the thought of it bringing her peace, "if by some miracle they are alive, even if they never see my body again, I can at least watch over them as I wait at the jade gates—however long it takes!"
Fēifēi did understand, and had listened patiently to all of her sorrows.
Reaching forward, she let the palm of her hand sooth over the young woman's long brown hair, cooing and shushing her quietly to comfort her.
"There, there", she hummed, "you are a good child."
No!—the girl, now pressed against her soft, warm chest shook her head, feeling very deeply that she was being patronized yet again.
She was not a good child—never smart enough, never talented enough, never strong enough.
Even these useless legs of hers—she damned them both all the way to hell and back, harshly hitting her thighs with her closed palmed fists—they could not even outrun the pack of thieves who stole her away.
"If somehow I could make it out alive only to be beaten black and blue for the disgraces I have brought upon them", she gritted, swallowing the last of her sobs, "it would have been a death a hundred times better and a thousand times more welcome than living to old age here!"
"Shhh, shhh", the old woman assuaged, not out of fear of discovery, or even pity, but for all the things she knew she too should not admit, "come, lay your head on me".
Though still reluctant at first, the girl, now somehow reduced to a child once more—and by a stranger no less—nodded wordlessly and did as she was told.
Many more tears welled in her eyes, flowing freely like a stream and drowning her cheekbones as she was gently guided to rest the side of her face on a thin, warm lap.
The old crone chastised her softly, much like she thought a mother might have, and it reminded the young woman bitterly of the absence of her own.
Prune like fingers stroked at her sun burnt temple, tracing the small, minute, fine lines that had only recently started creeping over her dark brows.
"It is so good that you still have some many more years to live", the old woman expressed with some fondness as she continued her ministrations, "I will pray that you will reach every last one before your string of fate breaks."
"But if you do die tonight…", she then added, with a reluctant sigh, "…I will instead pray that you quickly reincarnate into your next life and be reborn as a precious person worth living for."
"You are much too kind, auntie", the young woman, who for once really did resemble the not so far away ghost of her innocence and youth, groggily replied.
The hidden remnants of her once modest beauty, anyone could see now, quietly lingered as well, though peppered only through the genuine smile forming in her lips.
"But if the old jade king in the sky has any pity left for me,", she muttered, contended at last, "he will know that this life has been enough and that now I only want to rest."
No more trials, no more lives—only rest.
Like this.
How long had it been since she was held and cradled in this way?
And in contrast, how long had this old woman too felt the absence of a dearly missed loved one snuggled within her own arms?
It was a great shame, a mighty sad thing indeed, that even the purest of strangers—and only from being starved for humanity—could so easily come together and feel such closeness as a result.
Come to crave it even, more than the air they breathed.
And who could possibly fault them?
For if the younger of the two dared and if she only closed her eyes for just a moment longer—this one rare, precious moment might actually feel as if she were really somewhere back home, once again loved and cherished by her mother.
"You will rest later", these mere words broke much too easily through her haze, though Fēifēi's gentle nudged was as soft as a raindrop, "come, I have an idea", she said, "and if we are very lucky, you may still keep your head and perhaps save a sister or two."
Despite her reluctance to part ways with the only source of warmth that after so many years did not selfishly take from hers, the comfort slave nodded, then bit her lip.
For a decade now, she had not even once trusted her own shadow, could she really then turn around and put what little trust remained inside her into this stranger who had even less than she to lose?
Though having some sort of a plan, she supposed, was some ways better than having none at all.
After all, surely, no one could sink lower than death.
—And, as it would seem, it would all start with the none other than the ostrich horses.
The ostrich horses, Fēifēi had mentioned as they both collected and recovered themselves accordingly—are very important.
So important that one may call them the very soul of a calvary, and without them, all those men who rode them proudly would be left with little else than to wait for defeat.
This was why so many large chests, she explained, had been dragged through even the driest of desserts.
More important are these, she assured, than piles of warm furs for the night, or even food—for inside each of them was stored a potent paste, used solely for medicine and strong enough to subdue a towering beast of one thousand pounds.
"Only a dollop is necessary, perhaps less", she warned, however, "lest you wish to render your victim dead."
The young woman besides her sniffed in response, voice cold, "it is a shame then, this slave is no good at measuring."
"Then learn. Tonight", the old crone countered, her own voice dry, "you may want him good as gone but is it worth the trouble that would bring? The last thing you need now is another target on your back."
At the girl's stony face, Fēifēi's penetrative eyes looked over her pointedly, as if questioning silently if one petty man's life would ever be worth their freedom and that of others.
"And how exactly am I to feed him this…dollop?"
The old woman chuckled in response.
Wasn't it obvious?
