Chapter 24: Near
The road is hard,
The map unclear,
The only truth;
A struggle’s near.
Aang sat. The ground was as hard as last time, the rock solid and sore under his tailbone. Aang sighed, wiggled a little in a vain attempt to get comfortable, and wondered whether he should bend himself a more comfortable seat. Somehow, he doubted the guru would approve. And to be honest, it wasn’t that bad. Just... different.
“So,” Aang said, trying to sound cheerful. “What’s this about restoring balance?”
The guru smiled, his light, lilting voice a perfect accompaniment to his twinkling eyes. “Well, it’s all very simple, really. You have to restore balance first in yourself, and then in the world.” He chuckled at the look on the little monk’s face. “When you’re done, you’ll have time for a holiday I’m sure.”
Aang shook his head. “Whoah, whoah, okay. Let’s take this one step at a time, shall we? So I have to restore balance in myself. How?”
Pathik’s beard formed a curve underneath his lips. “Well, what feels unbalanced at the moment?”
Well, wasn’t that the question of questions? Aang’s sigh felt like it grew all the way from his toes. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can’t really describe it. It’s just... when I got the Avatar State back, after I fought Ozai, I felt so calm. So certain. So sure.” He scratched the back of his head. “I guess I felt balanced. But then coming back to meet my friends... finding out Azula... died, and the troubles in the Fire Nation already... it was as if all the uncertainty came bubbling back out of a little hole somewhere in me. And now I don’t know what to do. Sometimes I feel like I’m totally with it, you know?”
He looked up instinctively to search the Guru’s eyes, saw the understanding in there, and then ploughed ahead. “And then other times... I feel like I’m being torn apart. I don’t know what to do. And it’s bad, because I mean, I’ve often not known what I had to do. But I was still sure, you know? I still believed I could do it. My... friends, believed I could do it. But when I’m like this, I don’t know what to believe. And then when everyone comes running to me with their problems, and I reach inside me to try to find that... stability I found after the fight with Ozai... it feels shaky, somehow.”
Pathik nodded. “You have not yet grounded your newfound power, Aang. You have not brought what you unconsciously know into your conscious.”
Aang blinked. “What does that even mean?”
The Guru allowed himself a faint smile, but when he spoke next, the abrupt change left Aang reeling.
“Do you remember when you fought at Ba Sing Se? After you left here?”
Left. Aang winced. Such a kind way to put it, he thought, but then he focused back on the question itself. And with the memory, his eyes widened and he swallowed.
“I died.”
Guru Pathik nodded, as if things like that happened everyday. “Go on.”
Aang swallowed again. “It was...” he shivered instinctively, feeling flashes of the scar tissue on his back, the green lights of the crystal cave, the shock of lightning as it shattered his world. “It was the weakest I’ve ever been,” he whispered. “The entire fight, I felt so... out of it. It was like I was fighting in someone else’s body. Even before I fought with Azula, I was losing. To Zuko. Zuko.”
The guru raised his eyebrow at the emphasis, and Aang hastened to explain. “I mean, it’s not like Zuko’s bad or anything. In fact, what am I saying? He’s great! In fact, he’s a really powerful bender! We’ve always fought on almost equal grounds, at least until the end when I was getting closer to mastering all four elements. But that one fight... he was wiping the ground with me.”
The Guru nodded again. “But then you almost managed to get into the Avatar State. What happened?”
The pathos of his memories was abruptly stoppered by shock. “What happened? But you know that. Azula shot me with lightning.” He paused, thinking, and then plunged ahead with the questions racing in his mind. “Why is this relevant, anyway?” The memories were beginning to stir up old, hurt, angry thoughts, and he rolled with their power. “I’ve got the Avatar State now.” Because you were wrong. “I just need this... balance thing.”
Faced with the challenge, Pathik remained serene. “Yes, it is true that you can phase in and out of the Avatar State at will. But it is only sometimes, yes? When you are feeling what you said; stability and balance?”
Aang nodded grudgingly.
“Well then, I think the problem is this. To reach the Avatar State, you surrendered yourself to the universe. Something within you broke free of your blocks. But now, the rest of you is holding it back. You are in a struggle against yourself, Avatar - the part of you that knows the truth, and the other part that wishes to hide from the truth. To bring balance to yourself once more... you must let go and submit freely to a world without illusions...”
