Chapter 6 - Where the Wind Carries Memories

The ocean was a terrible influence on my imagination.

I discovered this shortly after sunrise, when I found myself sitting on the windowsill of my room, watching the distant sea glitter beneath the morning light. From this height, the islands scattered across the Eastern Sea looked like little green kingdoms floating upon an enormous blue mirror. Some were barely more than rocky outcroppings covered in stubborn vegetation, while others were large enough to support forests, fishing villages, and whatever strange creatures had decided to make their homes there. It was the sort of view that made it remarkably easy to forget that ordinary people had responsibilities.

Unfortunately, Guru Pathik had developed an extraordinary talent for reminding me.

I had been awake for nearly half an hour, which was a personal tragedy considering how comfortable my sleeping mat had become. My body wasn't particularly tired anymore, but that had never seemed like a good reason to abandon a perfectly respectable bed. Instead, I'd settled beside the window and begun imagining an enormous underwater kingdom, complete with glowing coral palaces, armies of armored seahorses, and an emperor who rode a particularly disgruntled whale.

The emperor was currently losing a civil war against his own royal council, which consisted entirely of argumentative octopuses. It was a complicated political situation, and I was genuinely interested in discovering how it would end when someone knocked against my doorframe.

"You're awake early today," Pathik remarked, sounding pleasantly surprised as he stepped into view. He carried a small basket containing folded cloth and a few pieces of fruit, though his attention quickly shifted toward my position on the windowsill. "I was beginning to wonder if you intended to sleep through the morning again."

I glanced toward him, then back toward the ocean. "Couldn't sleep," I answered, which was technically true now that I'd already woken up. "I was watching the water."

Pathik followed my gaze, his expression softening as he looked toward the distant islands. "It is a beautiful morning," he agreed, resting the basket upon a nearby table. "The storm has finally passed, and the sea appears much calmer than yesterday. That should make our trip down to the coast rather easier."

I turned toward him.

"Trip?" I repeated, suddenly considerably more interested in the conversation. "We're going somewhere?"

The old man smiled at my reaction. "I thought we might visit the shrine where Tavi found the bell, and afterward examine Nima's boat. The weather is finally suitable for traveling along the lower paths, though we'll still need to be careful near the cliffs."

I considered that.

A trip down the mountain meant an opportunity to explore the island, examine its coastal forests, and possibly encounter creatures I'd never seen before. There was also the rather exciting prospect of visiting the place where Death had apparently decided to deposit my unconscious body. I'd been curious about that particular beach ever since Pathik described finding me there, though I hadn't yet found a sufficiently compelling reason to subject myself to the climb.

Apparently, the universe had finally provided one.

"Can I come?" I asked, turning fully toward him. "I haven't seen the lower part of the island yet."

Pathik blinked, evidently surprised by the enthusiasm in my voice. Then he smiled, looking rather pleased that I'd voluntarily suggested an activity involving something other than sleeping. "Of course, Jinx. I was going to ask whether you'd like to accompany us, though I should warn you that the journey will involve quite a bit of walking."

I looked at him for a moment.

Then toward the sea.

Then back at him.

"...How much walking?" I asked, my earlier enthusiasm suffering a rather unfortunate setback.

Pathik chuckled as he folded his hands within his sleeves. "Enough that you'll probably appreciate your bed when we return," he replied, apparently finding my concern entertaining. "There's an old supply lift that takes us partway down, but the remaining trail winds through the forest and along the southern cliffs."

I sighed and rested my cheek against the wooden windowframe. A part of me wanted to abandon the entire idea, crawl back beneath my blanket, and spend the day imagining adventures rather than participating in them. Unfortunately, another part was already wondering what the island's beaches looked like, whether the forests contained unusual animals, and whether the ocean might conceal something extraordinary.

Curiosity was such an inconvenient affliction.

"Fine," I decided, sliding down from the windowsill. "But we're stopping if I see anything interesting."

Pathik's smile widened. "I suspect we'll be stopping quite often, then," he observed, turning toward the doorway. "Come along. Breakfast is ready, and we should leave while the weather remains pleasant."

I followed him toward the kitchen, already wondering whether the island possessed any particularly comfortable trees. If I was going to spend the day exploring, I intended to discover at least one suitable location for future naps. A good sleeping spot was a valuable resource, and I believed in planning ahead.

Nima was already waiting in the kitchen when we arrived.

She sat beside the low table, carefully folding a piece of cloth around several small belongings. Her dark brown hair had been tied into a neat braid, and the weather-stained traveling cloak she'd worn during the storm now hung drying beside the window. She looked considerably less exhausted than when we'd first met, though the way her eyes occasionally drifted toward the distant sea suggested that she hadn't entirely stopped worrying about the boat.

Tavi was seated nearby with his injured ankle resting upon a folded cushion. The swelling had begun to improve, but he still moved cautiously, and Pathik had insisted that he remain at the temple rather than attempt another climb so soon after his accident. Judging by the boy's expression, he considered this an outrageous violation of his personal freedom.

"I can walk," Tavi announced the moment he saw us, apparently deciding to resume an argument he'd already been having with his sister. "It barely hurts anymore."

Nima didn't even look up from her belongings. "You said that yesterday, and then you nearly fell over trying to reach the doorway," she reminded him, tightening the knot around her bundle. "You're staying here until your ankle's better."

Tavi frowned and looked toward Pathik, evidently hoping the old man might offer a more sympathetic opinion. Unfortunately for him, Pathik merely smiled and placed a bowl of rice in front of him. "Your sister is right, Tavi. The mountain isn't going anywhere, and neither is the temple. You'll have plenty of opportunities to explore once you've recovered."

The boy slumped against his cushion.

I sat beside him and stole a piece of fruit from the bowl between us. "Could be worse," I offered, examining the fruit before taking a bite. "You could be the one climbing down the mountain."

Tavi looked at me suspiciously. "You're going with them?"

"Apparently," I answered, still wondering whether I'd made a terrible mistake. "I wanted to see the beach."

He stared at me for a moment before his expression shifted into disbelief. "So you get to go exploring, and I'm stuck here?" he complained, crossing his arms. "That's not fair."

I considered that while chewing.

"Yeah," I admitted. "That does suck."

Nima gave me an exasperated look, though she couldn't quite suppress a smile. "You're not helping," she informed me, setting her folded bundle aside.

I shrugged and reached for another piece of fruit. "Wasn't trying to. He's right."

Tavi brightened immediately, apparently delighted to have found someone willing to acknowledge the terrible injustice of his situation. Unfortunately, his satisfaction lasted only until Pathik suggested that he might enjoy helping sort some of the temple's old wooden puzzles while the rest of us were away.

The boy looked horrified.

I understood completely.

After breakfast, Nima joined us in the courtyard with a small traveling pack containing water, food, and a few tools she'd managed to salvage from her belongings. Pathik carried the bronze Air Nomad bell wrapped carefully in cloth, while I brought a narrow shoulder bag containing my notebook, a little food, and several objects I considered potentially useful.

Most of those objects were smooth stones I'd collected around the temple.

I wasn't entirely certain why I'd brought them.

They simply looked interesting.

Pathik noticed the weight of my bag when I adjusted the strap across my shoulder. "Have you packed everything you need, Jinx?" he asked, glancing toward the little bulge beneath the dark fabric.

"Probably," I answered, checking that my earrings weren't caught in the strap. "I've got food, water, and some rocks."

Nima paused halfway through fastening her cloak. "Rocks?" she repeated, looking genuinely confused. "Why are you bringing rocks down a mountain?"

I considered the question.

Then glanced into my bag.

"...Good question," I admitted, removing two of the heavier stones and setting them beside a nearby wall. "I got distracted."

Pathik laughed softly while Nima shook her head, smiling despite herself. I decided to retain one particularly smooth black pebble, which possessed a pleasant shape and might prove useful for future experiments. The remaining stones could continue their perfectly respectable lives at the temple without my assistance.

Once everyone was ready, we set off toward the southern edge of the mountain complex. The morning sun had climbed above the eastern sea, bathing the ancient rooftops in warm gold as we passed through empty courtyards and beneath weathered stone archways. Birds called from the surrounding trees, and somewhere far below, I could hear the distant crash of waves against the island's cliffs.

For the first time since arriving in this world, I was going somewhere simply because I wanted to see what was there.

The thought was rather exciting.

Although I still intended to complain about the stairs.

The old supply lift was considerably more interesting than I'd expected.

