Falling For You ✰༄ ѕσkkα

Water || A Card Of My Own Face

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Happy one year anniversary!
This chapter is dedicated to those who have been here since
the beginning, accompanied with those who have joined our
adventure along the way.
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Sokka moves towards the entrance of our resting area but I have to let go in order to tug on my boots. His hand grabs at the air left behind him before turning to face me, watching as I tighten the strands of rope holding my shoes on. He takes a few long strides before gently picking up the comb, quickly gathering bits of my hair that skew my vision. His body appears to be trembling, a few strings of muddled words softly spoken to himself as he puts the heirloom in place.

He breathes heavily, either out of annoyance or anxiety, I can't tell. He hurriedly resumes standing while his fingers dance around the wraps adorning his forearms. I tug on the fabric of his tunic, "Hey, hey."
Sokka stops his jittery actions while his eyes cling onto my face. They're filled with the fragile feeling of fear that glazes over his bright irises, dulling their color. "We can do this."
"...Yeah. We can." He curtly nods his head, affirming to himself that he has all the capability to take down our current threat.

Once I make it back onto my feet Sokka has already placed himself back at the piece of hung cloth, drawing it aside to peer out into the maze of treehouses and platforms.
We leave our secure hiding spot, a warm breeze filtering through the night air, tickling my exposed skin. I reach up and grab one of the dangling ropes, the material unfurling to release me lower onto a thick tree branch. Sokka follows my lead by landing next to me moments later. I can make out the figures of Jet and a few others distancing themselves further into the woodlands. Someone was pushing a large cart with an unidentifiable mass stacked inside. We advance towards the ground, careful to keep light treads on the underbrush.

The sky has begun to gradually shift from it's deep blue hues to lighter pastels along the painted horizon. The moon's light appears to have brightened the zenith by reaching it's fingertips towards us. Stars flicker to accompany it before the sun can outstretch it's rays to merge with those belonging to the glimmering celestial planet.
I've become severely aware of my uneven breaths being released through my lips as we try to conceal our tracks from our prey. If anything, my clothing tends to blend in with the nature around us, but Sokka's traditional attire is better suited for the air or artic terrain. I'm worried he'll be spotted through the leafy forest inhabitants. Just what is he planning to do if we get caught?

Jet's strides come to a halt at the cliff's edge, the surrounding shrubbery has been cleared away to leave him out in the open. We remain crouched in the bushes, the other Freedom Fighters appearing out of the shadows, watching over their leader's every move. I can't see what Jet is looking at that resides past the earth beneath our feet.
He pivots on his heel, "Now listen. You're not to blow the dam until I give the signal. If the reservoir isn't full, the Fire Nation troops could survive." All sarcasm and empathy has left his voice, his entire being. Something has taken root deep inside of his core, stripping him down to his unjust motives, unusual ideals and behaviors.

A young boy named The Duke emerges from the cart, jumping off the barrels stacked inside. I can't see his face, but his small stature and helmet allow me enough information to identify him. "But what about the people in the town? Won't they get wiped out too?"
Jet approaches the child, bending down to meet his upward regard. "Look, Duke, that's the price of ridding this area of the Fire Nation. Now,"-- he shifts his attention to Longshot with a pointed finger--"don't blow the dam until I give the signal. Got it?"

How can he even say that to a kid? What kind of example is he setting for everyone else?
I'm about to turn to Sokka to say we should retreat when my body is being pulled away from him. A large hand yanks him by his wolf-tail, his arms flying out towards me. I reach for him, the bushes, fallen leaves, anything to ground myself in place.
Our attempts are futile as I've been taken hostage by Pipsqueak. Sokka is being held within the conjoined vice of the aforementioned male and Smellerbee. I squirm and twist my body to release myself from his grasp, my feet skittering on the dirt, creating dust clouds in their wake. We're being taken towards Jet who's found a leafy stem to place in his mouth between demanding his gang and finding us.