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“Aang, stop fussing and concentrate on where we’re going.”
It was the sixth time Katara had said something to that effect in the last thirty minutes.
Every time, Aang would return his attention to the stretch of ocean before him, holding Appa’s reins tightly, squinting for a glimpse of frozen land between empty ice caps. Then, slowly but surely, his focus would inch back behind him. Subtle, at first—movement disguised as a yawn, maybe a stretch—until eventually he was no longer holding anything at all, already scrambling back across the saddle, just to check. Each and every time, Katara rolled her eyes and swatted him away with a confirmation that everything was fine.
Still, Aang had to check, because this was no simple journey, and Appa was carrying no ordinary cargo.
This was their son.
Their son, barely a year old, on the longest journey of his short life, to somewhere far colder than little Bumi had ever experienced. Katara had him swaddled perfectly well, protected in a sling and furs that kept them both warm in the bitterly cold skies, but still Aang couldn’t help checking on them. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Appa. Far from it—he trusted his bison to get them there blindfolded with all six legs tied. He trusted Appa more than he trusted himself.
Perhaps that was the problem. He’d already considered a hundred different obstacles, including flying right through a raincloud, being struck by lightning, and somehow hitting an iceberg. Katara had spent weeks convincing him that none of those things would happen and that even if they did, Bumi’s parents were both master benders who could handle a little cloud or two.
Aang had been placated. Mostly. Still, this was the final leg of a very long journey, and he’d be damned if something happened when they were so close to the South Pole.
The last time they’d visited the Southern Water Tribe had been halfway through Katara’s pregnancy. In her heart, she’d wanted to stay; Aang had known it deep in his gut, seen the way her fingers trailed along the hearth and her eyes lingered on each frozen building. Her family were there. Her community. They had generations of wisdom and traditions that would’ve helped her navigate becoming a mother for the first time, would’ve helped them both as they began their family.
It simply wasn’t meant to be, though. They were both needed in Republic City because the spirits only knew, that place waited for nobody. It didn’t matter that Avatar Aang and Master Katara were awaiting the culmination of all their love, the tiniest missing piece of their family—they couldn’t take time away just for a baby. At least, that was what Katara had insisted at the time, despite Aang’s resolution that they stay with her people.
She was an incredible, kind, thoughtful, loving woman, his wife, but frequently too self-sacrificing for her own good. Still, he would never tell her what she could or could not do, and when she’d decided that they would return to Republic City, he had not argued. The rest of the pregnancy had been spent there, as had the first year of Bumi’s life.
Now, though, they were minutes away from returning with a baby in tow. Aang could finally see glittering white in the distance, shards piercing the blue-black waters below. Appa began to descend without being told, knowing already what lay ahead.
Aang checked on Bumi one last time. The babe was held tightly to his mother’s chest, swaddled in dark furs that could have smothered the mightiest beast. Katara herself was half-buried by them, only her face truly visible; loose strands of her braid whipped against her cheeks, hair loopies just about intact.
“Sweetie, he’s fine,” Katara said, her breath punctuating the air in little puffs. The distance between herself and Aang had shrunk to a whisper, his large form eclipsing the view of her homeland.
Aang’s hands hovered near the sleeping Bumi’s head, not quite touching the tufts of dark hair. Bumi had slept for the entire journey. Saving his energy, Aang reckoned, like the little guy already knew he’d need it today.
“I know, I know, I just—sorry.” His hands moved to cradle Katara’s face instead. A thumb brushed the tip of her nose, circling a rising dark blush from the bite of the air. “It’s cold. That’s all.”
“He’s toasty warm, Aang. Look at him.”
Aang looked at him. Asleep. Beautiful. Perfect. One tiny fist curled against his mother’s chest, just about visible through a gap in the blankets. Aang pressed the fabric into Katara, hiding their baby’s hand from the cold air’s chill.
