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Chapter Text

Ta Min is born into one of the wealthiest families of the Fire Nation. Hers was also one of the oldest - built on the backbone of first benders, and the students and children who learned from them.

Her line was of Dragons, and her eyes burned with gold. 

Ta Min expected to marry into the royal family - it had been a while since their lines had mixed. Old agreements with Fire Sages kept the secret tradition alive, and she believed in the power and wisdom of their royalty. 

She ended up falling in love with Avatar Roku, watched him grow and master the elements. Watched him fall out of favor with Sozin. Watched from afar as Fang desperately curled around his friend to protect against the lava flowing, and she mourned the loss of forgotten knowledge.
An Avatar should know how to bend fire and earth to move Lava.

She knows the poisonous gasses from a volcano’s breath can fell even a dragon. 

—

During Sozin’s reign as Fire Lord he began his conquest of the world. Abruptly, the blue dragon that stood at his side stopped showing up. 

Ta Min felt dread before the first announcement was made. Her faith in royalty trembled. 

Sozin announced a blood sport against dragons, offering rewards and titles to any who slayed one. Blamed the dragons for their Avatar’s death. For the volcano erupting. For anything that would demonize them.

Many of the first families of the Fire Nation islands decided to flee. It was safer for a dragon elsewhere in the world. 

Ta Min stayed, and wept. 

Roku and Ta Min’s daughter Rina eventually married a decent Fire Nation man named Jinzuk, and their daughter was named Ursa. 

Ursa and Rina and Ta Min all shared the same molten gold eyes. Sharp nails, strong hands, strong bending. 

The blood of dragons is always passed strongest from mother to daughter. 

—

Ursa loved the play ‘Love amongst the dragons’ - it was romantic, and she liked the idea of other people seeing themselves in her kind.

The story features the Dragon Emperor, bound to his mortal form by the Spirit of Dark Waters, and is forced to adopt a human alias. The humbling experience has him falling in love with another mortal, and through this love he is able to break free of his curse. The mortal he fell in love with is revealed to be his wife, the Dragon Empress, who joined him in the changing of skins so that she could keep him safe.

In one day, Ursa is proposed to by two men. 

The first, a childhood friend, whose proposal she immediately accepted. 

The second, from Fire Prince Ozai. Her mother accepted that proposal on her behalf, and Ursa cannot back out. 

The Prince says Fire Lord Azulon was told by the Fire Sages that prophecies stated powerful lineage of rulers would come from marrying a descendant of Avatar Roku. 

Of course her children would be powerful, but not from the blood of Roku. 

—-

Zuko has her golden eyes, and his sweetness and curiosity is terribly endearing. His flames are slow to come, and he lacks a dragon’s instinctual ferocity, but he is kind.

Ursa has him learn with Piandao to use a set of swords. A dragon must have claws and fangs, no matter the strength of his breath.

She encourages his interest in the theater troupes, watching him clamber around the royal courtyard. When he has the chance to see ‘Love amongst the dragons‘  with his mother, black-clad stagehands were shocked to find their prince wandering backstage.

They anxiously tried to shoo him out of the rafters, then cautiously taught him how to jump and climb and hold so that no one can see you, and even a sudden summer storm cannot loosen your grip from where you’re waiting for a cue.
They are delighted that one of the royal family shows such earnest love for their arts. 

Ursa, likewise, is happy with his progress. 

If he cannot breathe fire, that is alright. He has time to learn. 

—-

Azula’s fires blaze azure from the moment her breath is strong enough to summon them. Her father said it is because her flame burns hotter, but Ursa knows better. It flares and billows just as wildly as Zuko’s does, not even the tips turning orange as their energy cools. It is simply blue 

Azula’s eyes are gold, her nails are hard and sharp enough to cut hide and cloth alike, and when she smiles her teeth pull closer to a snarl. She practices to make it sweeter.  Courtly politeness and all that. 

The blood of dragons runs strongest through the daughter.

—-

The siege of Ba Sing Se has been long and painful, but Iroh still sends gifts to her children. Azula burns the doll, and Zuko’s training make hm deft with the knife, enthusiasm stemming mostly from it being a gift from his uncle than any excess love of weapons. 