He paused, significantly, and Aang felt a chill come over him before he spoke. “And without earthly attachments.”
Green light. The swirl of the Earth Kingdom emblem. Katara. Katara in chains. Katara in trouble. Katara so beautiful. Aang squeezed his eyes shut. He was seriously beginning to regret coming here now. All of the pathos that had formed at the end of the last visit was resurfacing, and the strength of its memory was washing away the peace and knowledge he had found beforehand. “But how can letting go of love be a good thing?” Aang shook his head, despair and anger written on his face. “Avatar Yang-Chen told me that my connection to the world meant I shouldn’t try to ascend to enlightenment. Basically, that I shouldn’t have to remove myself from all earthly attachments, or else I couldn’t do my job!”
For a moment, surprise flickered across the Guru’s face. “It is not an earthly attachment to love, Aang. To care for the people you protect.”
That was it. Aang clutched his head and yelled in frustration. “Aargh! Then why did I have to let go of Katara? I don’t understand!”
For a moment, in the darkness of Pathik’s eyes, he thought he caught a glimpse of the stars. “I said that you had to let go, that you had to forget your earthly attachments. Only then would the cosmic energy flow through you.”
Aang’s voice was bitter with resentment. “I remember.”
“But what you don’t understand is that cosmic energy is love,” Pathik explained. “It is the purest, greatest encompassing love of all. It is the most powerful, because it goes beyond the illusions of separation, of distinction, of ownership.” The guru paused, his dark face gently shadowed. “Do you remember how I described earthly attachments, and how you first answered when I asked you to let go?”
Aang screwed up his face unwillingly. “I... you said something about meditating on what attaches me to this world.”
Pathik nodded. “And your answer?”
What? Why would I let go of Katara? I... I love her.
He did not need to say the words. The measured look on the guru’s face already told him that both of them remembered what he’d said, crystal clear. Aang swallowed.
“What was wrong with it?” he asked defensively. “I still think that it’s not fair, that it doesn’t make sense to let go of love. Why do I always have to sacrifice everything that matters to me?”
The look on Pathik’s old features didn’t change. “Tell me, Aang. Did you stop loving Katara in the caverns of Ba Sing Se? When you almost reached the Avatar state?”
Aang blinked. “No! No, of course not!”
“Then what did you put aside? What did you let go of to unblock your chakra?”
The green light of the caverns, the green light that had overseen everything. Katara pressed up, hounded by both the Dai Li and Zuko. Watching it in despair. Knowing that even if they joined forces as normal benders, they had no hope.
“I’m sorry, Katara,” and then feeling the earth, the crystals close around to protect him...
Aang’s eyes snapped open. “I... let go of something else,” he said slowly, his mind scrabbling for understanding. It felt like he was glimpsing the edges of something bright, of some truth that would unlock the uncertainty in his chest, and he wanted it so badly it hurt. “I... I don’t know... but I...”
The guru was gentle, compassionate. “You trusted her to stand alone, Aang. You let her make her own choices. You let go, briefly, of your feeling of ownership.”
The words rung true, but Aang blinked. “Ownership? What are you talking about?”
“When I asked you what attached you to this earth, all you mentioned was young Katara. Does that mean you do not care for your other friends? Or your animal companions? Do you not feel an attachment to the trees, the sky, the mountains?”
The glimmer of comprehension grew painfully brighter. “Of course not, it’s just...”
“Balance is about proportion, young Avatar. It is about weighting, about choice. But most of all, it is about not allowing one thing to grow so much that it obliterates everything else entirely.”
“But I don’t...”
This time, Pathik didn’t even have to say anything. The Guru just looked, and all of a sudden everything stopped. The faltering words died on his lips. His mind opened up. And clearly, so clearly through the lens of his memory, he heard Toph speaking.
“The only person that meant something, huh?” Toph cocked her head, her voice no longer neutral. “Gee, Aang. Nothing’s ever fair.”
Aang’s head fell forwards into his hands. “Aargh,” he groaned miserably. “I am such an idiot!”
The Guru laughed lightly, and the sweet, living sound brightened the dark atmosphere. “Oh Avatar,” he said, his eyes dancing. “You are no idiot. Or at least, no more than the next young boy. Mistakes are but steps of learning.”
The words didn’t comfort him. Aang stared at Pathik helplessly, the truth of it all hammering him in his chest. “Are you saying my love for Katara is bad?”