He nodded in something like confirmation to himself that everything was fine. After all, he’d never been this much of a worrier in the past. Of course he’d cared about things—lots of things, plenty of things—but he’d never quite felt anxiety like this. Not once in his life had he ever considered the potential ramifications of Appa falling unexpectedly out of the sky before.
He’d considered them seventeen times since leaving Republic City.
“Aang.”
“Sorry.”
Katara reached out with a mittened hand to poke him in the forehead, directly on the tip of the arrow, nudging him back to the reins. He scanned the two of them once more before settling back into his seat to guide Appa down to the ground below, where a smudge of colour was emerging from the endless white.
Wolf Cove, the heart of the Southern Water Tribe. Home to glistening ice and growing prosperity. Also home to Katara’s family, her father and grandmother. Occasionally her brother, when Sokka wasn’t in Republic City. It was unrecognisable from the collection of tents that had existed when Aang had first met the siblings, over a decade ago; now, the streets bustled with life, as neat rows of buildings rose from the ground like orderly gems.
They landed gently onto the crisp snow with barely a crunch, though Appa made a small noise of contentment at finally landing on solid ground. He’d been flying for the last five hours and though he never really complained, land—even cold, soggy land—was a welcome respite.
Aang helped Katara stand and make her way off the saddle without a single jostle, then pulled their bags onto his back. She offered to hold one. Aang gave her a look that made it abundantly clear what he thought of that suggestion. He was perfectly content to be her pack mule for the rest of their lives.
It didn’t take long for the people of the former village to swarm them, led by Sokka. No sooner had Aang slung the final bag across his shoulder than his brother-in-law was already marching up to them, eyes bright, arms swinging. Hakoda was hot on his son’s heels.
“Well, well, look what the flying bison dragged in,” Sokka said as he pulled Aang into a hug, clapping him on the back with more force than strictly necessary. He was about to say something else, probably to Katara, when he was shoved rather unceremoniously aside by Hakoda in his father’s eagerness to see Bumi. “Hey! He’s not going anywhere, you know. He’s still in the waddling stage.”
Hakoda gave a half-hearted apology while Sokka dramatically rubbed his arm and grumbled. There was no heat in the complaints.
Rather as Aang had anticipated, he may as well have been a tree stump for all the excitement his presence brought. Not one soul cared that the Avatar had returned after a year away. Everyone’s focus was on Katara and the small, still-sleeping bundle she was slowly unwrapping from her chest. It was different with Sokka—he’d last seen his nephew three weeks ago after a meeting to discuss development in Republic City’s southern districts—but for everyone else, this was the first time seeing Bumi in person. Of course, Katara and Aang had sent a photograph, something they’d both been extremely proud of, and even some miniature portraits commissioned by a dozen different artists all eager to paint their first child. Still, there was no comparison for seeing the little fellow in the flesh.
Katara nudged Bumi slightly with her finger to wake him, and his large eyes fluttered open slowly. His tongue stuck out as he yawned. Aang felt that overwhelming surge of fatherly devotion shoot through him, as familiar as breathing now, as he watched Bumi stretch slightly and look around in bewilderment. Their son had never seen so many people (for a crowd was indeed beginning to form, neighbours who had known Katara her whole life, overjoyed for her return) and it was patently obvious on his face.
Not that Aang was particularly concerned about how his son would handle it. Bumi may have been just a year and a half old, but both of his parents knew one thing for certain: he was a character. No crowd would intimidate him for long. ‘Cheerful’ barely began to cover it.
Hakoda stepped forward, tears already brimming in his eyes before he’d said a single word. This, of course, set Katara off, which meant that Aang had to bite down on his tongue to stop his own eyes from welling up. If they both cried, Bumi would cry, and then the three of them would be stuck in little sobbing loop forever, egging each other on.
Before the tears could properly fall, Hakoda swept his daughter into a firm embrace, baby and all, holding her tightly to his chest. Warm and safe. Now that Aang was a father, he knew exactly what the other man must’ve been feeling, the ache of separation in his bones healed only by the weight of his child in his arms.