It stood within a sheltered recess beneath one of the temple's lower terraces, its wooden platform suspended by thick ropes that disappeared into an arrangement of pulleys and counterweights. The mechanisms had clearly been repaired numerous times over the years, and several newer wooden beams stood beside much older sections of stonework. Pathik explained that the system had once been used to transport supplies between the temple and a lower mountain station, allowing the monks to move heavier goods without carrying everything up the steepest portions of the trail.

I examined the machinery with growing fascination.

The platform was simple enough, but the arrangement of counterweights made the entire structure surprisingly efficient. As Pathik demonstrated the brake mechanism, I found myself imagining dozens of possible improvements, including a water-powered system that could raise supplies automatically. Naturally, the idea soon expanded into an enormous network of lifts connecting every building on the island, followed by an entirely unnecessary system of sky bison transportation stations.

"Jinx?" Pathik called, interrupting my thoughts as he finished inspecting the ropes. "Are you coming?"

I blinked and realized that both he and Nima were already standing on the platform. They were watching me with nearly identical expressions of patient amusement, which suggested that my habit of disappearing into my own imagination had become rather predictable.

"Yeah," I answered, stepping onto the lift. "I was thinking about how it works."

Nima glanced toward the ropes overhead. "You understand this thing?" she asked, sounding faintly nervous as Pathik carefully released the brake.

"Mostly," I replied, examining the counterweights while the platform began descending. "It's actually pretty clever."

She looked toward the long drop beyond the railing.

"That's reassuring," Nima muttered, tightening her grip upon the wooden support.

I grinned.

The lift descended slowly, its wooden platform creaking beneath our weight as the temple buildings gradually rose above us. The surrounding cliffs were covered in patches of moss and stubborn vegetation, and the lower we traveled, the more frequently thick clusters of trees appeared between the rocks. Farther down, the forest spread across the mountainside in a dense green blanket, broken by occasional streams and the remains of old stone pathways.

I leaned against the railing, watching the landscape unfold.

The island was larger than I'd realized.

From the temple, its forests had appeared almost like a single continuous patch of green, but descending revealed hidden valleys, narrow ravines, and enormous stretches of woodland disappearing around the slopes. Small waterfalls spilled from the rocks, their streams winding toward the coast, while birds moved between the branches in flashes of white, blue, and brown.

I could easily spend weeks exploring this place.

Possibly months.

The thought pleased me considerably.

"Did the Air Nomads use the lower forests much?" I asked Pathik as the lift continued downward. "Or did they mostly stay up at the temple?"

"They traveled throughout the island," Pathik answered, resting one hand upon the railing. "The beaches provided places for visitors to land, and the forests offered food, water, and quiet places for meditation. Some monks preferred the mountain peaks, while others enjoyed spending time closer to the sea."

I nodded, watching a pair of birds disappear beneath the branches.

"Did they build houses down there?" I asked, pointing toward a small patch of stonework half-hidden among the trees.

"Several shelters and shrines," Pathik explained, following my gesture. "Most were simple structures used by travelers or monks who wished to spend time away from the larger temple. Some have survived, though many are now little more than ruins."

That sounded promising.

Ruins were wonderful things.

They invited questions, encouraged exploration, and occasionally contained objects that made ordinary afternoons considerably more interesting. Of course, they also possessed an unfortunate tendency to collapse upon people who explored them carelessly, which was worth remembering.

The lift reached its lower station with a gentle shudder, and Pathik secured the mechanism before opening the wooden gate. We stepped onto a narrow terrace overlooking the forest, where an old stone trail disappeared beneath enormous trees with twisting roots. The air was warmer here, carrying the rich scent of damp soil and vegetation mixed with the distant salt of the sea.

I took a deep breath.

Then immediately noticed something moving beside the path.

It was small, perhaps the size of my hand, with a rounded green shell and several thin legs extending beneath its body. At first glance, it resembled an ordinary crab, except for the tiny pair of leaves growing from its shell and the peculiar way its eyes protruded above its head. The creature was dragging a piece of moss toward a crack in the rocks, apparently convinced that the entire world existed solely to support its landscaping ambitions.

I crouched beside it.

The creature froze.

I froze too.

For several moments, we regarded one another in complete silence.

Then it slowly raised one claw.

I raised one finger.

The little creature clicked its claw twice before retreating beneath a root.

"...Huh," I murmured, smiling as I leaned closer. "Cute."

Nima stopped beside me, glancing toward the creature's hiding place. "What did you find?" she asked, following my gaze.

"Some kind of crab," I answered, pointing toward the root. "It's got plants growing on its back."

She crouched beside me and smiled. "A moss crab. We get them on our island too, especially near freshwater streams. They're harmless, though they can pinch if you bother them."

I nodded thoughtfully.

"Can they grow different plants?" I asked, suddenly imagining an entire colony of little crabs carrying miniature forests across their shells. "Like flowers?"

"Sometimes," Nima replied, sounding amused. "I've seen one with a little yellow flower growing from its back. Tavi tried to keep it as a pet, but it escaped the basket before we reached home."

I stared at her.

A crab with a flower on its back.

That was adorable.

"I want one," I decided.

Pathik laughed from farther along the trail.

"Perhaps we should allow the moss crabs to remain in their forest," he suggested, looking back at me with a warm smile. "I'm sure they're quite happy where they are."

I sighed and rose reluctantly, brushing dirt from my trousers. "Fine. But I'm coming back later."

The little crab remained hidden beneath its root.

Probably wise.

I continued down the path with renewed enthusiasm, keeping an eye out for anything else that looked interesting. Within the next half hour, I discovered a cluster of blue mushrooms growing beneath a fallen tree, a bird with an unusually long tail, and a family of tiny lizard-like creatures sunning themselves upon a warm stone.

I also discovered that Pathik had been entirely serious about the amount of walking involved.

My legs were beginning to complain.

Rude.

The trail eventually entered a stretch of forest where enormous trees rose above us, their branches forming a thick canopy that filtered the sunlight into scattered patches of gold. The air was cooler beneath the leaves, and the ground was covered in a soft carpet of moss interrupted by stones and exposed roots. Small streams crossed the path at irregular intervals, their clear water flowing toward the southern coast.

I found the forest fascinating.

Not because it contained some enormous supernatural mystery, though I certainly wouldn't have complained if one appeared, but because everything was unfamiliar enough to hold my attention. The trees resembled species I'd known in my previous life, yet their leaves possessed slightly different shapes, while many of the smaller animals combined features I'd once considered entirely unrelated.

An enormous beetle with translucent wings landed upon a nearby branch.

I stopped walking.

It opened its wings, revealing delicate patterns resembling ripples upon water, then took flight with a faint humming sound.

My eyes followed it until it disappeared between the trees.

When I finally turned back toward the path, Pathik and Nima were several yards ahead.

I quickened my pace to catch up.

"Do you know what that was?" I asked, looking toward Pathik.

"What was what?" the old man replied, glancing over his shoulder.

"The beetle. The big one with the weird wings."

Pathik smiled. "Ah, a glasswing beetle. They often appear after heavy rain, particularly when the sunlight returns."

"Do they glow?" I asked, suddenly curious.

"Some varieties do," he answered. "Mostly at night, though the light is quite faint."

I considered that for a moment.

Then smiled.

This world was wonderful.

I was beginning to understand why Aang had enjoyed traveling so much. Even without the Avatar's responsibilities, there was an extraordinary amount to see, and the possibility of encountering something new around every corner made the prospect of exploration almost irresistible. Of course, Aang possessed a flying bison capable of carrying him across enormous distances, which gave him a rather unfair advantage.

I wanted a flying bison.

Not necessarily for combat or transportation, though both would be useful.

Mostly because they looked fluffy.

The thought reminded me of something I'd been wondering since our earlier visit to the temple's storeroom.

"Pathik," I called, stepping around a fallen branch, "what are sky bison actually like?"

The old man glanced toward me, apparently surprised by the question. "In what sense, Jinx?"

I considered how best to explain my curiosity. "Well, I've seen pictures of them, but pictures don't tell you much. Are they friendly? Do they smell? Can you sleep on one without falling off?"

Nima laughed softly.

Pathik smiled, evidently amused by the sudden collection of questions. "Sky bison are remarkable creatures," he answered, stepping over a narrow stream. "They're intelligent, affectionate, and capable of forming very strong bonds with their companions. But they're also large animals with their own personalities, and they can be quite stubborn when they wish."

I nodded.

That sounded promising.

"Are they soft?" I asked.

"Very," Pathik replied, chuckling. "Their fur is thick enough to protect them from the cold at high altitudes, and a healthy sky bison is quite comfortable to rest against."

I imagined lying upon an enormous fluffy creature while it drifted peacefully above the clouds. Warm sunlight, cool wind, an endless view of the world below, and absolutely no need to walk anywhere myself.

