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Katara had never experienced such a cruel winter before.
The harsh winds lash against the bare skin of her cheeks, making a hideous red blush appear on them, and tiny drops of cold sweat fall from her hairline and gather on top of her eyebrows and at the tip of nose. Her body shakes ferociously at the sensation of the chill winter managing to get into the creases of her clothing and freezing her body. Her bones feel somehow stiffer and her movements are more languid with every step she takes, but she pushes herself towards her destination, towards the place where the ice meets the ocean.
It is a cruel winter, fitting when taking in consideration the whirlwind of emotions taking place in her head at the moment.
Many things have changed since her mother died.
There has always an awareness of needing to be cautious around her village, a brutal reminder of the tragedy and violence her tribe has witnessed many times before, and for those who never seen it in their own skin, have been told many times horror cautionary tales about the past. Despite the knowledge that the safety of their home was always hanging in a precarious hope, her people lived and made the best out of their situation.
Everything had changed since the last raid. Long gone were the casual moments spent in company and the light chatter between the villagers, and the chance to protect the youngest from the reality of war. Now there was a constant feeling of dread settled in the bones of every man and woman, and a newly uncovered fear in the heart of every child— a shared and unspoken understanding that things had officially changed forever.
For decades after the last waterbender had been taken, the Southern Water Tribe had managed to stay hidden from the radar of the Fire Nation. It was not a perfect life, but it was the closest thing they could ever achieve if not peace, and for the elders who could remember the horrors of the raids and the gradual loss of their culture, it was something they craved more than any food or shelter.
It is safe to say, that something in the heart of her village died that day. It was not just the loss of a mother, a wife, a fellow tribeswoman— it was also the loss of hope for a better future, a sign that their home would always be wrapped by an atmosphere of death and uncertainty.
Katara sits at the edge of the ocean, where one of the ice caps has cracked and drifted away into the vastness. She takes the glove out of her right hand and reaches for the water until it is only a couple of centimeters away. She closes her eyes, and tries to remember what she read in her old grandmother’s friend’s journal. The images of the odd-scribbled and smudged calligraphy springs to her mind: ‘think of the water as an extension of your body. You’re not controlling it; you’re merely guiding it to your desire’.
She takes in a deep breath and exhales. She tenses her fingers until her joints are protruding her brown skin in strange angles and she bites her lower lip, trying to concentrate on moving the water. She feels a numb stab of pain in the back of her hand caused by toil and she accidentally lower it, touching the freezing water. She recoils, bringing her hand towards her chest and cradling it in the warmth of her parka, protecting it from the wind. She stares intently at the spot on the ocean where she was trying to bend the water and hopes— absolutely nothing.
She raises her arms up to her head, clenches her fists, and swings her arms forcefully down, accidentally punching her hip bones and provoking a small mewl of pain to come out from her lips. The water in front of her shoots up to the sky, falling into two small waves that scares the fish away. The water swirls and sways in small ripples, all caused not by her own intention or her abilities.
Once a lifetime ago, waterbending was something that she had to keep in secret due to the danger that it could bring to her. Her tribe would hide their bright smiles while her mother would try to educate her and teach her with the limited knowledge she possessed of a lost culture. Now, waterbending it is something that she must keep in secrecy to ensure no one else gets hurt on her behalf, keeping it to herself as a shameful evidence of the dire consequences such gift can bring upon her home.
There is a voice in head, one which, weirdly enough, sounds like her mother’s, telling her, pleading her to not give up. Her tribe and her family have always taken pride in her, believing that a waterbender born after so many years was a sign that there was going to be a new direction where the war was headed, a sign they were still allowed to hope without being too naïve to do so. In the past year, in a home surrounded by death and despair, sometimes the only reassurances that still worked on her were the encouraging words of her mother running through her distorted memories and the touch of her smooth pendant against her neck when it is late at night and her neck starts to bobble up and down, willing herself to not let the exhaustion of another day without her to come out in silent cries.
She wants to bend the water, let her hands that one guides it to her required destiny, but then she thinks of how much it had costed her tribe and her family and she considers herself to be selfish. Waterbending in a world that would go any length to eradicate it and whoever does it seems so dangerous and not worth the risk.
She shakes her head; it was not waterbending that had brought so much grief to her tribe but the Fire Nation. She can recall in fervent detail all the stories she was told of the waterbenders that used to live in the tribe, how bending was an ingrained part of their daily lives, and yet, an art to admire. It was an important part of her culture, and for a long time, everyone considered it gone forever. She could not hide or feel shameful of the gift she was given; she could not let her mother’ sacrifice and the lives that were lost before her be forgotten in vain. Ignoring her abilities would not just be ignoring a part of her personal identity, but also, a fundamental element of her people.
She cannot give up.
A shift of in the direction of the winter wind takes her away from her thoughts and reminds her that the sun is coming down soon. She stands up and stares at the ocean, the way the small ripples of water hit against each other, a small lone blue figure in a sea of white. She gazes at the remaining sunrays dimming with every passing second and wonders if some day she will no longer have to carry this hope alone.