After a minute, Katara took a step back, shaking her head quickly to flick away any stray tears.
“Dad.” She held her son towards her father with unmistakable pride. Even had she wanted to, she couldn’t have hidden her devotion for him, plain for all to see. “Meet Bumi.”
When Bumi was placed into Hakoda’s arms, he wasn’t quite sure what to do, at first. His bottom lip quivered once as he stared at his mother, grasping his little hands towards her. When she only nodded and made no move to rescue him, his attention turned to Aang, who simply smiled in encouragement. Bumi had always loved Aang’s smile, calming every time he saw it. They’d never quite figured out why; Katara reckoned Aang smiling meant that, to Bumi, the whole world was safe and well.
Sure enough, Bumi saw his father’s expression shift and settled into Hakoda’s arms, looking up at the older man with fascination. One tilt of his head later, a reassessment was firmly underway. Those big grey eyes lit up with curiosity, squinting then widening, and a small, grabby hand reached to give Hakoda’s beard a strong yank.
“Bumi, what did we say about pulling hair?” Katara’s tone was full of gentle, motherly reproach. “Sorry. It’s his favourite hobby at the moment.”
“One of the many perks of being bald,” Aang added with a smile. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Bumi, and neither had Hakoda.
One of Hakoda’s fingers was now firmly in Bumi’s grip and being directed straight into his mouth, chubby cheeks already working to slobber all over him. Hakoda was cooing over his grandson in a way neither of his children had ever witnessed before.
It was always amusing to Aang when Katara and Sokka wore identical expressions. Those moments when it was more obvious than ever that they were related. This was one such moment, as they watched in disbelief while their brave, manly, oh-so-tough warrior of a father bounced and blubbered at a baby.
He was blowing raspberries. Bumi was utterly enthralled.
Katara now stood between Aang and Sokka, the three of them watching the scene before them, as Hakoda’s brain seemingly turned to goo in real-time.
“You were born first,” Katara turned her head to Sokka quickly before casting her gaze back to their father. “Did Dad ever do this with me?”
“Not once. This is definitely new.”
“Thought so.”
Aang, for one, understood Hakoda completely.
Just as Bumi’s laughter snowballed into an entirely new domain of happiness, Gran Gran and Pakku finally drew near. It had taken longer than the same distance would’ve done even a year ago, with Gran Gran seemingly having shrunk further over the last few months. She shuffled more than stepped now, white hair wiry and fine, back hunched with a hump that fortunately seemed only to slow, rather than pain, her.
“Let me see him.” She held her arms out in expectation. Bumi was placed in them with the sort of speed only a true matriarch could extract. His hand moved to grab her hair loopies, as he’d done a dozen times a day to his own mother over the last month.
Katara sighed deeply as Bumi gave a slight pull. At least it was gentler than usual.
“He’s spirited,” Gran Gran smiled. “He’ll be an excellent warrior one day, I can tell. Braver than the best. And so very handsome, too.”
“Of course he’s handsome,” Sokka interrupted. He straightened his parka proudly. “He looks just like his uncle.”
“Come again? He clearly looks more like his grandpa.” Hakoda folded his arms as though the matter were obvious, a fact that hardly needed repeating. The South Pole was cold. Bumi looked like him.
“What?” Sokka replied incredulously. He stepped towards his grandmother and crouched, finger gesturing wildly between his face and his nephew’s. “You’re kidding. He’s my mini-me. The little guy could walk—crawl, whatever—down the street and people would stop him thinking he’s me.”
Katara scoffed at that with a roll of her eyes. Bumi had no idea what was going on, but seeing his uncle at face-level was clearly delighting him. Aang watched with amusement as he attempted to poke one of Sokka’s eyes out.
“I’m telling you, he’s all me.”
“No, he’s all me.”
