Side-view of Katara
Mother Nature
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A Bird Could Love a Fish



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ABCLAF Logo This Kataang one-shot takes place in The Library.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Mother Nature

He grins.

"Oh, come on, Katara," he teases, Waterbending a small globe of the crystal clear liquid from the lake. "Scared of a little storm?"

She puts her hands on her hips and shifts her weight to her left foot. He instantly sees the ways to disarm her, to drop her, to force her into the water.

Titling his head to the skies, he watches the deep gray clouds, bellies filled with coming rain. "It doesn't take Aunt Wu to predict that, Aang." Her voice startles him, and he turns his head just in time to be splashed.

"Monkeyfeathers—Katara!" he cries, diving into the shallows to hide. "I didn't even do anything."

She is laughing; she says something.

He raises his head. "What?" he calls, befuddled; he pretends he is a viper cat, and he slowly uncoils his muscles, lithely and fluidly standing.

I am her water, he tells himself. And she is my air.

"I said, this was some place you picked for your personal vacation." Adjusting her bindings, she moves back to the opposite, looking so much a graceful spirit that he is forced to remember that she is the true water, not he.

"Exactly!" he chirps, glad to be able to impress her. Forming an air scooter, he zooms along the surface of the lake, the winds just strong enough to distort his reflection into a cascade of rippling Aangs. "And just wait until you see the singing meerhogs. They're like mockingjays, you know? Except they're meerhogs, and . . ." His voice trails off as he give the clouds another sideways glance. "It's going to rain a lot, isn't it? We're probably not going to be able to see the meerhogs until tomorrow—which gives me enough to time to make a makeshift reed flute for myself—Katara?" Realizing how much he is blabbering and going on and on, he grins, and his face blushes an embarrassing scarlet.

"Clouds," she murmurs. He blinks. "They're so beautiful. And they can be pristine and white, or they can be ugly and black. That's like us, isn't it? We're like clouds. We can both be kind and gentle, or we can be spiteful and angry."

He swallows. She's thinking about it again . . . or is she?

"They're made of air and water," he adds helpfully. "And besides, Katara, remember. Yes, sometimes it rains and storms. And then?"

Her gaze, so sharp and clear, meets his. Her voice quivers. "And then . . . ?"

"And then comes a rainbow," he whispers. "Push and pull. Life and death. Yin and yang. That's mother nature. There is both—in everyone."

She grasps his wrists and pulls him into en embrace. "And now, I think I want the fluffy clouds," she laughs, though he can see a sparkle of tears in her eyes. "Aang . . ."

He presses a finger to her lips.

"Ssh. Enjoy the storm. Because you'll enjoy the rainbow even more."

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