The Lunar Warrior [ATLA FF]

Book 1: Water | 38 | A Warrior's Will

"Why did you want me to see the fortune teller?"

"I wanted to know if you'd ever make me an aunt."

"Why not Sokka?"

"Ayaan, you exist. What woman in their right mind would choose him over you?"

Ayaan was dumbfounded, "Katara?!"

"I take personal offense at that," Sokka said, appearing from around the corner, "even if I can't deny it."

"Sokka?!"

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It did not take long for the ferry to reach the rig. 'Officer Lee' tied his hands with rope, pulling him along. He took special care to take him on the most 'scenic' route, giving him a perfect view of the guards and their stations along the outer rim of the prison.

Ayaan could see where each searchlight, guard, and possible entryway for those guards were located. There were also the shortest routes to the docked ferries on the scene, levers for the gates, and other necessary bits of information. The guards were none the wiser to their true plot, greeting 'Officer Lee' while simultaneously shooting glares at the newest 'prisoner'.

"Oi, Lee. Is this the trash the message was about?" A snobbish, middle-aged soldier spat.

"Yes, sir. I need to get him inside." 'Lee' stated softly, yet urgently. Before prisoners were taken in, a report about their 'crimes' is given to the warden on scene. It was to let the soldiers in escort know who or what they would be potentially dealing with, as earthbenders and strong individuals were tough to deal with initially.

Not anymore, though. Now, they were cowardly and easy to threaten and push around. And this brat was no different.

"Attacking officers, eh? Thought you could fight for your freedom, slave? Look where it got ya. Tied up and worn down like the filthy mudstain you are." He ranted, smirking as the 'prisoner' said nothing to refute him.

He wrongly took this as a sign of submission, continuing his berating rant.

"Look me in the eyes, rat. Or did your parents not teach you manners? Wait, you probably don't have those anymore. Is that what set you off? Pfft- They were probably pathetic trash anyway—"

"You."

A calm, too calm, velvety deep voice cut him off. Piercing blue eyes stared down at him, eerie in their brightness.

For some reason, the soldier felt a chill. It was then that he noticed the lingering blood on this prisoner's face and fists. He hadn't cleaned up at all, the evidence of his assault (massacre) clear on his uncovered skin. That led all of the guards watching to one conclusion about him:

This prisoner didn't use earthbending to attack, he used his bare hands. And by the amount of blood, it was brutal and prolonged. How many soldiers did he hurt to have that amount of blood on him? So many warning bells that they'd been ignoring were going off, now loud enough for them to hear.

"I'll remember your face."

Instead of a young slave, a snarling white wolf stood before him. One that he had thought to berate and tease while it was still in its corner, bloody from its most recent kill.