Ursa wishes he’d changed which gift went to which child. Zuko loved the theater, and would have cherished the doll’s potential to be made into a puppet. 

——-

Ba Sing Se’s walls fall. 

Lu Ten is dead. 

Ozai spoke out of turn, demanding his brother be passed over, and himself be placed as Crown Prince. Says his brother is unworthy of the throne by allowing thoughts of his son’s death to obstruct victory. 

Azulon turns with absolute hatred in his eyes, and Ursa feels the same rage. 

Ozai is told to feel the pain of losing a firstborn son. Is ordered to take Zuko’s life. 

Ursa knows before Ozai moves, that he will accept. He knows Ozai’s preference of his younger child. Said child slipped away behind the curtains, tiny feet nearly silent on the earth as they fled. 

Ozai agreed to Azulon’s demand. 

Ursa slipped away into the shadows, following the path her daughter took.

The blood of dragons is not so easily spilled. 

Chapter Text

The evening has only just set, and the shadows of servants bow their head to her as she passes.

Ursa keeps her expression steady, gait deceptively casual with her husband’s damnation ringing in her ears.
Cold fury pulses in her veins, and memories linger on the afternoons spent with her mother. Days spent identifying and cultivating herbs, learning the many plants of the tropical Fire Nation archipelago that ooze deadly poisons.

A plan curls to life like venomous smoke, of deadly tea and pretty smiles. Her husband’s father may be the Fire Lord, but his arrogance over the life of his grandchildren will not be tolerated. 

She remembers Zuko, fussing over the turtleducks.

Azula, who feigns disinterest in her affection, already lashing out in small ways that mirror her father’s temper over a wild world that does not dance to his whims.

Imagines them growing alone in court, under only her husband’s sharp words. 

Her steps falter, and change direction.

The torches do not flicker unnaturally with her anger – she has far too much control for that.

But when she arrives at Zuko’s bedroom, Azula is already there.  

“Dad would never do that!” her son cries, and Ursa is already stepping forward. Her daughter’s cruel pleasure falls into irritated neutrality as Ursal pulls her away into the hallway.

“Why would you say something like that?”

She crouches to look into her daughter’s glinting eyes.

“Say what?”

Azula’s face is a picture of innocence and confusion, a snake hiding to strike.

“You told Zuko what Fire Lord Azulon said?”

“Of course. It’s his life, after all.”

It was a shadow of a flicker, there-and-gone if her focus wasn’t already needle-sharp with fear for her children. For a moment, Azula looked angry. Not at Ursa for asking, but for the situation. For Zuko.

In another world, she might have missed that flash of anger. Might have mistaken it for selfish jealousy, the frustration from losing a toy. She might have rushed off to put together another plan.

In this one, she held Azula’s shoulders a little tighter, searching the girl’s eyes for something she couldn’t quite name.

“Do you think your grandfather’s decision is the correct one?”

Narrowed eyes, irritated again. Suspicious.

“As you know,” Azula tossed her hair with a disdainful sniff, “The Fire Lord’s will is passed down from Agni himself.”

“Do you think it was the correct choice?”

Azula stiffened under her hands, scowling at the furthest torch from them. They stood there for a long moment.

“I think, as the Fire Lord, I would dislike not having a court jester.”

Azula had crossed her hands with the statement and wiggled like a furious little serpent when Ursa pulled her close into a hug.

“Stay with me.” She whispered, and her daughter stilled. “And stay quiet.”

She lifted Azula into her arms, stepping back into her son’s room. His face was tear-stained, eyes and nose touched with red in the wane moonlight coming in through his window.

“Mom-“

“Pack for a trip, Zuko. Put on your shoes. I’ll come pick you up shortly.”

He looked startled, and Azula reared away from her with the realization, but Ursa was already brushing back out the door, heading to Azula’s room.

“Anything you don’t want to leave behind?” Ursa asked, and Azula flitted around, grabbing a few small items. Ursa raided Azula’s collection of jewelry, stowing pearls and precious metals into the sleeve-pockets of her robes. Small things that could be sold later. When Azula was done, they returned to Zuko’s, room. They found him confused and restless on the end of his bed, neatly packed for a visit to Ember Island.