Heaven.

Actual heaven.

"Can you sleep on their backs?" I asked, looking at him hopefully.

Pathik laughed. "Yes, provided you have somewhere secure to rest and the bison is comfortable carrying you. Many Air Nomads traveled with their companions for days at a time."

I stopped walking.

There was no other reasonable response.

"Okay," I decided. "I definitely want one."

Nima turned toward me with an amused expression. "You know they aren't exactly easy to find anymore, right?"

I nodded reluctantly.

Unfortunately, I knew that rather well.

The destruction of the Air Nomads had also devastated their companions, and by the time Aang emerged from the iceberg, sky bison would be extraordinarily rare. Appa himself would become one of the last known survivors of the ancient herds, though I remembered that other sky bison populations existed in remote places.

Still, knowing something was possible didn't mean it would be easy.

"I know," I answered, looking toward the trees. "Doesn't hurt to want one."

Pathik's expression softened slightly, and for a moment he seemed lost in memories of a world that no longer existed. "They were wonderful companions," he said quietly. "And every one was different. Some were playful, others rather serious, and a few seemed convinced that the entire world existed to provide them with food."

I grinned.

"Sounds familiar."

Pathik looked toward me.

Then laughed.

"Indeed it does," he replied, continuing along the path.

We spent the next several minutes talking about sky bison, and I learned that the creatures could be remarkably affectionate toward people they trusted. Pathik remembered one particularly stubborn bison who refused to leave a sunny courtyard whenever it found a comfortable place to rest, forcing its young companion to spend an entire afternoon attempting to coax it into moving.

I immediately decided that bison possessed excellent judgment.

Nima told us about fishermen who claimed to have seen enormous shadows moving among the clouds near distant islands, though she admitted that most such stories were probably exaggerations. Still, the possibility interested me, and I found myself scanning the sky whenever the trees opened enough to reveal the mountains above.

No sky bison appeared.

Very disappointing.

But I had discovered an enormous beetle and an adorable moss crab, so the morning could hardly be considered a failure.

We reached the old coastal shrine shortly before midday.

It stood upon a narrow terrace overlooking the southern coast, surrounded by thick vegetation and partially sheltered beneath an enormous outcropping of stone. The building was small compared to the temple's grand halls, consisting of a single chamber with a curved roof and an open porch facing the sea. Its walls were carved with familiar patterns of clouds and spiraling air currents, though years of wind and rain had worn many of the details away.

Part of the roof had collapsed.

The broken beams rested against the outer wall, half-hidden beneath moss and climbing vines, while several stones had fallen from the porch. The structure looked lonely, but not entirely forgotten. Someone had cleared part of the path leading toward it, and a faint trail of footprints remained in the soft earth near the entrance.

Nima stopped beside the steps.

"This is where Tavi found the bell," she explained, looking embarrassed as she gestured toward the damaged doorway. "We were trying to find somewhere sheltered from the rain. He went inside while I checked the trail."

Pathik nodded, his expression gentle. "Thank you for showing us," he replied, carefully stepping onto the porch. "I haven't visited this particular shrine for some time. It's good to see that much of it still remains."

I followed him inside.

The interior was surprisingly beautiful despite its condition.

Faded murals decorated the walls, depicting Air Nomads moving among clouds, mountains, and enormous creatures whose broad bodies and six legs were immediately recognizable. Sky bison appeared throughout the paintings, sometimes carrying people upon their backs and sometimes drifting freely across the sky. One particularly elaborate scene depicted a group of airbenders observing a sky bison as it moved through an enormous swirling current.

I approached the mural.

The paint had faded, but I could still distinguish the movement.

The sky bison's body curved through the air, its enormous tail sweeping behind it while spiraling patterns surrounded its limbs. The Air Nomads beneath it appeared to imitate those movements, their bodies turning and shifting in ways that suggested observation rather than instruction.

"So that's how they learned," I murmured, leaning closer.

Pathik approached beside me. "The sky bison were the original airbenders," he explained, following my gaze toward the mural. "Long before the Air Nomads developed their own traditions, they learned by observing creatures who understood the wind as naturally as breathing."

I nodded slowly.

I'd known that already, of course.

But knowing something from a television series was different from standing before a mural painted by people who had actually lived alongside those creatures. The figures on the wall weren't simply repeating a familiar story. They were recording something that had mattered enough to preserve for generations.

I examined the swirling patterns around the bison.

The movement was fascinating.

Unlike the rigid stances I'd attempted during my first firebending practice, these forms seemed almost effortless. The bison wasn't forcing the wind into submission; it was moving with it, shaping the air through gestures that appeared as natural as swimming through water.

I wondered whether the same principle could apply to Coldbending.

Not the movements themselves, obviously.

But the idea of learning through observation.

I'd spent hours imagining how energy might behave, drawing upon knowledge from my previous life to construct little models of microscopic movement. Yet perhaps there were aspects of bending that couldn't be understood through imagination alone.

Perhaps I needed to watch the world.

Really watch it.

The way sunlight warmed stone.

The way wind carried warmth away.

The way water cooled during the night, or how frost formed upon plants when the temperature fell.

Coldbending might not possess a traditional animal teacher, but nature itself was constantly demonstrating the effects I wanted to reproduce.

I smiled faintly.

That was interesting.

Very interesting.

"Jinx?" Pathik asked, noticing my prolonged silence. "What are you thinking about?"

I looked toward him.

"How they learned," I answered, gesturing toward the mural. "They didn't start with a bunch of techniques. They watched the bison and figured out what the movements meant."

Pathik nodded. "Observation is often the beginning of understanding," he agreed. "Though practice and patience are needed to turn understanding into skill."

I glanced toward the mural again.

"Maybe I've been doing this backward," I murmured.

Pathik looked curious, but he didn't press me for an explanation. Instead, he moved toward a small stone alcove near the back of the shrine, where a bronze hook protruded from the wall beneath a faded carving of the sun.

Nima approached quietly.

"Is that where the bell belongs?" she asked, her voice subdued.

"I believe so," Pathik replied, unwrapping the little bronze object he'd carried from the temple. "The design matches the others I've seen in shrines like this, and the cord appears to be the right length."

He lifted the bell toward the hook.

For a moment, I watched his hands, noticing how carefully he handled the object. It wasn't particularly valuable by the standards of kingdoms or wealthy merchants, but the old man treated it with the same attention someone might give a treasured family heirloom.

The bell settled into place.

A gentle breeze moved through the damaged roof.

And the little bronze pieces beneath it began to chime.

The sound was soft.

Almost delicate.

It drifted through the quiet shrine, carrying a faint, clear melody that seemed strangely suited to the wind moving among the surrounding trees.

Pathik stood motionless for a moment.

I watched him from beside the mural, wondering what memories the sound might have awakened. He didn't cry or offer some grand declaration about the past. He simply stood there, listening, and for a little while the old shrine seemed less abandoned than it had when we arrived.

Nima lowered her head.

"I'm sorry we took it," she said quietly, looking toward the bell. "Tavi didn't understand what it was, and I should've told him to leave it."

Pathik turned toward her with a gentle smile. "You brought it back," he replied. "That's what matters now. Perhaps your brother will remember this place the next time he encounters something that belongs to another story."

Nima nodded.

I looked toward the bell, listening as another faint chime drifted through the chamber.

It was a nice sound.

I hoped Tavi would get to hear it someday.

We remained at the shrine for a little while longer, partly because Pathik wanted to examine the damaged roof and partly because I had become fascinated by the murals. Several depicted sky bison flying among clouds, while others showed Air Nomads meditating beneath trees or gathering beside mountain streams. One particularly faded painting appeared to show a group of young monks playing some kind of game involving wooden rings and gusts of wind.

Naturally, I spent several minutes trying to determine the rules.

Eventually, Nima called us toward the entrance, where the path continued down the mountainside. The boat was still waiting in the sheltered cove below, and we had several hours of daylight remaining. Pathik promised that we could return to the shrine another time, which was enough to convince me to abandon my investigation for the moment.

As we stepped outside, I glanced back toward the little bronze bell.

The wind moved through the damaged roof.

Its soft chime followed us onto the path.

I smiled.

Somewhere, a child had once listened to that same sound.

Maybe they'd found it soothing.

Maybe they'd been annoyed by it.

Maybe they'd barely noticed it at all.

Whatever their opinion, the bell was still here.

And now its story had gained another little chapter.

I liked that.

We continued down the mountain, following the old trail as it wound through dense vegetation and gradually approached the coast. The smell of salt grew stronger, and the sound of waves became louder with every turn. Eventually, the trees began thinning, revealing glimpses of the ocean through enormous rocks and twisted coastal pines.

