As I Fall: LOK

Chapter Seven

When Haitana came to, the first thing she noticed was the heavy white sheet that draped over her body. She was stiff, laying on a table that didn't give much leniency to movement, and chills sprung along her arms and legs at the lack of clothing.

All she was wearing was the simple white sheet, wrapped around her body in careful twists and tucks. Trying to sit up, Haitana noticed the prominent friction burns that once littered her arms and legs were no longer existent. The only thought she could conjure was that she had been in a healer's tent.

"Woah, woah. Slow down missy," a woman's voice is heard behind the girl, and the firebender whipped around quickly to assess who had been speaking. "I just finished healing your back— don't go throwing it out again!"

A woman, with beautiful aged hair and Water Tribe clothing grasped onto Haitana's shoulders, pushing her to lean back onto propped up pillows. "I'll get you a cloak, you look cold," she whispered, before opening a wooden cupboard full of linens and odd clothing materials. "Here you go," she handed a thick, blue colored fabric to the girl and draped it over her shoulders.

"What happened?" Haitana finally found her voice, as cracked and broken as it was.

The woman sighed, sitting in a chair beside the girl with a certain tiredness. "You suffered a great impact," she informed the younger girl. "You had muscle damage all through your back and legs, not to mention severe burns on your kneecaps. That kind of pain the body can't handle, so your response was for your brain to shut off for a while— try to heal itself."

Rubbing her chin, uncomfortable with the new information, the woman continued. "Your boyfriend was awfully worried about you. It took me and my mother all night to heal you. He wouldn't go to sleep, kept bothering us and asking how much longer," she rolled her eyes with annoyance. "You'll be just fine though. You might need a few more sessions and a lot of rest."

"My—my what?" Haitana sat slack-jawed, completely ignoring almost everything she said after boyfriend. "I don't have a boyfriend," the girl corrected.

The woman scoffed, almost like she didn't believe her. "Really?" She quipped, sarcastic in nature. "That general? Because he sure seemed worried about you. Kept asking if you had woken up yet until my mother finally sent him to go get some rest."

"Iroh," she muttered under her breath, like she had realized exactly who the woman was talking about. That had been the last person she was with before she collapsed, so it would make sense that he had brought her here. But worried? Why had he been so concerned with her well being? Perhaps he felt responsible, Haitana figured.

Finally, standing up from the chair, the woman stood in front of Haitana. "Oh, where are my manners?" She said. "I'm Kya," she held out a hand for the younger girl to shake.

"Haitana," the girl responded, accepting her hand.

She wasn't going to correct her— tell her to call her Na, or Ana, because she felt like it wasn't appropriate in this moment. Her elders had often referred to her as simply "Haitana," per her parents request.

"Well, Haitana," the woman says, placing a hand under her arm in support. "Let's get you back to your hut— I'm sure your parents are worried, and your clothes... they're unsalvageable."

Accepting her help, Haitana was assisted to her feet, body completely covered by the blue cloak and white sheet that had been strategically laced over her body.

Kya pulled out a wheelchair from its spot in an odd corner of the room, and the girl found herself automatically shaking her head. "No, no— it's alright, really, I can walk," Haitana promised, but the woman wasn't having any of it.

"No way, missy," she wagged a finger at the girl. "You're not undoing all of my hard work just because you can't swallow your pride and sit in a wheelchair."

Hanging her head, Haitana grumbled under her breath before begrudgingly sitting in the seat. Kya placed another blanket over the girl— for more warmth or privacy, she wasn't sure— and pushed her out of the healer's hut.

The woman bent the snow beneath the wheelchair into slick ice; slick enough for Haitana to be able to glide on it without sinking into the frosty surface.

As they began to head towards her temporary home (where her parents and Iroh were residing) she saw two figures approaching from behind a small village restaurant. "Na!" Someone called out upon seeing her crippled figure slouched in the wheelchair. As they neared, they revealed themselves to be Mako and Korra. "You're okay!" Korra said, happily.

"Yeah," Haitana dragged out, with slight distaste. "I'm fine," she whispered, voice still horse from not using it much.

Mako placed a hand upon her shoulder as Kya slowed to a halt, to allow them to speak. "We were worried," he said honestly, and a little bit out of character.

"Oh no, don't tell me..." the girl said dramatically. "Mako was worried about me," she feigned feeling lightheaded, bringing a hand to her forehead in disparity. "The world must be ending."

Rolling his eyes, he retracted his hand. "I take it back," he grumbles, annoyed with her antics already.

Korra smiled to herself, looking at Kya and then back at Haitana as she fell uncomfortable. Something was troubling her, that much was evident, but the young firebender had no energy to interrogate her. "I start my spirit training today," the Avatar informs. "You could come watch if you're feeling up to it—"

She was cut off by Kya. "It's best if she rests for now," the woman explained. "She's still got a bit to go before she's one hundred percent."

Crossing her arms, Haitana felt slight pains at her rapid movement, but didn't let it show on her face. She was frustrated— she felt like she was being babied and she hated that. But at the same time, part of her couldn't deny that rest sounded amazing in this moment.

Between fighting equalists, to now fighting giant angry spirits, Haitana couldn't help but feel as though she was way out of her element. She didn't sign on for all this saving people stuff— but she supposed that was the sacrifice you make when you care about people.

As selfish as it sounded, she only hoped that the generosity she had given would return to her in some way— one day.