The three of them left the palace, cutting through the gardens to a cliffside that would loop around the Caldera’s rim right down toward the docks. They’d need a small ship. Something easy to miss on the dark waves.

But plans do not last long under enemy fire. 

She hears a shout coming from the palace, guards calling and running about. Just as she descends down the cliff path, she sees the first troops begin to take chase.

Just as there are six types of volcanoes, there are six forms of dragon that spawned from them when the world was new.

The Sun Warriors in their chain of tall mountain volcanoes named masters from the proud dragons of the Cone eruptions.

The Fire Nation’s islands rose in a series of volcanic shields long dormant, and Roku’s partner had been borne of the Shield eruptions.

In the northern Earth kingdom, Fissure dragons crawled from rivers of dripping magma, like the earth’s skin cracked and red-hot blood oozed out.

Ursa’s line was from none of those.

In the deep darkness of the ocean, bone-crushing cold was warmed anew by the mouths of ancient volcanoes, rising up out of the deep. When magma bubbles forth, it shatters into volcanic glass and wildly bubbling gasses that saturate the area in toxic and life-filled haloes.

The dragons born from those flows braved the darkness and deathly cold of the deep before they could take a breath and rise in flight.

Ursa runs the narrow path, children plucked up into her arms. Azula’s expression is of ferocious excitement, and Zuko’s is of fear. He’s the first to cry out when Ursa’s foot slips, heartbeats stuttering as the three of them list sideways into open air.

Zuko’s pack goes flying, his fingers busy latching into her robes.

Ursa snarls, calling on the singing blood that chased the veins of mothers and grandmothers back to the beginning of the world.

Dark wings spread, and the Moon obligingly turned her eye away, clouds dipping the night into darkness.

When the guards arrived at the cliffside, they found Prince Zuko’s pack, dashed and scattered across knife-sharp rocks. One of Azula’s bracelets, and Princess Ursa’s slipper snagged and torn on a rock. They sent ships out to search and trawl the area, but found nothing else.

The sea and sky churned with fog, moonless and black with a coming storm. 

To a Seamount dragon, the cold and dark was no issue.

In the Fire Nation, many stories and legends float among storytellers, naming old dragons and judging their actions.

Red Dragons are known for their goodness, compassion, and honor.

Blue Dragons are known for their cleverness, their betrayals, their evil.

If her children ever learns to take wing, Ursa has no doubt Zuko’s scales would be red, and Azula’s will be blue.

In another life, Ursa would have poisoned her husband’s father, abandoned her children in an attempt to save their place in court, flee back to the man who was, for a day, her fiance.

Ursa’s scales have always been blue.

A lack of honor does not mean a lack of love, and in this life she chooses to be selfish in a different way.

Chapter Text

She first lands in the earth kingdom.

The flight was long, and everyone is exhausted. 

She can not turn back to human form - it is not an easy thing to do. She can only assume spirits were watching over her, giving her strength. 

The full moon. Maybe next month, when her face is full again, Ursa can turn back. 

Seamount dragons are still born of fire, still rise with the sun, but the moon and ocean watch over them. 

—

Zuko is heartbroken - Azula was not lying about what his father agreed to do.

Ursa comforts him as best she can, and Azula asks why she took her. She’d have been perfectly safe. She’d have been next in line, with Lu Ten and Zuko both gone. 

“And that is why I took you.” 

Azula is furious. 

Ursa rests, exhausted. She’d never used her wings before, and though the instinct for flight is there, her muscles protest. 

“If my husband were to become the Crown Prince, and all his expectations fall to you, could you uphold them?”

Azula remains silent, expression acidic. 

“Even without your brother to compare against? Do you think you can be greater than the ghosts he makes in his own mind?” 

Azula’s expression does not change. 

But she doesn’t bring it up again. 

“Children, you are mine by birth. Stolen from the palace, you are mine twice over. When you are older, I will not protest if you wish to leave. But now, while the world is at war and you’ve yet to live outside the protection of servants and healers and guards watching each wall, you will stay with me.”