I stopped beside one of those openings.

The view was extraordinary.

Far below, a narrow beach curved around a sheltered cove, its pale sand bordered by dark cliffs and thick greenery. Waves broke gently against the rocks near the entrance, while the water inside remained comparatively calm. Beyond the cove, the Eastern Sea stretched toward a scattering of neighboring islands, their green slopes rising above the blue horizon.

And near the far end of the beach lay a small wooden boat.

Its hull rested awkwardly against the sand, tilted to one side where the tide had retreated. A broken oar lay nearby, and part of its outer planking appeared damaged.

Nima exhaled.

"There she is," she murmured, looking toward the boat with an expression I couldn't quite read.

Pathik followed her gaze. "We'll see what can be done," he assured her gently. "Though we'll need to examine the damage before deciding whether it's safe to put her back in the water."

I looked toward the boat again.

Then toward the distant islands.

Then down at the beach.

A small smile spread across my face.

"Can we go down there?" I asked, already searching for the continuation of the trail.

Nima laughed softly.

"That's why we're here," she reminded me.

"Oh. Right."

Pathik chuckled.

I was beginning to suspect the old man found my occasional lapses in attention far more entertaining than he should.

The beach was surprisingly warm.

After spending several days surrounded by the cool mountain air of the Eastern Air Temple, I had almost forgotten how pleasant sunlight could feel when there was an enormous stretch of sand beneath my feet. The cove was sheltered by high cliffs on three sides, with a narrow opening toward the sea where small waves rolled gently between clusters of dark rocks. The sand was pale and fine, interrupted by scattered shells, smooth stones, and little trails left behind by creatures that apparently possessed extremely busy schedules.

I liked it immediately.

The sound of waves was soothing, the breeze smelled faintly of salt, and there were several enormous rocks that looked perfectly suited for sitting. A few twisted trees grew along the upper edge of the beach, their branches extending toward the sunlight as though attempting to escape the surrounding cliffs. If the weather remained pleasant, I could easily imagine spending an entire afternoon beneath one of them.

Unfortunately, we'd come here for a reason.

Nima moved ahead of us, her pace quickening as she approached the damaged skiff. She knelt beside its exposed hull and ran one hand across the planks, examining the damage with an expression that grew increasingly troubled. Pathik followed at a more measured pace, placing his walking staff against a nearby rock before crouching to look beneath the boat.

I wandered closer.

The skiff was larger than it had appeared from the mountain path, perhaps long enough to carry three or four people with a modest collection of supplies. Its hull was constructed from overlapping wooden planks secured around a narrow frame, and the bow rose into a simple curved point. Faded green paint covered portions of the outer wood, while several old repairs suggested that the vessel had enjoyed a reasonably eventful existence.

Unfortunately, its most recent adventure had been rather unpleasant.

A long gouge ran along the lower side of the hull, where a jagged rock had scraped away paint and splintered the wood. One plank had cracked near a supporting rib, and a narrow gap had opened between two adjoining boards. I crouched beside Nima, studying the damage while she pressed her fingers against the broken section.

"That's worse than I thought," she murmured, her voice tight with disappointment. "I knew she was taking on water, but I couldn't see the whole crack while we were trying to reach shore."

Pathik examined the exposed seam, then moved toward the stern to check the rest of the boat. "The damage is substantial," he admitted, looking toward Nima with concern. "Some of the smaller gaps may be repaired, but this plank will need more than a little sealing material. I wouldn't trust it to withstand another open-water crossing in its present condition."

Nima lowered her head.

For a moment, she simply rested her palm against the damaged wood. Her thumb moved slowly over the faded green paint, tracing a shallow scratch that looked much older than the recent collision. It was such a small gesture that I might have overlooked it if I hadn't already been watching her.

"Your boat?" I asked, sitting back on my heels.

Nima glanced toward me and nodded. "It belonged to my father," she explained, her expression softening as she looked along the hull. "He bought the frame when I was little, and we spent two summers repairing it together. She wasn't much to look at even then, but she's carried us through plenty of rough weather."

I looked toward the stern.

A faded name had been painted along the uppermost plank, though years of salt and sunlight had worn away several letters. I leaned closer, trying to make out the writing while Nima watched with a faint smile.

"The Little Heron," she supplied, touching the faded letters. "Father said she looked like a heron standing in the shallows because her bow sat too high. I told him it was a silly name, but he liked it."

"Not bad," I replied, examining the shape of the bow. "Could've called it the Floating Turnip. That would've been worse."

Nima laughed unexpectedly, covering her mouth with one hand.

"That's exactly the sort of name Tavi would've chosen," she admitted, shaking her head. "He wanted to rename her the Sea Dragon when he was seven, but Father said a boat that size had no business making promises it couldn't keep."

I grinned at that.

Her father sounded like someone I'd have enjoyed meeting.

For a little while, Nima told me about learning to sail aboard the Little Heron. She remembered her father teaching her to recognize changing currents, the way the sea darkened before a storm, and the importance of keeping a vessel balanced when crossing narrow channels. I listened with genuine interest, occasionally asking questions about the hull's construction or how the boat behaved in rough water.

It was fascinating how much knowledge could be hidden inside something so ordinary.

A boat wasn't merely a collection of wooden planks floating upon water. Its shape determined how it moved through waves, its weight affected stability, and its construction had to accommodate forces that constantly changed with the sea. Even the overlapping arrangement of the planks served a purpose, allowing the hull to remain relatively light while resisting the pressure of water moving against it.

I was beginning to imagine an enormous ship with multiple connected hulls when Nima touched the damaged plank again.

"Do you think we can fix it?" she asked Pathik, looking toward the old man with cautious hope.

Pathik considered the question carefully. "We may be able to make temporary repairs," he answered, examining the exposed frame. "But I wouldn't recommend taking it between the islands until a proper boatwright replaces the damaged section. The sea can be unforgiving, especially when the weather changes unexpectedly."

Nima nodded, though disappointment settled across her face.

I looked toward the boat, considering what we'd discovered. The crack was too long to trust with a simple patch, and the supporting wood beneath it might have suffered damage that wasn't immediately visible. Even if we managed to stop the leak while the boat sat in shallow water, that wouldn't mean it could safely withstand several miles of open sea.

"So we need another boat," I observed, sitting back against the sand.

Nima sighed. "Looks that way."

I tilted my head.

"Doesn't mean you have to leave this one forever," I suggested, glancing toward the sheltered cove. "Could keep it here until you find someone who can fix it."

She looked toward me, clearly considering the possibility.

Pathik nodded thoughtfully. "There are fishermen who visit this island regularly," he explained. "If we can move the skiff above the highest tide and secure it properly, it should be possible to arrange repairs later. Though we'd still need to find somewhere sheltered from the worst storms."

Nima looked toward the damaged hull again, her expression thoughtful rather than hopeless.

"That would be enough," she admitted. "I don't need to take her with us right now. I just don't want to lose her."

I nodded.

That made sense.

Some things were worth keeping even when they weren't particularly useful anymore. I had no intention of telling her that a wooden boat was merely an object and that she should stop worrying about it. People became attached to the strangest things, and I wasn't about to criticize someone for loving a piece of wood when I'd once spent several days grieving the loss of a particularly comfortable pillow.

Besides, the Little Heron had a nice name.

It deserved better than becoming driftwood.

We spent the next hour examining the boat and its surroundings.

Nima knew considerably more about the skiff than either Pathik or I did, and she quickly took the lead in deciding which pieces of equipment could be salvaged. The mast appeared intact, though the sail needed repairing, while one of the oars had snapped near its middle. Several coils of rope remained usable, and a small wooden chest beneath the stern seat had survived without taking on much water.

The chest contained fishing hooks, spare cord, a few tools, and a collection of small belongings wrapped in oilcloth. Nima checked each item carefully before setting it aside, occasionally smiling when she discovered something that had survived the storm. At one point, she uncovered a little wooden carving shaped like a fish, its fins exaggerated and one eye painted considerably larger than the other.

"Tavi made that," she explained when she noticed me looking. "He was supposed to be helping Father mend the nets, but he got bored."

I picked up the carving and examined it.

It was a terrible fish.

Absolutely dreadful.

The body was too round, the tail was crooked, and the mouth appeared to be smiling in a way no self-respecting fish should ever attempt. I found it rather charming.

"He's got talent," I decided, turning the carving over. "Maybe not for fish, but definitely for something."

Nima laughed as she took it back. "Father said the same thing. Tavi got offended and refused to speak to him until dinner."