“Well,” Gran Gran said, her voice rumbling in that gravelly tone all elderly people seemed to have after a certain age. “He can’t be identical to both of you, because Sokka looks just like his mother.”
“I do?”
“Of course, child. Just like Kya.”
Aang watched as Gran Gran’s words sank in. He knew that Sokka sometimes struggled to picture his mom, having lost her so young. Could never quite reconcile her features in his memory with what he saw in Katara now. The idea that he was the one who looked so similar to her seemed to catch him off-guard, however strange it seemed. As though he’d never allowed himself to consider such a thing before.
At the same time, Hakoda’s face, caught in a teasing smirk just moments ago, softened into something raw and bittersweet.
“You know what, Sokka,” Hakoda began, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I think you may be right. Bumi looks just like his uncle.”
Sokka’s posture straightened in pride once more as he nodded firmly. “Right. That’s…” He cleared his throat. “That’s right.”
Aang felt Katara’s hand slip into his, her fingers curling tight. He tightened his grip, thumb automatically rubbing circles into her palm, the way it always did.
She looked up at him from his side and said in a low voice intended only for him, “Bumi still has his daddy’s eyes, though.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
The walk to Gran Gran’s hut did not take particularly long, though that was largely because she was aided by Aang at her side. He helped her all the way to her front door. Gran Gran joked thrice to Pakku about swapping him out for a younger model. Aang only blushed two of those times.
The hut was the only remnant of the village from the war that remained. Every other building on the street was modern and shiny and new, a result of the reconstruction project. Katara’s grandmother had steadfastly refused every single attempt at rebuilding her home. It was hers. She had been prepared to die defending it in the past. She had raised a family in it. She was not going to swap it out for a few bells and whistles now that the going was good.
Aang loved that woman.
As they stepped inside, the smell of food hit Aang’s nose. Malina, Hakoda’s girlfriend, was in the corner, pouring various meals into bowls and onto plates. She looked up in surprise and dusted her hands onto her apron, her eyes immediately locking onto the baby now back in Katara’s arms.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, I meant to have this on the table before— Oh. Oh, he’s gorgeous.” Her hands clasped before her like she was squeezing her own heart.
“Thank you, Malina,” Katara replied with a warm smile.
Aang knew that it was still strange, even years later, for Katara to see her dad with someone else. Still, she tried so very hard. Besides, Malina had been good to them all these last few years; it was a comfort to Katara to know that he had someone looking after him even when both of his kids were away.
Katara handed Bumi over to Aang and moved to help Malina set the table, which had a mixture of Northern and Southern Water Tribe meals. Roasted arctic hen. Eggs served in little bowls. Several different crab dishes. And, of course, lots and lots of seaweed for Aang, as was usually the case when he came to visit Katara’s homeland. When you only really had the sea at your disposal, you couldn’t be a picky vegetarian.
“Baba!” Bumi looked up at Aang from his lap, then waved his little hand towards the increasingly busy table. “Yum?”
There wasn’t really anything on the table that Bumi had tried before. He was still on a milk diet, for the most part, though they’d dabbled with very mushy solid food here and there. Pieces of fruit, mostly. A few types of vegetables that they thought he might like. Whatever Republic City had that was bright and colourful and he showed interest in.
Aang eyed a small bowl of some… thing. In truth, he had no idea what it was. An animal product, certainly. It looked uncooked and vaguely squishy. He picked up a small piece and, with a little effort, crushed it into a mushy sort of paste between his fingers, then pressed them to Bumi’s mouth. The toddler licked once, twice, then swallowed it all.
“Yum!”
A bright smile split across Aang’s face then. Whatever the food was, Bumi was clearly a fan.
“Aren’t you a vegetarian?” Sokka asked, a leg of arctic hen already in his mouth. He’d started before everyone had even sat down.
“Um. Yes?”
“But you just fed Bumi blubber. You know, like, from a whale.”
“So?”