“You also lived as royalty.” Azula flatly pointed out.

Ursa nodded.

“But I was an adult before I became such. I still remember what my mother taught me, and will do my best to teach you.”

She stood, coils rippling, wings stretching out and folding back. 

“But first, we should find a safer place to call home. I am very recognizable.” 

They nestled down in a ravine carved by storm rivers, dry for now. 

Zuko woke up with the dawn.

 His mother still slept. He carefully extracted himself from her arm, examined the walls of the chasm. 

Azula watched him with narrow eyes that flashed like a cat’s in the wane sunlight. He’d always wondered why her eyes could do that, when none of the servant’s could. Maybe his did as well, but he’d never checked. 

“I saw a town nearby. I’m going to see if I can buy anything. I brought some coin, so-“

“We’re in the Earth Kingsom, dummy.” 

Zuko blinked again her. 

“They’ll see your clothes and kill you. Not that I’d mind.” Azula turned away, muttering something about getting out of her hair. 

“Ah, good point.”

He shed his fine coat, frowning thoughtfully at the gold thread trim, engraved buttons. 

“They’re probably poor.” He said aloud. He’s gotten a glimpse of the settlement as they flew last night.  They might not have any need for fancy buttons or gold thread. 

He remembered the loss of his pack, and the things he might have been able to sell. His pocket still had a few small items, and Zuko dug through them. 

“Maybe the knife?” 

Azula wrinkles her nose. 

“Do you even know how to barter?” 

His shoulders slumped. No, he didn’t. 

He sat down on a patch of lumpy grass, wrapping his arms around his knees. He didn’t really have many skills that would be useful outside the palace. 

“I don’t have anything to wear, either.” 

Even his underclothes would give him away as nobility, everything they wore laced with the imperial crest, or at the very least enough silk thread to make him stand out.

“You could just steal some clothes.” 

He looked up, appalled.

Azula was examining her nails, picking at a corner of one.

“You can pretend you stole your clothes from a Fire Nation supply ship. I’m sure the peasants would be pleased to hear you’ve inconvenienced their enemy. Then you can actually buy stuff.”

Zuko continues to bristle.

“I’m not a Thief. It’s not-“ 

“Mom is.” Zuko twitched. “I am. You know that. Dad was fine killing you to steal the throne.” Azula looked up, eyes wide with feigned concern. “Oh, were you going to say it’s not honorable ? Because Really, Zuzu, our family isn’t anything like your silly plays.” 

He stands up, turns, and walks away, shoulders hunched, fists clenched in anger. 

“Throwing a tantrum? Real honorable, Zuzu.” 

Azula’s sneer snaps to blank neutrality as she feels her mother shift, enormous lungs drawing in and exhaling a slow breath. 

Zuko is already gone, morning mists swallowing him. 

He returns a few hours later, dressed in peasant scraps. He throws a wad of them at Azula, ignoring her indignant sputters when it hits her face. 

“Ugh, these smell.” 

“They’re clean.” He gripes back, eyes flicking guiltily to Ursa’s face. 

“I paid them back for it, after I sold my jacket. I um, left some coins next to the clothes line.” 

Ursa nodded her approval.

“Thank you, for getting along.” 

No mention of the theft. 

Azula held the undyed cloth up with two fingers, expression like she’d been presented with a dead snail as a gift. 

—

A month. Four weeks. She just had to get them through that, then she could change back to her human form and care for them properly. 

This large, it was impossible for her to go out during the day. She’d be seen. 

So, Ursa hunted at night. She brought back a Boarqupine, amused when Zuko tried to use the long quills as practice swords. 

She taught her children how to identify edible plants, and how to identify poisons. Between the three of them, they were never without a fire to cook with. 

When set loose, Azula was quick to set up traps, her keen eyes picking out animal trails and burrows to stake out. She was quick to kill, eager to learn how to gut and skin what her mother brought back, and considering the situation, Ursa did not scold her for the gleeful expression. Hunting was a joy for any predator.

If Zuko was mad she’d stolen his knife again, he didn’t say anything. He’s still seemed queasy around the smell of fresh blood. 