I smiled, imagining the little boy stubbornly defending his artistic masterpiece. It was easy to forget that the people I'd met here possessed entire histories beyond the handful of days I'd known them. Nima had once been a little girl learning to sail, Tavi had once spent afternoons carving ridiculous fish, and their father had apparently enjoyed teasing his children whenever the opportunity presented itself.

I wondered whether the man's story had actually ended.

Disappeared wasn't the same as dead, after all.

Still, I didn't ask.

Nima had already shared enough, and I wasn't particularly interested in dragging painful possibilities into the conversation simply because I happened to be curious.

Instead, I returned my attention to the boat.

The damaged plank interested me, particularly the way the wood had split along its grain. I crouched beside the crack and examined the exposed fibers, trying to understand how the impact had transferred force through the overlapping boards. Nima explained that a boatwright would ordinarily replace the damaged section, though some fishermen carried sealing compounds and spare patches for smaller leaks.

"What happens if you just fill the crack?" I asked, looking toward her.

"The wood moves," Nima answered, crouching beside me. "It swells when it's wet and shrinks as it dries. A patch that looks fine on shore can start leaking once the boat twists in rough water."

I nodded slowly.

That was interesting.

So the problem wasn't merely covering the opening. The repair needed to remain secure while the hull bent and shifted beneath changing loads, which meant the material had to tolerate movement without separating from the wood.

I found myself wondering whether ice could ever be useful for temporary repairs.

Probably not in ordinary circumstances.

Frozen water expanded, became brittle, and melted when the surrounding temperature increased. Even if I somehow managed to seal a crack with ice, the result would be temporary at best, and adding pressure to already damaged wood might make matters worse.

Still, the thought led somewhere interesting.

What if the cold itself affected how materials behaved?

I knew that temperature changes influenced expansion, contraction, and the strength of certain substances. With sufficient precision, a Coldbender might eventually manipulate those properties deliberately, perhaps making something more brittle or preserving an object that would otherwise deteriorate.

Then again, the difference between imagining such a technique and performing it was currently rather enormous.

I could barely cool a bowl of water.

The universe was unlikely to reward me for attempting advanced material engineering before learning how to freeze a puddle.

"Jinx?" Nima asked, waving one hand near my face.

I blinked.

She was looking at me with mild amusement.

"Hm?"

"You've been staring at that plank for a while," she explained, gesturing toward the crack. "Did you notice something?"

I looked toward the wood again.

"Not really," I admitted. "Just thinking."

Nima smiled. "About the boat?"

"Mostly."

Pathik, who had been examining the nearby shoreline, chuckled softly. "I've discovered that mostly can cover quite a remarkable range of subjects when Jinx is involved," he observed, approaching with his walking staff. "Yesterday, he became so absorbed in an imaginary kingdom that he forgot I was asking whether he'd eaten lunch."

I frowned.

"That kingdom had a civil war," I explained, looking toward the old man. "It was important."

Nima laughed.

Pathik smiled.

Neither seemed particularly impressed by the gravity of imaginary political conflict, which I considered a sad commentary on modern society.

By early afternoon, we'd managed to move the skiff farther up the beach.

It required more effort than I'd hoped.

Naturally.

Nima arranged the remaining ropes around the hull while Pathik helped clear the sand and stones beneath it. I contributed by gathering pieces of driftwood that could be used as rollers, an idea that proved considerably more practical than simply dragging the boat across the beach. Once we'd positioned the first few logs beneath the hull, we worked together to move it a short distance at a time, adjusting the rollers whenever one slipped sideways.

The boat was heavier than it looked.

My arms began aching almost immediately.

I was beginning to regret every decision that had led me to this moment when Nima noticed my expression and laughed.

"You're doing fine," she assured me, gripping the rope with both hands. "Just keep pulling when I count."

"That's what I'm worried about," I muttered, tightening my grip. "The pulling part."

She laughed again, then called for another coordinated effort. The three of us leaned into the ropes, and the Little Heron shifted forward with a low scraping sound as the rollers moved beneath its hull. Sand scattered around the logs, and for a moment I thought the boat might slide sideways, but Nima adjusted the tension before it could settle awkwardly.

A few more attempts brought it above the line of seaweed marking the previous night's high tide.

We stopped to rest.

I immediately sat down.

The sand was warm, my hands hurt, and I had discovered that dragging boats across beaches was not nearly as entertaining as watching people do so in stories. Still, the skiff now rested upon firmer ground beneath a natural overhang, where the surrounding rocks offered some protection from wind and waves.

Pathik examined our progress with satisfaction. "That should keep her reasonably secure for now," he observed, looking toward Nima. "We'll add a few more supports and tie her to those rocks before we leave. If another storm comes, the ropes should help prevent her from shifting."

Nima nodded, though she remained cautious. "I'll check the knots," she replied, moving toward the bow. "Father always said a boat was only as safe as the person who tied it down."

I looked toward the skiff again.

Despite the damaged hull and faded paint, it seemed a little less miserable now that it wasn't lying crookedly against the wet sand. The afternoon sunlight warmed the wood, and the name along its stern remained faintly visible.

The Little Heron.

I hoped it would sail again someday.

While Nima inspected the ropes, I wandered toward the edge of the cove, where small pools of seawater had collected among the rocks. The tide was low enough to expose patches of dark stone covered in algae, and little creatures moved through the shallow water whenever my shadow passed overhead.

I crouched beside one pool.

Something darted beneath a rock.

I leaned closer.

A tiny creature with a fishlike tail and four little legs emerged from the darkness, its eyes protruding above a rounded head. It paused when it noticed me, then scurried sideways along the stone with an expression of profound suspicion.

I stared.

It stared back.

Then it opened its mouth and produced a faint croaking sound.

"...You're weird," I informed it, smiling.

The creature croaked again.

I found that rather rude.

I extended one finger toward the water, moving slowly enough that the little animal wouldn't feel threatened. It watched my hand for a moment before retreating beneath its rock, apparently deciding that I wasn't worth the trouble.

Fair enough.

I sat beside the pool and watched the sunlight move across its surface.

The water was warmer than I'd expected, particularly where it rested within shallow depressions in the dark stone. The rocks had absorbed sunlight throughout the day, and their stored warmth was gradually passing into the water around them. A little farther away, another pool remained noticeably cooler because it spent most of the afternoon beneath the shadow of an overhanging cliff.

I dipped my fingers into the first pool.

Warm.

Then into the second.

Cooler.

I smiled faintly.

There it was.

The sort of thing I'd been thinking about since visiting the shrine.

Nature was constantly demonstrating the effects of energy moving between different substances. Sunlight warmed the rocks, the rocks warmed the water, and the surrounding air carried some of that warmth away. The process wasn't mysterious, but seeing it unfold naturally gave me something more concrete to imagine than the invisible particles I'd been constructing inside my head.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

Warmth wasn't a substance stored in one place like a pile of coins.

It was a measure of energy moving through matter, and temperature differences determined how that energy naturally transferred between objects. Coldbending, however, seemed to reach beyond ordinary transfer, subtracting energy rather than simply directing it somewhere else.

At least, that was the theory.

The problem was that I'd never actually tested what happened to the removed energy.

It didn't seem to enter my body, and I hadn't noticed the surrounding air becoming warmer whenever I cooled water. Perhaps it simply ceased to exist, or perhaps the bending process involved something I couldn't perceive.

That was worth investigating.

I dipped one finger into the warmer pool and concentrated.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then the familiar pressure developed beneath my skin.

The water cooled slightly around my fingertip.

Not enough to freeze, but enough that I could distinguish the change.

I smiled, then deliberately stopped before the headache I'd experienced during earlier experiments could develop.

Interesting.

I touched the surrounding rock.

It remained warm.

The air above the pool felt unchanged.

I couldn't prove anything from such a small experiment, but the absence of any obvious increase in surrounding warmth was consistent with the possibility that my bending wasn't merely transferring heat somewhere else.

I reached for my notebook.

Then realized I'd left it in my bag near the boat.

Annoying.

I was about to stand when a distant sound interrupted my thoughts.

A low mechanical rumble.

Not thunder.

Something steadier.

I looked toward the entrance of the cove.

Beyond the cliffs, the sea glittered beneath the sunlight, and a faint plume of dark smoke was rising above the distant horizon.

For a moment, I simply watched it.

Then my expression changed.

Oh.

That wasn't good.

"Nima," I called, rising from the rocks. "What's that?"

She looked toward me, following the direction of my outstretched hand. For a moment, her expression remained curious, but then she noticed the smoke drifting above the distant sea and went very still.

Pathik approached from beside the boat.

