Book One: Wind

Three Stories

Zuko

I watch Katara smile while Sokka crushes her in an embrace. (It seems more awkward than comforting, at least in my opinion.)

He rubs his face against her hair, shaking his head gravelly: "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice muffled against Katara's thick locks. "I'm so sorry, little sister. I'll never leave you alone again, I promise. I'll watch over you like a tiger hawk. Like a dingo wolf to a human baby."

Um...

Katara doesn't get the joke of it either. "Uh..."

I continue treating my bandages by myself.

The material got burned with the overuse of my firebending in that havoc of a pier, my injuries reopened as well – not enough for it to be worth of concern, but it'll take some more time than planned for them to heal. The fabric glued itself to the abraded flesh, peeling it off makes me hiss.

"Zuko, stop that!" Katara pushes herself from Sokka's hold, (not unkindly), and runs to me alarmed. "What do you think you're doing? You could hurt yourself more than you already are!"

I growl. "I'm fine. Why don't you worry about your injuries?"

"I already told you it's just a bruise," she pulls the sleeve of her parka down. "See?"

There are five purplish spots staining her wrist. (They're fat like sausages, I'm surprised she isn't more pained.)

"I count five bruises."

"Whatever," she shakes her head. "Just let me help you change your bandages."

I pull away when she tries reaching for me.

"I already told you I'm fine, Katara; you should take care of yourself. I can take care of me."

"Would it kill you to stop being so stubborn?"

"Don't say 'killing'!" Sokka cringes and covers his ears. "We had enough of a traumatic experience today!"

He could say that again.

"Look, the point is I can take care of myself," I insist.

"Which is not a very good point, so I'm not taking it," Katara says.

Next thing I know, she's yanking me by the sleeves of my coat to the nearby river where Druk is resting.

Its cascade pours powerfully but harmonically. The water appears made of copper for the reflection of the sunset's colors. The sky is tinted but not fire-like, only lighted up in orange and yellow, with very scarce lines of red. The whole landscape with the forest seems like it was taken out of a painting.

"I told you – " Katara pulls me down to kneel next to the current. My teeth grind when she unwraps the bandages from my arms.

"Yeah, yeah," she uses the river's water to wash my skin covered in ashes. "You are fine, you can take care of yourself. I would like to say I got the memo... but I didn't."

My eyes narrow sharply. "I think Sokka has proven sarcasm is not a very nice quality."

She shrugs. "It's genetic."

For all her talking – and how obviously annoyed she's at me – she does take the nursery role seriously; her touch is efficient, yet gentle as she washes my wounds, careful to not induce me too much pain. Truthfully, I'm not entirely complaining. It alleviates a share of the stinging.

"Why are so angry tonight?" she inquires observing the water fall over my skin. "I mean... more angry than usual."

Both of her sleeves are rolled up to not wet her parka. The more I stare at the finger-like bruises circling her wrist and shaping a clear hand, the darker they look, far more hurtful than what Katara is acting. She said some perverts groped her and that's why she got into the fight in the first place.