Fire & Water || ATLA

Prologue

My mother was a weaver, daughter of weavers. She was a kind woman, as most of us were, and built like a goddess, all lovely. She fell in love with my father when she was eighteen and began a relationship with him then. It was a good match: she was beautiful and he was handsome.

She did not find out she was having me until it was too late. My father had to leave to deliver a message to the nearest Earth Kingdom town from the tribe, demanded by Hakoda, so my mother humored him and let him leave. It was supposed to be a quick trip, a few weeks, on one of our safest boats. When there came no news from him months after he was supposed to arrive, they declared him missing in action.

When I was delivered, a girl, I was plucked from her arms and handed to my aunt. Once she was better, my mother declared she was going to be leaving, trying to find her lover. My aunt argued, agreeing to let me stay safe at the Tribe while she sailed. She never came back either.

Quickly, I became her opposite: I was called a disgrace for my bright blonde hair. I was agile. I was swift. The best that could be said of me was that I was a quick weaver. The blankets and carpets that were needed in the tribe were made by me using our cattle's wool. This gave me some value, making me a useful person within the tribe.

I am nine when the Fire Nation raids our village for the last time. Black snow fell from the sky, alerting me and my cousins. Katara and I went to look for her mother, my aunt, only to find a man inside our family igloo. She told us to leave and find my uncle, her husband, and so we did. Once we found him, the Fire Nation was retreating, but something was still off. Hearing our worry, Hakoda went to check on her, but she was no longer with us.

Some time after these events, people started blaming me for her death, and my mother's disappearance. I was no longer allowed to be on my own. I was no longer allowed to participate in ceremonies. I was no longer allowed to leave the village. At least they didn't say anything about my water bending, as Hakoda encouraged both Katara and I with our gift, wanting us to help rebuild the Souther Water Tribe, but it was hard. My life was empty as she started hating me as well over the years.

Beyond this, I remember little more than scattered images from my life then: Hakoda frowning from the watch tower, a blanket I weaved and loved, Katara near the beach before despising me, her eyes towards the horizon. In this last memory, I am trying to bend the water upwards to show her. She seems to like the way I do it, and how it looks against the sun. Or perhaps it is the move itself she likes. At her neck, a necklace gleams like jewels, a gift she had received from her mother. She tries her best to copy me, smiling. I'm good at this. It is the last memory I have of Katara liking me, so blurred that I am sure I made it up, maybe dreamt it. After all, it was unlikely that Hakoda would let me be alone with her. And where are we? I remember no beach near Wolf Cove, I don't recognize the icebergs. So much time has passed since then.

At fourteen, Hakoda left along with the rest of the men of the tribe. They wanted to take the fight to the Fire Nation, willing to try and bring the war to an end. Once they left, life became even more miserable with only the children and women left in the village. Now they only spoke to me for weaves, scolding me off when we were low on wool, and gave me looks for merely interacting with their children.

Even so, I tried my best to get along with everyone. I made food for the "little soldiers" Sokka was training, and taught the other girls to weave and do other chores while their mothers were busy taking charge of their husbands' previous tasks. This wasn't enough for them, it never was, and I came to accept the neglect very soon. It seemed absurd to think things would change, to wonder why everyone hated me so much. Answers were foolish and improbable as a dream under the midnight sun.