Instantly, Pathik sobered again. “No love is bad if nurtured well,” he said sternly. “Love is the most powerful energy in the universe. But just like bending the elements can manifest in destruction, love’s energy must be used conscientiously and grown wisely. It must be balanced.”
Aang screwed up his nose. “How can you balance love? Isn’t it just... there? A-and for that matter, why would you try to limit love? That makes no sense!”
He could hear his own frustration ringing in his voice, and it hurt. Across from him, Pathik sighed, and for a moment, the enlightened calmness that was on his face slipped to reveal a sadness that Aang couldn’t comprehend. When he next spoke, his voice was soft.
“You are right, in some regards. Love cannot be limited. But its shape can be changed, like any other energy.”
He paused, but somehow Aang knew he wasn’t finished. And he was right. The guru took a breath and kept on speaking.
“All balance requires is for love’s choices to be made in trust, in respect, in freedom. When love is instead twisted to jealousy, to fear, to a sense of ownership or expectation... when the feeling of love becomes about just the one person instead of the two, or in cases of families and friends, about the one person instead of the others, then the scales of love will be unbalanced. When love is changed to ideals, to demanded standards, to an image on a pedestal and not the person, then the pure energy of love will sicken. When the love changes so much that it overshadows every other joy in your life, then your internal balance will be broken. Then the love will become a negative earthly attachment and block you from experiencing the whole of the true cosmic energy.”
Aang nodded, slowly. The words seemed to be filtering into his mind, echoes of things that he knew but did not want to face. But each one rang with such unbearable truth and relevance that he couldn’t stop listening. Somewhere inside, he recognised the fact that he was aching, dully. What the guru was saying was gentle, but at the same time it was cutting into his memories and leaving him with an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
I knew you wouldn’t understand.
I said I was confused!
I did think of something. I’m just sorry that it wasn’t good enough for you.
Aang screwed his eyes shut. No. No. It hadn’t happened that way, he hadn’t meant it that way...
Pathik saw the pain in Aang’s face, and his voice gentled even further. “Perhaps you need time to think about this, young Avatar. If you want, we can talk again tomorrow over some banana and onion juice?”
Aang nodded again, dazedly this time, and Pathik chuckled sadly. The sound rung a distant bell in Aang’s mind. “Do not despair, Avatar. It is in your nature to love. It is in your very self. So love, Aang. But love wisely.”
His voice came out small. “How?”
Pathik smiled, the curve laden with years and knowledge and truth. “That, you will have to discover for yourself, Avatar. I can but guide you. And it is no secret that it is a hard road. Others have spent lifetimes pondering truths and lessons such as these. As is your fate, though, you have had to learn lessons in a fraction of the time that others have had...”
An old sense of despair, of helplessness settled in Aang’s heart. He felt finished. Drained. But then his ears picked up the sound where his mind could not.
“... but so far, you have mostly learnt them well. I have faith in you.”
Somehow, it was enough to cut into the fog in Aang’s chest and lift it. He shook himself free, a sudden, overwhelming surge of gratitude overcoming him. He’d been worried, so worried about his reception. He’d been worried about failure. He’d been worried about anger or disappointment. But the Guru was staring back at him, the sadness in his eyes only magnifying the infinite love and wisdom in them, and respect welled up in his chest.
“Thank you, Guru Pathik,” he said, sincerity in every tone.
The Guru inclined his head, and his smile stayed on those old lips as the Avatar rose and began making his way down the temple. “Keep an open mind, and an open heart, Aang,” he called after him, softly. “Love is a funny thing.”
8 8 8
To Uncle Iroh,
Zuko stopped there and put the pen down, scowling. In reply. the rest of the blank scroll stared back at him, mockingly. His scowl deepened. What was he thinking? What was he doing? Writing letters had never been his forte.
You could have at least looked me in the eye when you were ripping out my heart.
The memory ripped through him and Zuko winced. For a moment, his hand hovered indecisively, torn between continuing and balling the paper up into the trash. But then his will reasserted itself, and he took a deep breath.
I am the Fire Lord. I can write a simple, courteous letter to my Uncle.
Zuko stared long and hard again at the sheet of paper, glad he’d dispensed with the formalities of a scribe. He didn’t want anyone else to witness his silent struggle with words at the moment, especially not a stranger. He bit his lip, dipped his pen back in the ink, and drew it out like a sword from its sheath as he began to write again.