"What have you found?" he asked, looking toward the narrow opening of the cove.

I pointed toward the smoke.

"Ship," I answered. "Big one, I think."

Nima moved quickly toward a higher rock, shading her eyes with one hand as she studied the horizon. Her expression tightened, and I noticed the way her shoulders rose as she recognized something I couldn't yet distinguish.

"Fire Nation," she whispered.

I stepped beside her.

The vessel gradually emerged from behind a distant headland, its dark metal hull cutting through the water while smoke poured from a tall funnel near its center. A broad section of red-painted armor rose above the deck, and I could make out the unmistakable silhouette of a Fire Nation naval vessel moving through the channel between our island and a smaller neighboring landmass.

It wasn't one of the enormous warships I'd seen in the animated series.

At least, not by comparison with some of the monstrous vessels used during the later stages of the war.

But from here, standing on a beach with nothing more dangerous than a handful of rocks and some embarrassingly weak bending abilities, it looked enormous.

The ship was real.

Its armor was real.

And somewhere aboard it were armed soldiers belonging to a nation that had spent the past hundred years attempting to conquer the world.

A strange chill settled in my stomach.

It wasn't exactly fear.

Not entirely.

More like the uncomfortable realization that something I'd previously regarded as part of a story now possessed the ability to kill me if I happened to stand in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I'd watched Fire Nation ships sail across television screens before.

Seeing one moving through actual water was different.

Very different.

Nima climbed down from the rock, her face pale.

"We need to get out of sight," she said quickly, looking toward the damaged skiff. "If they see the boat, they might come closer. They search fishing vessels sometimes, especially around the smaller islands."

Pathik regarded the distant ship with concern, though he remained calm. "Then we should avoid drawing attention," he agreed, looking toward the cliffs surrounding the cove. "There are sheltered places along the trail. We can wait until the vessel has passed before continuing our work."

I glanced toward the Little Heron.

The boat rested beneath the rocky overhang, its dark green paint blending reasonably well with the surrounding shadows. From the sea, most of the hull would be concealed by the projecting rocks, particularly while the tide remained low.

But its mast was still visible.

A narrow wooden pole extended above the edge of the overhang, catching the sunlight whenever the breeze moved the loose rope attached to it.

I stared at it for a moment.

Then looked toward the approaching ship.

"They might see the mast," I said, pointing toward the upper part of the boat.

Nima followed my gaze.

Her expression sharpened.

"You're right," she admitted, immediately moving toward the skiff. "We should lower it."

Pathik joined her, and together they began loosening the remaining rigging. I helped gather the rope while Nima released the mast's support, carefully guiding the wooden pole downward until it rested against the hull. The entire process took only a few minutes, though the approaching rumble of the ship made each moment feel considerably longer.

Once the mast was secured, we retreated toward the rocks at the back of the cove.

The ship continued moving through the channel.

I crouched beside a low stone wall, watching it through a narrow opening between two boulders. From this position, I could see the vessel clearly without standing in the open, though I wasn't entirely sure how much anyone aboard could distinguish from the distance.

Nima settled beside me.

Her hands were trembling.

I noticed because she'd pressed them against the stone, apparently trying to keep them still.

I glanced toward her.

"You okay?" I asked quietly.

She nodded.

Then shook her head.

"I hate those ships," she admitted, staring toward the sea. "Every time I see one, I think about Father."

I didn't answer immediately.

There wasn't much to say.

The ship continued its steady passage beyond the cove, indifferent to whatever memories its presence had awakened in the woman beside me.

After a moment, I shifted slightly and rested my back against the rock.

"Yeah," I murmured. "I get it."

Nima looked toward me, perhaps expecting something else.

I didn't offer anything.

She eventually returned her attention to the sea.

For a while, we watched in silence.

The Fire Nation ship slowed near the eastern edge of the channel.

I noticed the change when the vessel's wake began spreading differently behind its stern, the white water narrowing as its forward movement decreased. A few figures appeared near the deck railing, and one raised something that looked like a long viewing scope toward the neighboring island.

Nima stiffened.

"They're looking for boats," she whispered.

I watched the figures carefully.

Perhaps they were.

Or perhaps they were simply examining the coastline.

I couldn't tell from this distance, and I wasn't particularly interested in pretending otherwise. Still, the ship's presence had turned an ordinary afternoon into a considerably more complicated situation, and I found myself searching for possible ways to avoid drawing its attention.

The most obvious solution was to remain hidden.

Unfortunately, that didn't solve Nima's larger problem.

Even if the patrol passed without noticing us, the siblings still needed transportation to another island, and any fishing vessel approaching the cove might be spotted by the same ship.

I looked toward the surrounding cliffs.

The cove's entrance faced the channel, but a long rocky headland extended from its western side. Beyond that headland, the coastline curved around toward a second, narrower inlet that I'd glimpsed from the mountain trail earlier.

I remembered seeing a strip of pale sand there.

And something resembling an old wooden mooring post.

Perhaps fishermen used it.

I turned toward Nima.

"Is there another landing on this side of the island?" I asked quietly.

She looked at me, surprised by the question.

"There's a smaller inlet west of here," she answered after a moment. "We passed it when we were trying to reach the cove, but the entrance looked too narrow for our boat during the storm."

I nodded.

"Would a smaller fishing boat fit?"

"Probably," she replied, glancing toward the headland. "Why?"

I pointed toward the rocks.

"That headland blocks the view from the main channel," I explained. "If someone came around the western side, they might be able to reach the smaller inlet without passing directly in front of that ship."

Nima studied the coastline for several moments.

Then her expression changed.

"Maybe," she admitted, leaning forward slightly. "There's a fishing route around the far side of the island. Most boats avoid the eastern channel when Fire Nation patrols are around."

Pathik, who had been watching the vessel from farther back, approached quietly.

"Then perhaps we should consider signaling from the western side once the patrol has moved away," he suggested, looking toward Nima. "You mentioned that fishermen from the neighboring islands sometimes visit these waters."

Nima nodded slowly.

"There's a man named Bera who fishes around here," she explained. "He's from a village on the nearest island west of us. Father used to trade with him, and he knows our boat."

I considered that.

Someone she knew.

Someone with a reason to help.

That was considerably better than hoping a random passing vessel would decide to rescue two stranded travelers.

"Can you signal him?" I asked.

"If I see his boat," Nima answered, sounding increasingly thoughtful. "Fishermen use different cloth patterns to identify one another from a distance. We could hang a signal from the western rocks, but we'd have to be careful not to attract the patrol."

I looked toward the ship again.

It was still moving slowly through the channel.

The figures along its deck remained too distant to identify individually, and I had no idea whether anyone aboard possessed unusual bending abilities or specialized equipment. I wasn't inclined to test their eyesight by standing on an exposed cliff waving colorful fabric around.

"Then don't signal yet," I suggested, glancing back toward Nima. "Wait until they're gone. We can check the other inlet first."

She considered that for a moment.

Then nodded.

"That's probably safer," she agreed.

Pathik smiled faintly.

"A sensible precaution," he observed, looking toward the distant vessel. "There's no need to rush while the ship remains nearby."

I settled back against the rock.

For once, I was pleased that nobody had suggested some elaborate heroic plan involving sneaking aboard an enemy warship.

That sounded like an excellent way to die.

Again.

And I'd already decided that one death was more than enough for the foreseeable future.

We remained hidden until the Fire Nation vessel resumed its journey through the channel.

The ship eventually turned eastward, its smoke trailing behind it as it moved toward the neighboring islands. For several minutes, we could still hear the faint rumble of its engines, but the sound gradually faded until only the waves remained.

Nima exhaled slowly.

I hadn't realized how tense she'd become until I saw her shoulders relax.

Pathik waited a little longer before suggesting that we return to the boat. We finished securing the mast and checked the ropes holding the skiff beneath the overhang, taking care to ensure that a rising tide wouldn't immediately undo our efforts. Nima appeared satisfied with the arrangement, though she remained reluctant to leave the vessel behind.

I understood.

The Little Heron wasn't merely transportation.

It was one of the few things she had left from her father.

Once we'd gathered the remaining supplies, we followed a narrow path along the western side of the cove. The trail climbed gently through a stretch of coastal vegetation before descending toward a rocky shelf overlooking the second inlet. From there, we could see the headland blocking most of the eastern channel, while a sheltered patch of water curved inward beneath the cliffs.

The inlet was smaller than the cove we'd just left.

Its entrance was narrow, but the surrounding rocks protected it from much of the open sea. A weathered mooring post stood near the upper edge of the beach, half-hidden beneath climbing vines, and several old rope marks suggested that boats had used the landing before.

