Between Friends

The Letter

It had been three weeks since Tigress's wound had healed; three weeks since she had returned to the Jade Palace, virtually slammed the door shut on her master, and tried to prophesy her future with dominoes.

The little wooden game pieces had helped her mood, but did little in making any actual progress. Earning her master-hood would fall on her own abilities.

Tigress could do this. All she had to do was follow her master's instructions for a few years while pretending nothing was wrong, and forgetting her friend existed for a while until she finally earned the autonomy to see him herself.

What's so hard about that?

Sure, she would miss Po's boundless enthusiasm, and the comfort of edible (actually pretty good) noodles shared with decent (actually great) company, but she would survive. She had lived without those comforts before, for quite a while, in fact. She could live without them again.

All she had to do was not think about it. Like now, when she was completely and totally not thinking about the Ping Dynasty Noodle Shop and the afternoons spent doing Tai Chi, or the time she had somehow managed to set noodle soup on fire, (which all parties had agreed that night never happened. Ever.) or the Winter Feast made special by dinner, a show, and a night of family. She most definitely wasn't thinking about the night just a month ago where she had found a snacking panda in the pantry and tackled him to the floor, how said panda cut through to the heart of her issues, how the both of them shared a hug that Tigress still wasn't sure had actually happened.

An image of emerald eyes bright as jade flashed in her mind. The stone obstacle that swung down from the ceiling shattered in front of her paw. She was almost tempted to look around and see if anyone was watching her; a habit that Po had had when she was teaching him. No doubt his mannerisms had somehow infected her.

She dodged the next swing of the chain, ducking under the weapon. She was disciplined. How could one friend possibly change that? On any other day, dancing between the obstacles would be easy. This would normally clear her thoughts. Yet today, it was only after barely missing another swing that her thoughts focused themselves. Although, really, it was less of a focusing of thoughts, and more of instincts replacing them. 

She leapt out of the practice area. Clearly, this was not working.

She knew exactly why.

She hid a sigh and made towards her room. It wasn't abandonment, she told herself. It was just a matter of circumstances. He would understand, she was sure. Yet if that was the case, why didn't she tell him that herself?

Maybe she should have stayed in the training area a bit longer. Hitting something decisively hard would have been a good feeling. Then again, she had tried that already with Ironwood trees, and she had the bloodied knuckles to prove it.

Returning to the barracks might have been a good idea after all, as when she returned, she noticed something. Crane was in his own room, door shut. No doubt, he was composing another one of his letters back home.

It struck her like a bolt of lightning. There it was. The answer. With more cheer than she had had in the previous weeks, she closed the door to her own room. Every student was given a few rolls of parchment in their rooms, along with an inkwell. What they did with it was up to them, and it was a limited supply. For a calligraphy hobbyist like Crane, it would be nowhere near enough. For Tigress, however, it would be more than enough.

Spreading out the parchment and setting the inkwell however, she paused. What in her ancestors' names should she put down? An apology? A goodbye?

She took a deep breath. She should start with the truth. If nothing else, he deserved that much. Actually he deserved more, but the truth would be the best place to start.