Thanks. I got your letter.
Immediately, Zuko was tempted to throw the pen down again. “Thanks, I got your letter,” he mimicked aloud to himself. “Agni, how asinine.”
This time there was no hesitation. Zuko rested his pen back in the ink, balled the paper and threw it into the trash to join the growing pile, and started again.
To Uncle Iroh,
He paused. Breathed. Surely he couldn’t think of anything worse than his previous attempt. A crooked smile crossed his face at that. The thought was vaguely heartening, and so he continued.
Thank you for the news. We’ll have your quarters set up and ready for you as soon as you step off the air balloon.
There. That was better. But Zuko held off the self-congratulatory smirk as he stared down at the rest of the empty page. What to write next?
He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried the truth.
It will be good to see you again. Things have been... interesting, around here.
Zuko balked just short of writing I could use use some help. He still had his pride, after all. But even his pride had some limits. Zuko allowed himself a wry grin as he wrote the next, most appropriate words of the entire damn letter.
P.S. Thank you for the calming tea.
That done, he was about to sign himself off with a flourish when he paused. Thinking, Zuko scanned his desk, contemplating the mounds of paperwork and the cold teapot on its surface. And then he sighed and swallowed the rest of his pride.
P.P.S. Please send more. Much more.
- Zuko.
There.
Zuko exhaled a loud sigh of relief and filed the scroll away to be sent to the messenger hawks later. Who would have thought a simple letter would have been so taxing? He shook his head wryly, turned back, and surveyed his desk for the next thing that needed to be done. But just as he was about to reach out and find it, there was a knock on the door.
Zuko pushed his chair back abruptly and turned around, his instincts still screaming against his being caught unawares. With the growing tension in the capital, he guessed it was only reasonable. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it. Eyes narrowed, he readied himself into a loose crouch... just as the door opened to reveal his Officer of Public Relations.
Zuko relaxed. “Ty Lee! There you are,” he found himself smiling, his tired eyes completely missing her nervous grin. “You’ve been hard to find, recently. Busy?” he chuckled lightly to himself. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you were avoiding...”
The acrobat made an unintelligible sound, and Zuko paused.
“... me.”
Ty Lee swallowed. “Well I have been pretty busy,” she said in a rush. “I mean, I’m sure you heard, but I had a meeting with the Minister for Culture, Education and Citizenship about a new public program, and then I had to go down to the docks and talk to the media about the riots and graffiti and...”
Her nervous babbling died off as Zuko frowned. It was finally beginning to enter the haze of his weariness that something was definitely up. The acrobat bounced nervously from foot to foot as he crinkled his forehead. What could have happened between now and the last time they’d met?
Ty Lee chewed her bottom lip nervously, and all of a sudden the memory came flooding back. That exact same action, followed by “We-ell... it’s because General Hang invited me to lunch today. With his family.” It clicked, and Zuko suddenly couldn’t believe he hadn’t remembered it earlier.
“Ty Lee, did something happen when you had lunch with Hang?”
The acrobat blushed and looked down at her hands, and Zuko could see the moment she decided to just come out with it. Her mouth quivered and she sighed. “We-ell... hesortofaskedifyouweresingle.”
Zuko blinked.
Ty Lee cleared her throat and looked up again. “He sort of asked if you were single,” she repeated, a little shamefaced. “I mean, the entire lunch was a bit edgy, but that question was the weirdest.”
Zuko blinked again. And then, intelligently, “What?”
Ty Lee opened her mouth to say it again, only to be stopped by the Fire Lord’s hand. “Wait, I’m pretty sure I heard you right,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “I just...” he shook his head again. “I thought he’d try to find out what my plans were next, or my weaknesses, or maybe even try to get you into his favour. But why would that old dragon-hawk want to know whether I was single?”
Ty Lee shrugged nervously, but behind her round gray eyes Zuko could imagine the gears working. “Perhaps he’s worried?” she suggested. “Perhaps the Ministers want you to, I don’t know, settle down, find someone.”
Zuko raised his eyebrow. “I’d say that they have a lot more to worry about than my love life,” he said sharply. “How about the country? Our economy? The refugee situation? Hang doesn’t seem the type to focus on something so trivial. Are you sure he invited you to the lunch just for that?”