"Why, in his tea of course", she smiled as she spoke, "the hot water will melt the paste and the dregs will hide the color."
"—And if he is not thirsty?"
Now the look in the old crone's eyes shifted to a knowing gaze, one that promised more trouble than it might be worth.
"Then you must make him parched", she merely replied.
The comfort slave sighed in response but nodded nonetheless, understanding at once what had to be done.
The words poisoned her tongue, "one, last sweet parting gift, then…"
"Only a trifle token", Fēifēi teased, "to remember you by."
….
About less than twenty-eight miles away, off the coast of the eastern lake camped the southern water tribe some several kilometers inland.
Ten thousand strong were once more united with the fierce five thousand commanded by none other than Chief Hakoda's right hand.
"Sire", Lord Shui, himself, having arrived a mere eight hours earlier, bowed deeply to his leader.
"I have received word of the fire benders marching west near the coast", he announced, "the company is not too large, only a thousand men at most—maybe less."
Chief Hakoda waved the formality away, scoffing in amusement when his dearest friend, now fully at ease, did not hesitate in swiping from a curious looking selection of fruit on his table.
The leader nonetheless watched him take a greedy bite and grinned in amusement when the man just as quickly spat the half-chewed pieces back out.
"Serves you right", he laughed heartedly, "—always taking what is not yours."
"From what pits of hell did they bring this thing?", Bato complained, holding in another violent gag as he placed the bitten fruit back from where he got it, "the sacred tree of hot, rotted shit?"
Hakoda's smirk, in response, was villainous, "I was told the good people of this nation call it a durian", he informed, "it is the king of fruit and quite the delicacy."
"Quite the insult, you mean", his friend scoffed, now pushing the offending food away just as its foul odor penetrated the air around him at an alarming rate, "king of fruit its ass!"
"These fire breathers…", the chief inquired, returning to the task at hand, "are you sure there are only so few?"
"Certainly", Bato assured in between rinsing out the strange, sweet taste in his mouth with a deep swig of his water skin—filled to the brim with arctic wine, of course, "my men were very thorough. Their measly little camp is not too far away. In fact, you can so much as ride up and see it for yourself, if you so wished…sire."
Presently, the young lord was even willing to bet that they could easily wipe away those fire nation heathens entirely with only half the force of one third of the water benders they had at their disposal now.
Satisfied at such an answer, his friend grinned as he stood from his seat.
Reaching over, Hakoda slapped the hard leather armored plate over his companion's chest, "I trust in you fully."
"Well, isn't that a relief?", the young lord snorted, smirking back, "now if only you would relay that to my father every once and again so that he could lay off my back before he breaks it, I would be twice as grateful."
"The general is a proud and prudent man. Very formidable", Hakoda grunted, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the miserable look on his best friend's face, "even a chief has every right to fear him."
"Not if you simply banish him away", Bato was so kind as to suggest,"somewhere not so cold at least, he is getting old—ah! Why not here, in this land of disgusting fruit?"
At that the young chief did roll his eyes—again with this?
"Even if I did have the sole power to remove him from my court and past the city walls itself—and I won't", he reasoned, "that would not mean it would leave you free to avoid marrying that girl he likes for you so much."
"Do not mention her to me!", Lord Shui complained, the mere thought of that lady making his skin crawl, "is not the pains of war punishment enough? I was the first to volunteer and you know that—don't you laugh at me!", he grumbled, "all I asked was not to be shackled with that boring sow…"
Hakoda cackled anyway, "that boring sow is my third cousin."
"Then you marry her! Let us see if you dare!"
The young chief's grin only widened at the other's frustration, "I am already married."
"And how proud you are of the fact, aren't you?", his childhood companion readily and most bitterly mocked, "trading what little freedom you have left for the promised smiles of the only true beauty in all the capital."
The Lord Shui snorted indignantly, as if the mere thought of it offended him "Oh, yes—I bow to your abundance of fortune."
Lady Kya was very pleasant and a great beauty, to be sure—Bato, himself, would certainly and most readily place himself amongst the first to offer the compliment.
But even she would not change his contrasting feelings of an ever dull and suffocating married life.
In truth, as a warrior, he valued marriage very little.
"Though, I admit", he acknowledged anyway, with a nonchalant shrug,"if I too were confined to such a pretty face as hers, perhaps I'd not find the need in running away to battle,"—a gasp of realization escaped him then—"and maybe that was his intention in the first place!"
"You are a clown", Hakoda tutted, "and it's exactly why Najak, nor any other decent woman for that matter, will never take you seriously."
"Well, really that's only all I ask~"
"Ahem"
Both men winced in disbelief at the intrusion—and the irony of it— knowing well enough the sound of that voice and the terror it had inspired within them from a young age.