“And… whales are animals?” Sokka arched a brow in confusion. “Just didn’t think you’d want your kid chomping down on meat, that’s all. You ate lettuce out of the garbage once instead of joining us for skewers.”
Aang shrugged. “That’s me. Bumi is Bumi. Yeah, he’s part air nomad, but he’s half water tribe, too. So… He can try meat until he’s old enough to decide what he’d like to do.”
“Huh.” Sokka took another bite from his chicken leg, this one slightly more thoughtful than the last handful. “I ever tell you that you’re a good dad, Aang? Because you are.”
“Thanks, Sokka.” The words were said with barely concealed amusement, though in truth, it was nice to hear someone say it. Nobody ever really told him that except Katara. She said it all the time, but still, he had his doubts. He was away for his Avatar duties more often than he’d like, something that weighed on his conscience. It sat heavy on his shoulders, the idea that he was failing the most important job of all before ever being given the chance to try.
“No problem, buddy.”
“What are you two talking about?”
Katara sat next to Aang, gasping and smiling at Bumi, who giggled when she wiggled her fingers near his face.
“Oh, nothing. Just Bumi’s dietary preferences,” Aang replied, bouncing their son on his knee, an action that only increased the rolling giggles twofold.
“O-kay…” There was a question in Katara’s voice she didn’t bother asking. She was too busy making Bumi laugh.
“Mama silly!”
“Just Mama? What about Papa?” Aang tickled Bumi, fingers digging into his sides as he continued to bounce him on his knee. Katara carried on with her silly faces and dancing fingers.
Bumi’s laughter reached a near squeal.
“Mama, Baba, silly!” The words came out of his little mouth breathless and garbled between fits of giggles.
If Aang did nothing else in his life but this, he would say it was a life well lived. He would do it forever and ever, just him and his two greatest loves, listening to their laughter on repeat.
The meal passed more quickly than it had any right to, considering how much time actually passed. Hours slipped by as Katara’s family wanted to know everything: how Republic City was doing; whether Aang had found any new sites of importance to the Air Nomads; if Toph had strangled any recruits yet. Sokka had told them most things before, but it was different, hearing them from Katara and Aang. Not better or worse, just different.
Eventually, Gran Gran rose from the table and walked over to a small chest she kept beneath her bed, furs draping over the edge to cover it from view. She bent on creaking knees, undid the clasps, and removed something Aang couldn’t quite see. She stroked it once, then brought it over to the table.
“Oh,” Katara said quietly, under her breath. Her hand covered her heart.
The item was actually an outfit, Aang realised, small enough for a baby to wear. He’d never seen anything quite like it before. Warm, certainly.
“I don’t know how cold it gets, up in your fancy city, but down here, it can get chilly. He needs to keep warm,” Gran Gran said, nodding towards Bumi who had fallen asleep on Aang’s chest, head on his father’s shoulder. When the old woman saw that Aang was adorably clueless, she explained, “It’s a parka. I knew you were coming so I made it for the little one. The feathers inside will keep him warm even when it’s frozen.”
Aang looked down at his son, drooling onto his robes, and his heart skipped a beat. He’d been worried about Bumi getting cold earlier, and all along, a little piece of his mother’s family had been waiting to warm him up.
“Gran Gran…” Katara stood and hugged her grandmother tightly, before cupping the older woman’s face and kissing her forehead. “I’ll dress him as soon as he wakes. I promise.”
Gran Gran nodded, holding her granddaughter’s hands in her own for a second, then returned to her seat. She stared at Bumi for a while with a look of indescribably profound love, her hand in Pakku’s.
Just when Aang thought the moment couldn’t possibly become sweeter, Hakoda stood and cleared his throat. He toyed with the bracelets around his wrist, twisting them back and forth awkwardly, clearly not sure how to proceed.
“Katara, you… Well, it must be difficult, carrying Bumi all the time. In your arms.”