Ty Lee cocked her head, remembering. “There were some other things,” she admitted hesitantly. “He questioned me about Azula once as well. But I don’t know, Zuko. I think it was pretty important, because he seemed all happy after I answered. I mean, at first I thought he was trying to figure out where Mai was, but then after I said she was away he just honed in on the whole singleness thing.”
A chill settled into Zuko’s stomach. “What exactly did you say?”
Ty Lee swallowed. “Um, I said yes?”
Zuko’s eyes burned. “Yes what?”
“Yes, you’re single?” At his look, she hastily backpedalled. “Well, it’s not like I really came out and said it like that, you know! He was just pressing me about you and Mai, and then I said that you two weren’t really together anymore, and he made the conclusion himself.”
There was a pause, and then... “I see,” Zuko said flatly, even though he really, really didn’t. “So he’s going to use that against me... how?” A thought crossed his mind and he suddenly wanted to howl with sick laughter like a hyena-lion. “Are they going to try set me up with their daughters? Agni! Were they planning to fit that in before or after the unemployment crisis meeting? Or maybe we could have a break during the negotiations on reopening foreign trade?”
He was so caught up in his mini-tirade now, that he didn’t even notice Ty Lee’s wince. “And then what? A whirlwind romance, a wedding, and there you have it - the Fire Lord under the thumb of his wife’s father?” he chuckled bitterly. “Do they think I’ll fall for that? You know, aside from the fact that I’m not interested in anything like that for a long, long, long while?”
Ty Lee let out a low breath, a twinge of melancholy caressing her throat. It was sad how often plans went awry. Somewhere, in the depths of her hopelessly romantic heart, she wished that he and Mai could have sorted things out. But her time with her friend and her knowledge of both of them told her that it was better this way.
The wounds would heal. Eventually. “You know, Zuko, it wouldn’t have to be like that. I can’t imagine you being under anyone’s thumb.”
He snorted. “Well, it’s not like I exactly plan to be either. I’m just trying to figure out what they’re planning... and what they could possibly hope to gain by it.”
Ty Lee sighed, well aware of Zuko’s current problems. And with her background in Court life, worriedly aware about the implications. “I don’t know,” she said, trying to help. “Maybe they think marriage could be a good thing. If anything, it’d give the nation an excuse to celebrate together, I don’t know, build some solidarity.”
Zuko almost snarled. “Are they crazy? With the economy like it is, the people will riot if I spend their money on a Court wedding!”
Ty Lee chewed her lip again. “Then maybe they’re hoping the celebrations would make people happy?”
The idea barely had time to live before Zuko shot it down. “No,” he said; bluntly, bitingly, self-mocking. “I’m not popular as it is, and a wedding won’t change that.”
“Then how about stability?” Ty Lee suggested. “I mean, besides Uncle Iroh, you’re the last of the pure royal bloodline. If things are as unsettled as it is, maybe they want an heir. Just in case, you know. So that if anything happens to you... not that it would! But you know, if anything did happen, there would be someone to continue.”
Zuko’s jaw dropped, and then clacked closed. Heirs? Heirs? Here he was, elbow deep in old blood, tainted gold and starving people, and they wanted him to...
Zuko swallowed. “Fine then,” he rasped hoarsely. “If they’re so concerned about the probability of the next assassin taking me, then I’ll just name a heir. No need to wait fifteen years for them to become useful.”
Ty Lee’s eyes widened. “That’s uh... pretty revolutionary, Zuko. I’m not sure if people will buy that, especially since you can’t name anyone with pure royal blood.”
He waved his hand dismissively, not even caring about the words bubbling out of his mouth as long as they didn’t involve him doing... something with one of the fluttery, cold daughters of his nobles. “We have cousins. I’ll find one that’s relatively trustworthy and...” he paused, abruptly. “Why are we even talking about this, anyway? I’m not going to die.”
“No, of course not!” the acrobat looked alarmed. “It’s just, I guess with the assassins and threats and all... everyone’s a little antsy?”
Zuko shook his head. “I’m not going to die,” he repeated, more forcefully than he felt. “I’ve got too much to do.”
Ty Lee bit her lip, once more, the last time. “Maybe that’s what they’re afraid of.”
8 8 8
Sheng:
I have done as you requested, and I consider my debt to you fully repaid.
- Hang.
8 8 8
Hang:
What you have done is useless without the information. Is she or isn’t she?
- Sheng.