Growing up as a wealthy noble, Ursa never been familiar with living hard. No real knowledge of building shelters. Luckily her body and wings made an adequate shelter for her children at night, coils keeping them dry and warm as the Earth Kingdom's spring storms crashed overhead for days. It was easier to move, too, when the storms flooded their ravine. 

When the sky cleared. Zuko went back to town to sell the skins and some of Azula’s graciously donated clothes, returning with a cook pot and an outfit a bit too large for him. 

He folded it, avoided Ursa’s eyes, but said it was for when she changed back. 

“You can change back, right?” 

Ursa twitched her ear fin, giving a small nod. 

“In a few weeks.” 

Her children both sagged in relief. Ursa huffed a laugh.

“What, you don’t like this form?” 

“No!” “Yes.” 

Azula and Zuko looked at each other, both surprised at the other’s answer.

Zuko looked away first, fiddling with his knife. 

“I’m… I don’t want you to get hunted.” 

Azula bounced a pebble off his head, ignoring the indignant yelp. 

“Well I think you’re properly ferocious, and could defeat any hunter that even tried! A dragon of the fire nation isn’t weak.” 

Ursa hummed. 

“I’d prefer not to test it, but thank you.” She reached out with her tail, sweeping them in closer so she could butt her nose against her children. 

“Thank you both.” 

She teaches them about dragons. 

About their lineage, and the traditions of regularly marrying dragons into the royal line. Not that the current royal family knew, but the Fire Sages arranged the pairings in the guise of prophecy and messages from Agni. 

Ursa said her grandmother suspected Sozin had learned about the tradition, somehow, and that’s why he’d decided to kill the dragons. 

She teaches them new forms of fire bending, bright flames hidden in the ravine’s steep walls. Azula takes to it like a turtleduck to water, delightedly puffing fire from her nose and mouth, hissing tongues of flame at her brother to tease him. 

Zuko, however, learns the subtler arts much faster. He warms his body with inner fire, steaming himself dry after the sudden storms, wading into icy water to fish without a shiver. He learns to strengthen his muscles, climbing sheer rocks by the strength of his fingertips, kabuki training letting him prowl silently in the tree tops, strength and balance enhanced. 

Grudgingly lets his nails grow out a bit, as Azula pesters him about trying to grind off perfectly good knives. 

“You’re a dragon, dummy. Don’t act like you’re ashamed of it.” 

When Ursa shows them her full breath, the kaleidoscopic shimmer of fire and light and life, Zuko’s eyes shine brighter than she’s ever seen. 

He throws himself into practicing, 

Azula’s blue fire grows brighter, more powerful, her movements leaping like a dance. She breathes it like it’s just an exhale of air, and Ursa has to scold her to stop flaring fire at night. 

Zuko’s fire is the first to twist with violet and gold. 

—

Two weeks spent on the edge of this Earth Kingdom town, when a storm’s wild lightning splits the sky. 

Azula is the one to see them, one of her traps drawing attention when the string suddenly went taut. Looking up and out, she spotted the humans creeping along the ravine, and whispered alarm to her mother. 

Ursa grabbed Zuko with one paw, their few supplies with the other, and took flight with Azula clinging to her neck. 

The stones against her sides and wings were not enjoyable, but not enough to stop her ascent. 

—

This happened twice more. 

They three of them bedded down along the coast, only to be driven out by a new band of Earth Kingdom soldiers. 

Someone had seen them, and was spreading the word. 

When their family was next driven out, Ursa spotted Fire Nation ships in the nearby harbor. 

Dragon-Hunting would not be made that easy. 

They rode the wind currents south, into the mountains of what was once the Air people’s domain. Many lived as monks at the top of mountains, but other tended fields in their slopes, growing vast orchards that now stood wind-beaten and wild. 

It was easier to find food, but harder to find shelter from the endless howling winds. 

When Zuko returned with a haunted look one night, Azula commented that he must have found the bones. 

They left, after that. 

South, south, as the wind blows and days pass. 

Into the cold. 

But her children are of the line of Seamount dragons. Their inner fires burned brightly.

The cold and wet was not something to fear.