Katara turned towards her father, pulling her focus away from her grandmother, her sentimentality interrupted by confusion. Once again, Sokka’s expression matched hers: same furrowed brows, same slightly narrowed eyes, same crook of the lips.
“Well, I—no? Not particularly. I’m a big, strong girl, Dad.”
“Of course! I know. I mean, look at you go, my little princess, all grown up and—” He frowned. He wasn’t saying what he wanted to. He looked to Malina for help, but his partner hid a smile behind her hand. “I got you a gift, too. Well, I asked some of the craftspeople in town to make it. Malina did the bead work.”
He hurried across the room to a small nook Aang had never even imagined looking in and pulled out another coat of sorts. This one was much closer to the coats Aang knew, no legs like with Bumi’s, but it was no less beautiful. There were colours and patterns all over, blue and white and purple. The back was large and spacious, with a wide hood.
Katara took it from her father to admire it with a gasp, her fingers trailing along the delicate beadwork.
“We traded with some merchants from Kyoshi Island,” Malina explained as Katara touched a swirling pattern. “I’m not very good with sewing and the like, but I tried. There are water motifs along the bottom, and then—” She hesitated, as though unsure how much to say. “I hope I didn’t overstep, but I added a few Air Nomad designs, too. Not many! Just replicas of some of the drawings you sent in your letters to Hakoda. I hope that’s okay.”
She was looking at Aang as she said it, as though he could ever take offence at his wife enjoying parts of his culture.
Katara’s eyes caught his, bright and glassy, and she held it before her for him to see.
“Isn’t this the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
“Absolutely.”
He could tell that she knew he was not simply talking about the garment in her hands. Her mouth broke into that shy smile he loved as she mouthed at him to stop. He shook his head, mouth twitching with amusement.
“Alright, I think it’s time for me to get back home,” Sokka said loudly with a clearing of his throat. “When the two of them start giving each other that look, everyone else had better vacate the premises.”
Katara’s eyes, still glassy, narrowed at her brother. “There was no look. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right. Mmhm. Sure.”
Aang stood, balancing Bumi carefully against his chest, and moved over to Katara to hold her close and whisper in her ear about how they should get back to their lodgings for the night anyway.
Sokka did not need to hear exactly what was said. The flush of Katara’s cheeks provided enough information.
The next morning, Aang awoke feeling fantastic. Bumi had slept most of the night without issue, waking only once.
Katara was still asleep. Aang stared at his wife, sprawled out in the bed, her dark hair fanning out over the pillows. Her lips were still a touch swollen, her neck dusted by the beginning of a faint bruise the exact shape of his mouth. He couldn’t possibly say how it had gotten there.
Since she was asleep, he cared for Bumi as far as he was able. He changed the boy’s wrappings—a process that still required more concentration than he cared to admit—and dressed him in his new parka. It took four attempts before Aang realised he kept putting the legs in backwards. Bumi tolerated this well up until the third attempt, at which point, he decided that his father was clearly trying to torture him.
“Work with me here, Bumi-bear.” Aang twisted the outfit around, finally slotting it into place while little toddler limbs worked against him. “We don’t want to wake Mama.”
Bumi forced a chubby hand straight onto Aang’s bare head to push him away.
“No!”
“It’s not that bad, honestly.”
“No!”
“I’m almost done! It’s just one sleeve!”
“No, Baba!”
“Are you losing an argument to our one-year-old son again?”
Aang turned to see Katara watching the two of them from bed, her voice only lightly touched by sleep. The look in her eyes was pure love.
“I’m not losing, I’m—yes.”
Within seconds of his wife standing, she had their son fully dressed and halfway to properly fed, too. Aang stared, dumbfounded. She made everything look so very easy. He adored her so.
They ate breakfast together while Bumi ran in circles around the small living space they’d been allocated for their visit. He’d found some sort of feather from somewhere. Aang hadn’t questioned it.
“So, since we’re here,” Aang began, mouth full of broth. “I was thinking… South Pole. We have a kid. Kids like to do things, you know, like… penguin-sledding.”