8 8 8
Sheng:
Azula’s knife is free. Her acrobat is not.
- Hang
8 8 8
Hang:
Are you sure?
- Sheng
8 8 8
Sheng:
Positive.
- Hang
8 8 8
Hang:
Ah. So it is true that we may find friends in strange places.
- Sheng.
8 8 8
Sheng:
I’m counting on it. Because the... possibilities are growing.
- Hang.
8 8 8
The ship creaked around them, the timber shifting up and down to the swells of their element outside. The two old women sat on the narrow bunks of their cabin, shoulders hunched as if they were drifting on the waves.
It was now two days into the journey - hours after they had first stared, then moved, and then embraced. Kata had felt tears squeeze out the back of dried ducts, dripping bittersweet saltiness down her throat. Hama hadn’t wept, only kept her hand fiercely on the other’s shoulder. And then, she’d directed her downstairs, away from the clean sea air, the smell of the ocean and the Fire Nation soldiers and into their small cabin. And for the next few hours, that was their den, their safety, their hideaway as they caught up on the decades of loss.
It was hard going. After the initial elation, the troubles lurking at the back of Kata’s mind began to surface. She had always believed in Hama from the beginning. But the years and Kama’s insistent voice had worn her down, had made her question her faith. After all, why would her best friend leave her behind? Why, if she’d had the power, would she leave any one of them behind?
The questions boiled at the back of her mind, unsaid, unspoken, but enough to stretch an air of wariness between them. And so now, here they were. Silent. All that could comfortably be said had been said, and now Kata sat wearily back against the wall and wondered who this wizened woman in front of her was. Whether they could still be called friends. Whether they could rebuild what they had had.
A wave rolled against the hull of the ship, and Kata felt it in her back. “Hama?” she asked, almost timidly. “Are you feeling all right?”
The other woman smiled. “Back on the sea. It’s good to feel it, isn’t it?”
Kata nodded. “Maybe we can go up to the deck,” she suggested. “Get some fresh air and see it with our eyes. La...” she closed her own eyes briefly for a moment in remembered ecstasy. “It’s so beautiful. I... I never thought I’d see the ocean again.”
Something infinitesimally small twitched in Hama’s gaze, but Kata didn’t notice it. “I never thought I’d be travelling to the North Pole,” she replied, examining her crooked, cracked fingernails. “A city full of waterbenders, Kata. Think of all the... the power of the Water Tribes. It will be good to see us in our pride again.”
Kata nodded again, this time dreamily. “And the culture, and the stories... do you remember when we used to dream of going there? It sounded so incredible. So alike, and yet different.” She paused suddenly, a thought just occurring to her. “Do you think it will be hard to adapt?”
Hama laughed, and Kata warmed with the sound. It was old and scratchy, with all the weight of the horrors they’d seen behind it, but to her mind, at least they could laugh. “Oh Kata, I don’t think it will be hard at all. Putting aside the whole North and South, we’re all Water Tribe. Plus, we’ll have friends there.”
Kata cocked her head. “Friends? But we’ve never...”
“Friends,” Hama said firmly. “I met someone in prison, the second time around. We’ll have friends.”
There was something about the certainty with which she said it, as well as the smile across her face, that made Kata swallow down her next questions. Instead, she followed her instinct of unease and leaned further back against the wall, hugging her arms to her chest. “I can’t believe we’re really going to the North Pole.”
Hama smiled, bowing her neck a little to stare at the interlinked fingers in her lap. “I can’t believe you’re really here. It’s so good to see you.”
Kata sat straighter and smiled back, about to reply the same with feeling. And then the connotations of their words, of their togetherness, of the situation itself finally sunk in, and she swallowed.
“You know,” she said quietly. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re here.” The reality of it was finally sinking in, the fear of dreaming collapsing away. Kata’s head fell forwards until she rested it in her palms, her thin, worn fingers cupping her own starvation-sallowed cheeks. She swallowed again, felt the moistness in her mouth. “I can’t believe we lived to see the end of the war.”
Her eyes were down, her unfocused gaze only taking in her own beaten, tortured body, the body that was slowly but steadily getting stronger, getting healed. And so it was that she did not see her friend’s head slowly rise, or the glint she hadn’t noticed before deepen in her eyes.
But Kata did hear the words, and when she did, her own chin jerked up sharply in surprise. Just in time to catch Hama baring her teeth.
“Who says we have?”