Chapter Text

Something prowls the ice of the Southern Water Tribe's hunting grounds. 

Morning finds blood strewn, webbed prints in the snow, drag marks and spatters that are unfamiliar in size and shape.  

Tiger-seals and buffalo-yaks alike vanish from herds, and none of the tribesmen claim the kill.

In the safety of their igloo and low-burning fires, hunters whisper of children playing on the snow-cliffs. Children with eyes that shine like the gold disks of polar dogs, who stop and stare with the same predatory curiosity. 

Those same hunters note missing supplies in the morning, glancing at each other to confirm with the others, and leaving the area without a word of complaint. 

Extra boots, gloves, a knife. 

Tiny footprints in the snow, circling their camp like scouting wolves, trailing vanish to a sweeping scrape, like wings had battered the snow. 

They travel to a new area to hunt. 

The next night, a buffalo yak is left dead near their camp, blood spattered as if it was dropped from a height.  

The thump of it rattled the ice, steam curling where blood dribbled out to spread through snow crystals. 

A few brave men investigate under torchlight and found its neck had been broken, tooth marks creating the outline of a mouth large enough to swallow a man whole. 

They do not touch the body. 

Later, they hear whispered voices outside, the scuff of feet. Something huge snuffing at the ice of their shelter. The crunch of something wet.

White-knuckled, the men watch the entrance tunnel of their hastily-constructed shelter, weapons waiting for something to enter. They did not sleep, even after the sounds trailed off. 

In the morning, fresh snow blanketed the ground, all tracks lost. 

The yak has been skinned, pelt laid across the ice. It’s horns snapped off, resting against one of their sleds.

Snapped, not cut with a saw or axe. 

One of its legs had been cut into neat pieces, meat stacked on the ice like a child would stack snowballs or ice bricks. 

They took the hint, and harvested the beast. Cautiously said the appropriate rites and thanks for its life. Not sure what words to use to thank the beings who took the kill - if they should be acknowledged at all. 

They nervously agreed that a few pieces of clothing and a knife is worth an easy hunt. Everyone is safe. They can return to the village successful - only four nights away instead of ten. A single buffalo-yak provided plenty of meat and bones for toolmaking, and truly was a gift. 

Still, it was unsettling. 

——

The next night, the seasoned warrior named Bato claimed watch. They’re heading out of the area, and so whatever spirits haunted this area ought to leave them be. 

He passes the night sharpening his blade, listening to the wind. When the moon had already begun to sink, the small campfire  that warmed his back began to dim strangely. It did not bite at the heather he'd provided it, and long shadows crept across the snow.

He pauses the rasp of his sharpening stone as he feels someone - something staring at him. Out of the corner of his eye, a pair of flickering eyes watched him, still and silent. Like flat discs hovering in the gloom.

He tries not to shift uneasily. He doesn’t know if this is a monster watching for acknowledgement from a foe to strike, or if it only hunts prey that is unaware. 

They have legends of ice and snow spirits. Of humanoids that stalk humans and drag them into the dark. He sees it. He knows it sees him see it. It does not advance. 

Bato swallows and begins to speak aloud, hoping the noise will drive it off. 

The thing - he does not know it’s name, will not give it one and risk granting it power - listens to his tales. 

The moon's edge touches the horizon. When the clouds next shift, the watching eyes are gone. 

The group hurries to leave their hunting grounds during daylight hours, but the feeling of being watched and followed does not cease. There are consequences to drawing a spirit's ire, and deadly risks to even catching one's curious attention. Some wonder if the spirits follow invisibly during the day, and only reveal themselves at night.

They dare not return to their home, concerned of being followed inside. Instead, they make camp just out of eyeshot - close enough that a nighttime campfire could be seen at a distance, but too far for an over-eager child to run out to greet them. 

The ice-cliff they settle against makes a wall of their new encampment, leaving only three sides exposed. The sheer height and steepness ought to dissuade predators… or wayward spirits.

Chief Hakoda takes the night shift.

He sits in a snow-carved cubby, kept a campfire high and bright, and waits for the thing that has been dogging their tracks. 