Nima looked relieved.

"This could work," she said, examining the water. "Bera's boat isn't much bigger than ours, and he knows how to handle narrow channels."

I looked toward the western horizon.

Several small islands were visible beyond the headland, their forested slopes rising from the sea. A few distant sails moved between them, though I couldn't tell whether any belonged to fishermen.

"How far is his village?" I asked.

"Not far by boat," Nima answered. "A few hours if the wind's good. Longer if we have to row."

I nodded.

That sounded manageable.

Certainly more manageable than attempting to walk across the sea.

We spent some time examining the landing and discussing possible signals. Nima explained that fishermen from her home island sometimes tied strips of colored cloth to poles or raised distinctive arrangements of sails to identify themselves from a distance. Such signals weren't secret codes, exactly, but people familiar with the local boats could usually recognize who was asking for assistance.

The difficulty was choosing something visible enough for friendly fishermen to notice without attracting unnecessary attention from passing patrols.

We eventually settled upon a simple plan.

Nima would use a narrow strip of faded green cloth from her damaged sail, tied beneath a shorter white strip to indicate that the crew needed assistance. Rather than raising it immediately, we'd prepare the signal and leave it ready near the western landing, then watch for a familiar fishing vessel when the patrol was no longer nearby.

It wasn't particularly dramatic.

There would be no daring battle.

No spectacular bending technique.

No heroic speech about freedom.

Just a few people trying to help someone reach the next island without being noticed by soldiers who might make their lives considerably worse.

I found the simplicity rather comforting.

After all, not every problem needed to be solved by setting something on fire.

A lesson I suspected certain members of the Fire Nation might benefit from learning.

The western inlet possessed one particularly unfortunate quality.

It was filled with interesting things.

Now, that might sound like an advantage, and under ordinary circumstances I would have agreed. Unfortunately, I'd discovered that the more interesting my surroundings became, the more likely I was to forget whatever I'd originally intended to accomplish. This was especially troublesome when traveling with other people, who occasionally expected me to remain aware of such trivial matters as time, distance, and whether they were still walking beside me.

I was crouching beside a cluster of rain-filled hollows in the rock when Pathik found me.

The pools were shallow, each containing clear water left behind by the previous night's storm. Unlike the saltwater pools farther down the beach, these little pockets rested above the reach of the tide, where rain had collected beneath the shelter of an overhanging cliff. Some were exposed to the afternoon sunlight, while others remained hidden in shadow, creating small differences in temperature that I found unexpectedly fascinating.

I had been watching one particularly shallow pool for several minutes.

The sunlight had warmed the surrounding rock, but a narrow stream of cool air was passing through a crack beneath the cliff. The water closest to that opening felt noticeably colder than the water farther away, even though the two pools sat only a short distance apart.

It was a perfectly ordinary phenomenon.

And that made it interesting.

"Found something?" Pathik asked, approaching with his walking staff resting loosely in one hand.

I looked up from the little pool.

"Maybe," I answered, touching the damp rock beside it. "The water over here is colder than the rest."

Pathik crouched nearby, examining the small hollow. "The wind passes through that opening," he observed, gesturing toward the crack beneath the cliff. "And this side receives very little sunlight."

I nodded.

"Yeah. I was wondering about something."

The old man waited, apparently recognizing that I'd become interested in another experiment. I appreciated that about him. Pathik rarely demanded that I explain every thought immediately, which was fortunate because sometimes I hadn't yet decided what I was thinking.

I picked up a smooth pebble from beside the pool.

Its upper surface was warm, while the side that had rested against the damp stone felt noticeably cooler. I turned it slowly between my fingers, considering how the temperature difference had developed without any supernatural assistance.

"Everything's always moving energy around," I murmured, mostly to myself. "Even when it looks like nothing's happening."

Pathik regarded the pebble thoughtfully.

"That seems a reasonable observation," he replied. "And what are you hoping to learn from it?"

I smiled faintly.

"Whether I can do something similar without touching anything."

Pathik's eyebrows rose.

He glanced toward my hand, then toward the pool.

"Your cold technique?" he asked.

"Mm-hm."

The old man considered that for a moment before settling onto a nearby stone. "Then perhaps you should begin with something small," he suggested. "And stop if you begin feeling unwell."

I nodded.

That seemed fair.

I wasn't particularly interested in discovering how much damage my own bending could do to me, especially when the nearest proper healer was probably several islands away.

I placed the pebble beside the pool and reached toward a little patch of rainwater resting upon a flat leaf.

The leaf had fallen from one of the coastal trees and landed beneath the cliff, where a small amount of water had gathered in its curled center. I carefully moved it onto a dry stone, then withdrew my hand until my fingertips hovered a few inches above the surface.

The distance was tiny.

Barely enough to fit another hand between my fingers and the water.

But it was still a distance.

I took a slow breath.

Then another.

Instead of imagining the water freezing, I focused on what I'd observed throughout the afternoon.

The warmth in the rock.

The cooler air moving beneath the cliff.

The sunlight falling upon one side of the stone.

The difference between something that had been warmed and something that hadn't.

I imagined the little drop of water as a collection of movement, then pictured a portion of that energy disappearing.

Not moving into my fingers.

Not traveling into the surrounding air.

Simply becoming absent.

For several moments, nothing happened.

I maintained my concentration, resisting the urge to lean closer or touch the leaf.

The air smelled of salt and damp stone.

A seabird cried somewhere beyond the headland.

Then the familiar pressure appeared.

I felt it beneath my fingertips, faint enough that I almost missed it. There was no dramatic rush of power, no sudden gust of freezing wind, and certainly no magnificent display of supernatural brilliance.

Just a strange, delicate sensation.

I held my breath.

The water trembled slightly.

Then a thin white trace formed along one edge of the leaf.

My eyes widened.

It was barely visible, a tiny crystalline pattern no larger than the width of my fingernail. For a moment, it caught the sunlight and glittered against the green surface before my concentration scattered and the strange pressure vanished.

I stared.

Then leaned closer.

The little patch of frost was already beginning to disappear.

"...Oh," I whispered, smiling before I could stop myself.

Pathik leaned forward, examining the leaf with genuine curiosity.

"That was interesting," he remarked, looking toward my hand. "You didn't touch the water."

I shook my head.

"Nope."

"How do you feel?"

I considered the question, flexing my fingers.

A faint ache had developed behind my eyes, and my hand felt strangely heavy. The sensation wasn't particularly severe, but it was noticeable enough to discourage another immediate attempt.

"A little tired," I admitted. "Not bad, though."

Pathik nodded thoughtfully.

"Then perhaps that's enough experimentation for today," he suggested, settling back against the stone. "You've already discovered something new, and there will be plenty of opportunities to investigate it further."

I looked toward the leaf again.

The frost had vanished completely.

But I'd seen it.

Pathik had seen it too.

For the first time, I'd managed to cool something without placing my fingers directly against it.

The effect was small, inefficient, and probably required considerably more effort than an ordinary waterbender would need to accomplish something similar.

But it was mine.

I grinned.

"That's so cool," I murmured, then paused as I realized what I'd said.

Pathik began laughing.

I looked toward him.

Then toward the leaf.

"...That wasn't intentional."

His laughter only grew louder.

I sighed, although I couldn't quite stop smiling.

Apparently, even the universe was making jokes at my expense now.

We began climbing back toward the temple in the late afternoon.

Nima carried the remaining personal belongings she'd salvaged from the Little Heron, while Pathik had taken several of the heavier tools and pieces of rope. I volunteered to carry a smaller bundle, partly because I wanted to help and partly because Nima had already spent the entire afternoon working on the boat.

She'd protested when I offered.

I ignored her.

Not because I considered myself particularly generous, but because she looked tired, and I was perfectly capable of carrying a few tools without collapsing.

Probably.

The return trail was steeper than I'd remembered, especially where it climbed away from the western inlet and joined the old mountain path. My legs began complaining almost immediately, though the cool forest air made the journey more pleasant than the exposed cliffs.

I walked beside Nima for a while, listening as she described the neighboring islands.

Some supported small fishing villages, while others were little more than forests and rocky beaches. A few possessed old shrines or ruins, and several were avoided by local sailors because of dangerous currents or stories about strange creatures living along their shores.

Naturally, that last detail captured my attention.

"Strange creatures?" I asked, glancing toward her.

Nima smiled.

"Mostly stories," she replied. "Fishermen like exaggerating things, especially when they've spent too long at sea."

"What kind of stories?"

She considered the question.

"There's supposed to be an island farther south where enormous turtle-like creatures crawl onto the beach at night," she explained. "Some fishermen claim their shells glow beneath the moonlight. Others say they aren't turtles at all, just rocks that move when nobody's watching."

