Mother Tongue

how should it go?

(this is a companion piece to "Forgotten Language," so be sure to read that fic first!)

y'all thought i'd end with the previous oneshot?? i promise, i am not that cruel! this is a continuation of my 'waterbending as a language' Thoughts because you can't examine how language (waterbending) is passed down during war without looking at who it is passed down to. in other words, it's katara's turn for an emotional roller coaster (ft. personal catharsis i won't even lie to y'all). i again used a modified version of shel silverstein's poem "Forgotten Language" in this fic. thank you for giving this story a chance!

~*~

I will speak the language of the waters,

Though Katara is concentrating with all her might, a single giggle slips out as she bends water into a lopsided sphere above her brother. Sokka shoots her a suspicious look at the sound, but his suspicion becomes realization far too late as Katara lets the water splash down onto his head, peals of laughter spilling from her lips.

"Katara!" Sokka shrieks, shaking droplets from his newly-wet wolftail and glaring at her. "Stop doing that!"

Katara bats her eyelashes, the picture of innocence. "I'm so sorry, Sokka. I didn't see you there!"

His eyes narrow. He doesn't believe her for a second. "If you do it again, I'm telling Mom."

Katara laughs. Their mother is never happier than when Katara plays around with her waterbending, and though she might chastise her for the unfortunate—accidental—spills onto Sokka's head, Katara knows she gets away with more than she should.

"Tell Mom," she teases, dropping her hands to her hips as she grins at her brother. "Maybe she'll splash some water on you, too."

Sokka's bottom lip sticks out in an exaggerated, disgruntled pout, and Katara swallows another laugh.

"Fine," Sokka says, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you do it again, I won't tell Mom." He takes a step towards her, and Katara finds herself flinching at the loud crunch of ice beneath his feet. "I'll tell Gran Gran."

Katara pales. He can't do that. If he does, she might have to—

(Gran Gran doesn't like her waterbending.)

I will understand each word the ocean says,

"There we go!" Kanna says with a flourish, tapping the twin braids that now loop and frame Katara's face. "All done."

Katara touches the blue beads resting near the top of her forehead, barely holding in an excited squeal. "Thank you, Gran Gran!" She beams at her grandmother. "I love when we match."

Kanna chuckles, nuzzling her nose against Katara's. "I love when we match, too."

Besides her mother and her father, Gran Gran is Katara's favorite person. Sokka knows this, and he likes Gran Gran more than her, too, so Katara figures there's no hard feelings. Who can blame them?

Gran Gran always has the coolest stories and the best advice, reciting fantastical tales of how to be brave and offering solemn wisdom of when to take caution. She speaks ofTui and La, murmurs her daily prayers, and shows her grandchildren the meaning of each constellation in the sky. Alongside Katara's mother and father, Gran Gran has taught her and Sokka to hunt and skin a seal, to sew fur lining inside their coats, to build a fire for warmth, to have hope when all seems lost—

Not to bend, though.

Never to bend.

Her grandmother knows more about waterbending than she lets on, Katara thinks. Gran Gran isn't a waterbender herself, no, but she was here when there were still other benders. She must have watched their techniques, must have seen them weave beautiful tapestries of ice and snow, must have heard them speak the language of the waters. Sokka says she needs to stop asking Gran Gran about it, but Katara is as stubborn as their father.