"—if you and this numbskull are finished talking, my liege", Lord Shiu's father—the very great and fearsome Southern General Tonraq, spoke, sending a harsh look to his son as he entered, "I have information of my own to relay."
The two younger shared a single wary look amongst themselves for one brief moment.
"Of course, general", Hakoda replied, immediately standing a little straighter despite the man's deference, perhaps even more so than he would have done before his own father's presence.
He gestured to the cushions resting before his desk, "please…"
"Yes, and I'll leave you both to it—
"You sit too, boy", Bato's father commanded, this time not even bothering to spare his oldest son the slightest regard, "It will be in the tribe's best interest if we are all on the same page."
"Anything of great concern, sir?"
There was a pause to the older man as he regarded the inquiry, that Hakoda found little to no comfort in.
"Those fire nation heathens, the ones stationed nearby", the general informed, once he had the two younger men's ample attention, "are reinforcements for the troops up north. My scouts tell me there is another battalion on the way, perhaps as far as a day or two. These warriors are all under the command of a certain high ranked general—
"Whatever general that may be", Bato scoffed, cutting his father off with a much too confident wave of his hand, "will be just as dead and drowned as the rest of them once my men unleash what I have in store—
"Will you be silent for once!", his father snapped, unamused entirely by his little spiel and loud enough to make both men jump.
"What do you know of warring with these degenerates?", he demanded, when neither his heir or their chief spoke against him, "how many have you killed?"
Unable to meet his father's challenging stare, the warrior looked away in shame, "…none yet, general."
"What then, makes you qualified to lead those who follow you into a blind battle where more than your foolish pride is at stake? Have you enough water benders to drown thirty thousand more men?"
"…no, I do not, father."
"Because that is how many this general you so easily dream of killing commands at present—less than one hundred miles away in what they call the Taku Seaport. What say you to that?"
"But, sir?", Hakoda intervened in his friend's defense, when the latter could only squeeze his palms into tight fists, "If they are calling for reinforcements, does that not mean their need of aid gives us a weakness we can exploit?", he reasoned, "I was told this Taku Seaport is past the eastern lake and directly in our way to our secured passage north."
It was the one obstruction in their carefully prepared plans, at present, that warranted his lack of sleep.
"They won't let us pass even if we chose not to engage."
"Your grace is correct", General Tonraq sighed as he answered, "they have no reason to grant us passage without incentive. For now, I fear we might be left with no other choice but to fight and risk what men we can afford until we link with Admiral Silla opposite them."
"Can't Admiral Silla send men to ambush from the back as we ambush from the front?"
Tonraq shook his head, "It may only be possible after he engages and defeats the earth nation regiment stationed eight miles south to him and four miles north to Tachi Dai. At that point we will have put at risk our entire fleet."
"So we are forced to a deadlock on their behalf?", Hakoda's frustrated displeasure was evident as he stood and faced away from either men, "what has their war to do with ours!"
"As much as ours have to do with theirs, my liege" Tonraq agreed, "but as it stands, we can't afford to become collateral."
"This great general, is he the one they call The Dragon of the West?"
At that, even Bato looked to his father.
"No, sire", Tonraq replied, "this man is General Feng, but his divisions are nothing short of what The Dragon of the West commands. I've been informed he also works closely with an Admiral Rong—though at present his fleet is otherwise engaged."
"A blessing sent by the spirits, I'm sure…", though sarcastically emoted, both Hakoda and his right hand breathed a silent sigh of relief, however small it may have been.
The Dragon of the West, it was said, had set his sights on Ba Sing Se, and would therefore give the Southern Water Tribe little trouble, if at all.
This General Feng, whoever he may be—however—might not care to spare his men from a battle against them, if it guaranteed him no more interruption from his own plans.
Whatever they may be.
"So then would it not be prudent still, father", Bato questioned, propelled by his injured pride, "to remove the threat of his reinforcements now so that we may not have to bother with them later?"
"It may", Tonraq nodded.
Spurred by as much confirmation as any, the young lord made to stand—
"—But", the old general sneered, stopping his son in his tracks before he could make anymore of a fool of himself "—as I tire of warning you", he advised, "we must be cautious before taking action. We have yet to know of these men and why they have been requested."
Hokoda, for his part, frowned in thought as he contemplated their options.
"A thousand men, more or less, is no real threat to us now. But added to thirty thousand, it may be the last nail in our coffin", he said.
"Their provisions too would be an added boon", Bato also suggested, then shrugged helplessly when his father sent him a pointed look.
Hakoda nodded slowly, taking everything that was said into careful consideration.
There was as much to lose as there was to gain.