I stopped walking.

Glowing turtles.

Moving rocks.

An entire island of mysterious nighttime creatures.

That sounded wonderful.

"Where?" I asked.

Nima laughed.

"I don't know exactly. It's just something people tell children."

I stared at her.

"That's not an answer."

She laughed harder.

Pathik, who had been walking several steps ahead, glanced back toward us.

"Jinx, perhaps you might save your expedition to the mysterious turtle island for another day," he suggested, looking amused. "We've still got a long climb ahead."

I sighed and resumed walking.

"Fine."

But I intended to remember that story.

One didn't simply hear about glowing turtles and forget them.

That would be irresponsible.

The conversation continued as we climbed, and Nima eventually began asking questions about me. She wanted to know where I'd come from, whether I had any family nearby, and how I'd ended up living with Pathik in an abandoned Air Nomad temple.

I answered what I could.

Not much, admittedly.

But enough that she understood I wasn't particularly interested in discussing my past.

After a while, she stopped asking.

I appreciated that.

Instead, we talked about the sea.

Nima told me about learning to recognize different currents by watching how foam moved around rocks, and how experienced sailors could sometimes predict changing weather by studying the color of distant clouds. She explained that the smaller islands were connected through a network of fishing routes and informal trading agreements, many of which had existed long before the Fire Nation began interfering with the region.

I listened carefully.

Not because I expected to become a sailor.

The idea of spending several days trapped aboard a small boat with nowhere comfortable to sleep sounded rather unpleasant.

But the knowledge was interesting.

And the more Nima explained, the more I began imagining ways that bending might influence navigation, shipbuilding, and the movement of water.

Eventually, my thoughts wandered so far that I failed to notice Pathik had stopped walking.

I nearly collided with him.

The old man looked down at me with a faint smile.

"Lost in thought again?" he asked.

I blinked.

"Hm?"

Nima laughed behind me.

Pathik shook his head, though his expression remained warm.

"We've reached the lift," he explained, gesturing toward the old wooden platform waiting beneath the mountain terrace.

I looked up.

The temple's upper buildings rose far above us, their curved rooftops glowing beneath the late-afternoon sunlight.

Relief washed over me.

"Oh, thank goodness," I murmured, stepping toward the platform. "I was starting to think we'd have to climb the whole mountain."

Nima chuckled.

"You're not much of a traveler, are you?"

I considered that.

"Not yet."

It was a simple answer.

But as I stepped onto the lift and watched the forest gradually fall away beneath us, I realized I was beginning to enjoy the idea of becoming one.

The next two days passed more peacefully.

Tavi's ankle continued improving, though he still needed support when walking longer distances. Nima spent much of her time repairing the family's remaining belongings, sewing the torn edges of their traveling clothes and preparing the signal cloth we'd discussed at the western inlet.

Pathik helped where he could, occasionally checking the weather from the temple's higher terraces and watching for fishing vessels moving between the islands. He also showed Nima an old chart of the surrounding coast, though several of its markings were outdated, and she ended up correcting more than a few details.

I found that particularly entertaining.

There was something deeply satisfying about watching a young fisherwoman explain local navigation to a spiritual guru who had lived for approximately a century and a half.

Pathik didn't seem offended.

Quite the opposite.

He asked questions, listened carefully, and appeared genuinely pleased to learn about changes that had occurred since his last journey through the neighboring islands.

That was another thing I liked about him.

The old man didn't seem embarrassed by not knowing something.

He simply learned.

An excellent habit.

One I intended to imitate whenever doing so didn't require an unreasonable amount of effort.

Tavi, meanwhile, had apparently decided that I was the most entertaining person available.

This was a questionable decision on his part.

I spent a considerable amount of time doing absolutely nothing, after all, and I wasn't particularly inclined to become someone's permanent source of amusement.

Unfortunately, the boy seemed fascinated by that very quality.

One afternoon, he found me lying beneath a tree in the meditation garden, staring at the clouds while imagining an enormous floating city inhabited by tiny dragon-like creatures.

"What are you doing?" he asked, lowering himself carefully onto the grass beside me.

I glanced toward him.

"Nothing."

He looked up at the clouds.

Then back at me.

"You've been staring at the sky for ages."

"Mm-hm."

"Why?"

I considered the question.

"Thinking."

"About what?"

I turned toward him.

"Dragons."

Tavi blinked.

Then grinned.

"What kind of dragons?"

Well.

That was a much better question.

I spent the next half hour explaining the imaginary creatures I'd been designing, including their unusual wings, their habit of building nests inside floating islands, and the complicated relationship they possessed with the tiny people who lived among them.

Tavi listened with increasing enthusiasm.

Naturally, he began suggesting his own ideas.

One dragon should have enormous horns.

Another should breathe purple fire.

A third should possess six legs and be able to swim through clouds as though they were water.

I accepted some suggestions and rejected others, though we eventually agreed that a particularly stubborn dragon should spend most of its time sleeping instead of participating in the adventures everyone expected of it.

Tavi thought that was hilarious.

I thought it was perfectly sensible.

By the time Pathik found us, we'd constructed an entire imaginary kingdom, complete with rival dragon clans and a rather unfortunate prince who had accidentally declared war upon his own grandmother.

The old man stood nearby for several moments, listening with obvious amusement.

"An interesting story," he remarked when we finally noticed him. "Though I wonder whether the prince might have avoided his difficulties by speaking with his grandmother before declaring war."

Tavi considered that.

Then looked toward me.

I shrugged.

"Probably. But that'd be boring."

Pathik laughed.

Tavi grinned.

And the imaginary war continued.

The opportunity to leave the island arrived the following morning.

I was helping Pathik carry a small basket of dried food toward the lower courtyard when Nima came running through the archway, her expression brighter than I'd seen it since our first meeting.

"There's a boat!" she announced, pointing toward the western sea. "I saw a green-and-white sail coming around the far island. I'm almost sure it's Bera."

Pathik set down the bundle he'd been carrying.

"Then perhaps we should go and see," he suggested, glancing toward the clear morning sky. "The weather is favorable, and the sea appears calm enough for a careful approach."

I looked toward the basket in my hands.

Then toward the distant mountains.

Another trip down the island.

My legs protested in anticipation.

Still, I smiled.

"Guess we're going."

Nima laughed.

"You're coming too?"

"Yeah."

I adjusted the basket against my hip.

"Want to see if your friend's real."

She gave me an amused look.

"He's real, Jinx."

"That's what you say."

Pathik chuckled as we gathered the remaining supplies.

Tavi joined us a short while later, moving carefully with the assistance of a simple wooden walking stick. His ankle had improved enough that he could bear some weight, though Pathik insisted that he avoid the steepest portions of the trail and use the lift wherever possible.

We traveled slowly.

There was no reason to rush.

By the time we reached the lower station, the sun had climbed above the mountains, and the distant sea glittered beneath a cloudless sky. From a sheltered overlook, we could see the small fishing vessel moving along the western side of the island, its green-and-white sail clearly visible against the blue water.

Nima waved both arms.

"Bera!" she shouted, though the boat was still too far away for anyone aboard to hear.

I smiled at her enthusiasm.

The vessel continued moving toward the neighboring channel, following a route that would eventually carry it past the western inlet. Nima quickly retrieved the signal cloth she'd prepared and tied it to a short wooden pole near the sheltered landing.

Two strips of cloth moved in the breeze.

White above.

Green below.

The signal was simple, but Nima assured us that Bera would recognize it if he came close enough.

For several minutes, nothing happened.

The boat continued along its course.

Then its sail shifted.

A figure near the stern raised one arm.

Nima gasped.

"That's him!"

The little vessel changed direction, turning carefully toward the island's western coast.

I watched with growing interest.

The boat's captain clearly knew the surrounding waters, guiding his vessel through the narrow approach with practiced movements. Its sail was lowered as it entered the inlet, and two crew members prepared ropes while the boat drifted toward the old mooring post.

An older man stood near the stern.

He was broad-shouldered, sunburned, and possessed an impressive gray beard that looked as though it had spent many years arguing with the ocean. A faded blue headscarf covered most of his hair, while a collection of fishing hooks hung from a leather belt around his waist.

The moment he recognized Nima, his expression changed.

"Nima?" he shouted, leaning forward in disbelief. "By the spirits, girl! What are you doing here?"

She laughed, though I noticed tears gathering in her eyes.

"It's a long story!" she called back, helping one of the crew members secure a rope. "We got caught in the storm. The Little Heron took a bad hit."

Bera's expression became serious.