“Penguin-sledding? Aang, he’s one.”
“Well, yes, but he’s a very sturdy one-year-old.”
At that moment, Bumi tripped over his own foot and fell onto the rug, dropping his feather in the process. Aang moved to help him, but the little guy just hauled himself up, gave a cry of determination, and began to sprint clumsily at full speed once more. It was not particularly fast, but it was enthusiastic.
“He can’t make it more than five steps without toppling.” Katara crossed her arms. “And how do you expect him to hold onto a penguin? Those things go fast.”
“He’s got good grip strength! You should know, you’re the one with hair he’s always grabbing.”
“My love, there’s a world of difference between our baby holding my hair when he wants attention, and him holding onto the back of a wild animal hurtling across the tundra.”
“Well, obviously I wouldn’t let him go alo—”
“Aang!” Katara smiled now despite herself. He liked that he always knew how to make her happy. “Yesterday, you were terrified that Bumi was going to freeze to death on Appa. Last week, he fell off a cushion, and you insisted I spend twenty minutes healing him. He didn’t even have a bruise.”
Aang scratched the back of his head. “He might’ve had one.”
“He didn’t.”
Aang sighed dramatically and leaned back in his chair, accepting defeat. “Okay, you’re right. Penguin-sledding is a bad idea. But when he’s older!”
“When he’s older,” Katara agreed. She leaned across the table to hold his hands in hers, twining their fingers together. “We could still take him to the otter penguin colony today, though. If he’s lucky, he could even stroke one.”
Aang scooped Bumi off the floor before Katara could even finish her sentence.
The otter penguin colony was far louder than either Aang or Katara remembered it being. This was, in part, due to the passage of time dulling childhood memories or some other insufferably boring nonsense, Aang was sure.
Mostly, though, it was due to the crowds of children all around, happily sledding along. Back when he and Katara had gone together, they’d been the only two kids trying to enjoy their childhood. Now, everyone could enjoy it. Whenever he thought about something like that, he felt proud. He’d helped to bring fun back to the lives of these kids.
Katara removed Bumi from her back where he’d been snuggled beneath the hood of her new parka and placed him carefully on the floor. He wanted to run—they could both tell that much. She held his hand firmly, scanning the scene for any particularly calm penguins. Kind penguins. Penguins who would not nip if a particularly hyper one-year-old ran at them full speed ahead.
It didn’t help that Bumi had decided they made the most fascinating noises that simply must be copied.
Ten minutes of toddler squawking later, Aang finally spied an old-looking penguin near the edge of the colony, watching the children with a patient, weary expression that suggested he was used to the sights. With his hand in Katara’s, Bumi approached slowly. Not particularly carefully, but slowly. He could only walk so fast with his little legs.
“Easy, little bear,” Katara said quietly to Bumi. She sat down next to him and extended her arm slowly, gently, showing him what to do. “We need to be careful so we don’t scare the nice penguin, okay.”
“Okay!”
Aang was certain that Bumi hadn’t understood a word.
He watched his wife stroke the otter penguin kindly, then watched his son copy her movements with care. An arm extended, just a touch uncoordinated. He reached across.
“Squawk!”
And chose that moment to loudly imitate every single otter penguin in the colony. Aang had to choke back a laugh.
Katara was braced to scoop Bumi up and run in case the animal turned aggressive, but instead, the otter penguin merely tilted his head, looked at the baby with curiosity, and squawked back.
“Squawk! Pengy!”
Katara whipped her head back to Aang, both of them beaming at each other. Bumi had learned a new word. It would probably lose its novelty after the thousandth repetition, but for now, it was the most delightfully charming word either of them had ever heard.
Aang sat behind Bumi now, ready to catch him if he fell, and watched as his son rolled around with the otter penguin he’d apparently befriended. Katara’s mittened hand slipped into his, buried in the snow.
It was as perfect a day as he could imagine.