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When the stranger arrived, he was half dead.
His eyes were amber, and a rough pink scar consumed the right side of his face.
When his eyes met Katara’s just before he collapsed at the village’s edge, she knew for certain that he was like them, a victim of the fire nation.
For the first few days, there was little she could do but hope he wouldn’t die from the exposure he’d already suffered.
Gran Gran and Sokka didn't want him to stay, she could tell. Gran Gran was all wary glances and suspicious remarks, but Sokka’s was an open disdain,
“Look Katara, I know girls like to look after things and stuff but come on! We can’t trust this guy!
What if he’s a spy? For the Fire Nation???”
“Yeah Sokka! The Fire Nation’s really sending their best and brightest out here to freeze to death finding your dinky old watchtower!”
Katara tried not to pay any attention. Every night she knelt at his bedside and begged the spirits to let him live,
“Please,” she whispered, “He’s like me,”
One night, the spirits heard her.
It was an early morning in the darkness of winter, when Katara awoke at his bedside to find that his golden eyes had blinked open and fallen on her in a half lidded stare.
“You’re awake!” She cried, scrambling upright.
The stranger’s eyes widened, and his gaze traveled above her head to the icy ceiling,
“Am I dead?” he asked. His voice was rougher than she’d expected; it had a slight rasp that was worsened by grogginess.
“No! Of course not!” she laughed, all nervous enthusiasm, “You’re in the Southern Water Tribe!”
His eyebrow shot up, but he said nothing. Katara imagined he must be in shock, and stepped away to tend the fire, and to give him a little breathing room.
Her entire body was tingling with excitement as she tossed a fresh log atop the smoking embers. It had been so long since she’d had anyone her own age to talk to, besides Sokka of course, but that was different. To hear from anyone outside the tribe where she’d spent her entire life was—
“Aagh!” a sharp cry followed by a loud crackling called her attention back to the stranger’s bedside.
“Are you ok?” she called, hurrying back she quickly lifted the covers to check for any injury she might have missed.
He didn’t answer her, but when she glanced up at him, his skin was entirely drained of what color it had regained, and his eyes were wide, half wild with fear.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, following the direction of his wide-eyed stare.
That was when she saw it. Above their heads, where the snow roof ought to have been packed in tightly, a very strange icicle had formed. Lopsided, and rounded at the edges, it looked like a torrent of water, that had frozen halfway down.
Katara’s eyes snapped back to the stranger, still frozen in terror, and then up again. Her Jaw dropped,
“You’re a waterbender!” she blurted. Below her, the stranger seemed to panic, and Katara realized she must have frightened him by her discovery,
“No, it’s ok!” she exclaimed, squatting at his level, she held out her hands placatingly, “I’m a waterbender too!”
The stranger moved his lips as if to speak,
“I—” he croaked. His voice was cracked and dry, and Katara guessed he must be thirsty, so early in the morning, and chided herself for not having noticed sooner.
“I’ll be right back!” she exclaimed with a quick pat to his arm. Jumping to her feet she sprinted across the small room, “I’m going to get you something to drink!”
As she lifted the seal skin door to leave, he cried out behind her,
“I’m not a waterbender!”
Katara spun round just in time to see the cascade of icy water come crashing down onto his head.
For a moment, all she could do was stare into his wide amber eyes,
“If you’re not a waterbender,” she whispered over the sound of her racing heart. She had never known another waterbender in her life, but she knew what it was to move and bend, freeze and melt, even if she wasn’t very good at it herself. There was only one person who could do those things without being a waterbender, and she was looking right at him,
Katara was looking at the Avatar.