Though it was indeed an idea worth evaluating, the matter at hand should not, however, put at risk what little ground they have managed to conquer.
"My suggestion, your grace", General Tonraq countered, "is to bide our time as we strategize how to deal with the fire heathens nearest us before we rally against their general. Without a water fleet to protect the seaport, we might put ourselves at an advantage yet, but only if we do not squander what men we have here."
"You are wise, general", Hakoda acknowledged after pondering his words for a moment longer, "perhaps we should do as you say and see what morning brings."
"Your grace—", Bato complained, taken aback as if they had both lost their marbles, "should we not instead take advantage of the night and the strength of the moon? If we act now, we can strike them where they sleep!"
He looked to his father again, who frowned but otherwise made no motion against him.
"At this moment it seems to me that we have the most leverage", he argued, " we will incur this General Feng's ire no matter how we attack. Wouldn't it be better then to do so at our own convenience?"
Never—Bato wanted to shout it from the nearest mountain top—had they ever been presented with such an easy opportunity as this!
To squander it, he thought, would be to spit in the face of the spirits who had blessed them so generously.
He desperately sought out the chief's gaze—wordlessly urging his childhood friend to see the light for himself, but was disappointed to be met only with his silent caution.
Though that was an appealing option…
Hakoda stroked his temple as he considered every one of Bato's words with as much faith and loyalty as he felt his friend should be afforded, though his fingers migrated down to press at the bridge of his nose when he calculated certain tactics.
"General Tonraq…", he deferred, "have we any confirming intelligence as to when this missing battalion of theirs arrives?"
"I can only make assumptions based on their location now, my liege."
The young leader sighed.
"We do not know yet if these fire breathers know of our position here" he regarded his friend as he spoke, "we cannot afford to fall into a false sense of security—and for all we know, they may be waiting in silence hoping to strike us on our backs when we make our move."
Bato, seemingly unconvinced, made to protest, though Hakoda raised his hand to silence him before he could.
Clear and raging annoyance surged in his friend's demeanor, though as a subordinate, he bit his tongue nonetheless.
"For now, my friend, I think it's in our best interest to bide our time,", the chief bid his proposal, "rather than run the risk of being blindsided."
The young lord scoffed, "we can always split our men in half", he debated, "one side goes, the other waits. If they attack us from behind, we simply unleash our own surprise."
Any other leader might find his adamant persistence tiring and his insolence intolerable.
Yet, Hakoda never did.
Not once when they were children—and not now when they had grown up together as brothers in arms.
In fact, this was one of the many attributes he had long admired of Bato since their infancy.
An attribute Hakoda himself possessed just as well and not without his own faults.
It was also, he admits, the basis in which he actively sought out and wished to see in the men who fought alongside him.
And although normally Hakoda would be the first to encourage his friend's headstrong notions—so long as they had enough merit—something at that moment give the young chief pause.
He couldn't quite place it, however, only that it seemed to tickle his ears.
Something in the wind outside, perhaps—something about how it howled.
Strange.
Hakoda was not entirely without superstition.
—His people certainly were not.
Though he, himself, was more so famously known for seeing the value in disregarding fate and taking his own destiny into his hands.
Yet tonight, as he seemed to forget his meeting in favor of stepping out into the evening air to breath it in since his arrival, there was a feeling he could not quite describe.
And it was exactly this something what assured him that if he stayed his hand for just one night—this night—everything else would fall into place accordingly.
It was the same sort of something, he supposed, that had always whispered in the back of his head since he could remember, that he was meant for far more than he had right to dream.
"Let us be still and wait for tonight", he decided at last, calling back to the two bewildered men who had followed him outside, "where is the harm in that?"
"But, sire—
General Tonraq, reaching forward to grab his son roughly by the scruff of his armor, pulled the youth back with a warning glare.
In the hardened midnight of his blue eyes, he looked down at him harshly and wordlessly dared the young man to voice anymore of his complaints.
Bato, for once seemingly overpowered and outnumbered beyond his own capacity and where he had least expected it, no less, had little choice but to relent.
Detaching himself harshly from the general's hold, he pushed him away with a glare of his own before bowing deeply and in assent to his chief's back, paying quick respect, before storming off in his usual rage.
Tonraq too bowed, though he remained prostrated long enough to watch as Hakoda, still curiously immersed in the nature around him, faced him once more to grant his dismissal.
"Keep an eye on him, won't you?", the leader requested as an afterthought, still as if in a trance.
The old general suppressed a long sigh before nodding.
"As your grace commands it."
. . . . .
.
A/N: So I had a total brain fart and somehow forgot I hadn't posted chapter two on here. Yikes! I'm really sorry about that. Chapter three will also be up sometime later today.