It is late when it appears - a slip of a shadow skirting around one of the sleds they left near the edge of camp, as his well-fed fire suddenly grows sluggish and dim.

Hakoda takes a breath, keeping his eyes on the horizon as he tracks its slow path in his peripherals. He scolds himself the foolishness of his decision, and then strikes the handle of his knife against the pole of his spear in a loud crack! The shadow freezes, then settles low to the ground so that it's just out of sight. 

“I know you’re there.” He says, glad that his voice came out steadier than he felt. He continued to scan the edges of his campsite. There was more than one set of tracks, the first time. He needed to keep watch for the second, now that he'd decided to confront them. 

“If you can understand me, make a sound.” 

The command is done with a confidence half faked, doing his best to remember spirit tales his mother told him. Spirits didn’t think like humans did. Didn’t value what humans did. Didn’t think of property the same way, or how fragile human bodies could be.

But if these things decided to steal something like clothes and offer an entire buffalo-yak in return, they must have some concept of human trade.

He carefully does not think about how long they must have been watching humans- watching them - to gain understanding. 

He swallows his surprise when something raps against the side of the sledge. 

“Thank you.” 

He cast his mind about for what he should ask a spirit following them.

“How about… one tap for yes, two taps for no?” 

There was a long pause, then one tap. Quieter than the first. He hoped it was a good sign.

“Do you mean us any harm?” 

Two taps. 

“Are you following us?” 

One tap. 

Hakoda slowly rose to his feet, boots light and careful on the snow as he circled the fire. 

“Did you leave the buffalo-yak for us to take?” Better sort out debts before a spirit could decide the scales weren’t balanced. 

One tap. Relief. 

“Why did you take our other supplies?” 

He carefully edged around the sled, grip tight on his readied spear. He slipped around to the side of the sled, surprised to find a figure looking very human, crouching in its shadow. A sunbleached orange and brown coat hugged a clearly child-sized body, stolen knife held in stolen mittens. 

The child turned to face him with a surprised twitch. Most of its face was covered by a brown scarf, but what he could see of its skin was strangely pale, eyes shadowed now that it wasn't reflecting a campfire.

The child-spirit shifted its crouch to face him, expression sliding from startled to defensive to angry. 

“Mom needs them. It’s too cold to be here without a coat.” 

The muffled voice seemed male. Only a bit older than his own son. 

He wonders if the spirits plaguing them really had just been a child, stealing to care for a mother lost somewhere on the ice. His pounding heart was slowly calming. The coat seemed real, seemed terribly mundane with careful mending around frayed hems and some feather down poking out from a thinning elbow. Threadbare cloth and feathers, rather than furred hides.

He wondered if the orange fabric was once red, faded after years in the sun. 

The Fire Nation had been raiding the Southern Water Tribes for a long time. Most would rather drown the stray sparks they left behind.

Most would, but not all.

And a Tribe might not want to feed those sparks, even when their mother did. The boy's wariness was likely perfectly reasonable, if any of that was true. He was the right age for it, and his face was too covered for Hakoda to tell how well his mother had provided for him. 

Hakoda lowered his spear, pulling it back up to lean on like a staff.

See?

Harmless.

No reason for the boy to follow it with his eyes so warily.

The tribes called ashmaker eyes gold, but they were often only a pale brown, or threaded with copper. This boy... there was no brown or muddy amber in those eyes. He'd have been identified as firebender from birth. It would explain the strange dampening of their campfire, when he was sneaking around.

But, still. The boy was barely older than Sokka. Staying out, alone on the ice was considered a death sentence for a nonbender. Resources were just too scarce, and death by exposure was a risk even for a well-supplied tribesman. If his mother had been able to keep him alive for years, it was likely she was a waterbender, and could pluck fish from the ocean and roots from below the ice fields.

And if she was a waterbender, then the Tribes needed her, no matter who had sired her children. 

“Where is your mother? If there’s someone freezing on the ice, of course we want-.” 

“You’re going to be in trouble ~” 

A sing-song voice interrupted him, and Hakoda saw the boy’s expression flinch, and his campfire leapt back up to shine brightly.

