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A few days after leaving the Southern Water Tribe to travel the world with Aang, Appa started descending near the base of the Southern Air Temple. “We’ve been flying for a couple of days now, Appa needs to rest before we fly up there.” Aang leaped off of Appa with an airbending-assisted spin and landed lightly on the ground.
“Careful, Aang!” Katara yelled, her and Sokka not leaving the saddle. “I think the snow’s gone moldy!”
Aang laughed, his toes sinking into the lush, knee-high fescue. “It’s not mold, Katara! It’s grass! It’s like a million tiny feathers growing out of the dirt!”
“Wow,” she breathed, the sheer sensory overload shattering her usual composure. “Green! Sokka, it’s everywhere! It’s everywhere green!”
Sokka, however, was not having it. He had his club drawn, poking at the saddle’s edge as if expecting the vegetation to leap up and latch onto his throat. “Now hang on,” he cautioned, his voice dropping into his ‘Warrior-Leader’ baritone. “The Everywhere Green might be dangerous. It’s too bright. In nature, bright colors mean ‘I will melt your internal organs.’ We proceed with caution. We establish a perimeter. We—”
He was interrupted by a blur of blue and orange. Katara had reached her breaking point. She didn’t just step off Appa; she threw herself into the abyss. She hit the meadow with a soft thwack and immediately realized the green spikes weren’t the danger they appeared to be.
“It’s soft!” she shrieked, her voice echoing off the mountain cliffs. “Sokka, it’s like sleeping on a cloud made of summer!”
Aang was already mid-somersault. “Race you to the bottom of the slope!”
Before Sokka could shout a warning about hidden pit-traps or grass-dwelling carnivores, his sister had transformed into a human barrel. Katara and Aang went hurtling down the incline, a chaotic tumble of shrieks, giggles, and flying blades of grass. They were rolling with utter glee, becoming more green than human as the juice of the crushed plants stained their clothes.
Sokka watched them, his jaw hanging open. He looked at the empty saddle, then back at the rolling lunatics below. He sighed, the weight of being the only responsible person in the world pressing down on his shoulders. He climbed down slowly, testing the ground with his boot. It was… springy. He took a tentative step. Then another.
He reached the crest of the hill and looked out over the valley. The sun was hitting the meadow just right, turning the grass into a shimmering sea of gold and jade. Small blue flowers poked through the carpet, and the air smelled like sweetness and damp earth.
“Okay,” Sokka admitted to the empty air, lowering his club. “I guess the Everywhere Green is… kind of beautiful, actually.”
He felt a rare moment of peace. He took a deep, lung-expanding breath and decided to join them. He took one confident, soulful step toward a particularly lush, shiny patch of three-leafed plants to begin his own celebratory roll.
Crunch.
Sokka froze. He looked down. His boot was planted firmly in a thick, waxy cluster of vines.
“Uh, Aang?” Sokka called out, his voice suddenly very thin. “Does the Everywhere Green usually make your ankles feel like they’re being poked by a thousand tiny Fire Nation assassins?”
Aang stopped rolling at the bottom of the hill, looking up with wide eyes. “Oh, no. Sokka, don't touch your face!”
“Why?!” Sokka yelled, already reaching down to scratch an itch that felt like a localized volcano. “What is it? Is it the mold? It’s the mold, isn’t it?!”
“It’s poison ivy!” Aang shouted back, wincing.
Katara sat up, her hair a disaster of grass burrs and tangled knots, a manic grin still plastered on her face. “See, Sokka? I told you the world was exciting!”
“This isn't exciting!” Sokka wailed, hopping on one foot as the itch began its relentless march up his leg. “This is botanical warfare! I’m being defeated by a salad!”