When he turned, Hakoda got the impression of another figure standing atop their shelter, even smaller than the boy. Her eyes were just as honey-gold as his. Two children, then-

That’s all he got, before the fire snuffed out. 

Abruptly, without a single glowing ember left behind and crashing darkness into his world. 

He heard the crunch of snow under small feet as the boy scurried away. Hakoda tried to reach after him, blinking fire-blindness out of his eyes. He half expected a knife to sink into his ribs as Tui’s light slowly melted the world into silver brushstrokes.

A low, rumbling growl threw every hair in his body standing on end. 

He looked up. 

Upon the cliff-edge, something monstrously huge perched over their camp, teeth shining in the moonlight, wings spread wide to cast their encampment in shadow. The footsteps of children were racing toward it, instead of away.

Golden eyes shone like massive bobbing lanterns, and Hakoda retreated into the igloo without a word. 

Bato looked exhausted, but ready to fight. Hakoda shook his head, signaling to rest.

He foolishly, recklessly, had forgotten that first buffalo-yak, and how exactly it had been delivered to them.

Whatever that was, it was capable of crushing their shelter - and them inside - without issue. He didn’t think their spears would post much of a challenge, and it was strong enough to douse a fire from a distance. 

He turned the spirit-child’s words over in his mind, kept watch as promised.... from inside, this time.
Only a few, scarily powerful types of spirits could maintain human form so convincingly. It was somewhat of a relief that they needed an anchor - a coat- to turn human, instead of simply conjuring an illusion to wear. There were still limits. 
Even the little ones had stolen clothes to wear first, before risking being seen. 

When they left for the final short stretch back to the village, Bato volunteered to ride a sled, tucked carefully under blankets and hides. On the abandoned campsite, blue and grey water tribe colors stood out against the white snow. A coat, boots, and mittens - all sized for an adult human. 

An offering. 
A bargain for peace. 
This is what you want - please take it and leave us be. 

When they arrived back home, they didn’t hear nor see any sign of the strange spirits. The feeling of watching had faded. They still endured several cleansing and purifying rituals. 

Still set up extra sentries.

Just in case. 

—-

A few days later, black soot falls from the sky. 

Kya clutches her daughter close, whispers for her to be safe, be quiet, and prepares for the worst. 

In the distance, instead of ice breaking, instead of firebenders come to ravage their tribe once more, they hear a savage, inhuman roar. 

The ugly sound of shearing metal, splashing, and screams echoing over ice. 

Then silence. 

The black soot snow stops falling.

An ugly grey dust settled softly over previously pristine walls. 

The tribe waits until the silence is truly defending before they investigate. 

—-

Blue scales shine brightly against the sea-blue-green of shifting ice. Steam rises slowly around the serpent, rivulets of warm water digging small trenches through the ice as it is sloughed away toward the ocean. 

The only sign of a Fire Nation raiding party is the bloody ice, a few scorched scales, and a curling strip of metal gathering frost, looking like it had been torn bodily from a hull. 

The creature is laying as if sleeping, wings open and angled to the sun, golden eye slit open and watching them. 

Behind its head is a webbed fin, and its toes are likewise webbed, sinuous body draped over the ice like coils of blue-black rope. 

The scouting party of the Southern Water Tribe shares a very long, very tense stare with a flying creature large enough to swallow a canoe.

The dark dragon exhales rumbling steam, turning away from them and slipping soundlessly into the sea, vanishing like a ghost between ice floes. 

—

“Was that-?”

Hakoda nods. 

Their trip back to camp is quiet. 

A few days later. When two children wearing an eclectic mix of colors appears at their front entrance, clinging closely to a woman wearing Bato’s “lost” coat and boots, there is a tense sort of expectancy. 

It’s a surprise that she is here, but not that she exists. 

She is beautiful, wearing glittering jewelry and hair worn high on her head. It is reminiscent of a warrior’s wolf-tail, and her children wear similar styles, peering out at the village in unmasked curiosity. 

“My name is Ursa. This is Zuko, and Azula.” 

No titles. They're still not certain how human the children are. 
They’re certain she is not. 

Hakoda welcomes them in with a smile that is exactly as wary as the woman deserves.