The first flame I managed to produce that morning lasted about as long as a sneeze. It appeared above my knuckles in a tiny flicker of orange, trembled for a moment, and vanished before I could decide whether I was supposed to be pleased with myself. I stared at my hand, then at the empty courtyard, wondering if the universe was deliberately making fun of me.
I tried again, adjusting my feet on the cool stone. The Eastern Air Temple was still mostly in shadow, with sunlight reaching only the upper edges of the surrounding buildings. Somewhere beneath the roof, two birds were making an incredible amount of noise over what sounded like a very personal disagreement, and the wind coming in from the sea kept blowing my hair across my eyes.
The second attempt produced nothing. Neither did the third, although I did manage to get that strange warmth moving through my chest before losing it somewhere between my shoulder and my fingertips. I lowered my hand and frowned, trying to remember exactly what had felt different during the first attempt.
It wasn't the movements themselves. I'd been practicing the same basic stance for several days, and while I was hardly an expert, I could at least perform it without falling over. The problem seemed to be something in the breathing, or perhaps the way I concentrated on the warmth once it appeared.
I closed my eyes and imagined a tiny ember resting beneath my ribs. It was easier to picture than the enormous fire dragons my imagination kept inventing, and considerably less distracting. I drew a slow breath, felt a faint stirring of warmth, and stepped forward as I exhaled.
A little flame appeared.
I grinned, and it immediately went out.
"Oh, come on," I muttered, dropping my arm. "I barely did anything."
The birds overhead continued squabbling, completely unimpressed by my suffering. I considered whether scaring them away with a burst of fire would be a useful training objective, then remembered that I couldn't reliably produce enough flame to light a candle. Besides, the birds hadn't actually done anything wrong, unless being annoyingly loud counted as a crime.
I settled onto the edge of the training platform, stretching my legs in front of me. Several days of practice had taught me that having an unusual amount of bending potential didn't magically provide the knowledge necessary to use it. Death had been generous with the wishes, certainly, but apparently the skeletal bastard hadn't considered throwing in a few lessons.
Then again, I'd been the one who asked for potential rather than mastery. There wasn't much point complaining about receiving exactly what I'd requested, especially when the possibilities were interesting enough to occupy me for hours. I looked at my hands again, remembering the pressure that accompanied Coldbending and comparing it with the warmth I'd felt while attempting fire.
The two sensations were so different that I sometimes wondered how they could belong to the same body. Coldbending felt like reaching toward the movement inside something and gradually taking it away, whereas firebending required a current that had to be maintained through breath and physical action. One became easier when I settled into quiet concentration, and the other seemed to disappear whenever I became too still.
I liked the contradiction. There was probably something important hidden inside it, although I hadn't the slightest idea what that might be yet. Perhaps the answer would become obvious after another few weeks of practice, or perhaps I'd spend the rest of my life attempting to understand it.
A warm breeze moved through the courtyard, lifting a few loose strands of hair from my face. I watched them fall again and briefly considered cutting my hair shorter, but I liked the way it looked and wasn't particularly inclined to change it. Instead, I leaned backward on my hands and let my mind drift toward a new possibility involving fire, ice, and an enormous floating castle with a central heating system.
The castle was going rather well when someone spoke behind me.
"You're awake early."
I turned to find Pathik standing beneath the archway, carrying a small basket and wearing the familiar, faintly amused expression he'd developed over our time together. His saffron robes stirred gently in the breeze, and he paused to look at the faint scorch marks on the stone in front of me.
"Couldn't sleep," I explained, pushing myself upright. "Got two flames this time."
"Two?" Pathik repeated, smiling as he approached. "Then I imagine you're quite pleased. How are you feeling?"
I flexed my fingers and considered the question. They felt normal, apart from a little warmth that was already fading, though my shoulders were getting tired from repeating the same movement. "Fine," I answered. "I think I'm doing something wrong with my breathing."
Pathik lowered himself onto the platform beside me. He listened while I explained what I'd noticed, asking a few questions without pretending to understand the firebending itself. He knew a great deal about meditation and the relationship between breath and attention, but he'd been careful to remind me that spiritual knowledge wasn't a substitute for learning from someone who actually practiced the art.
"Perhaps you're becoming too focused on the result," he suggested after I'd finished. "When you're thinking about producing the flame, are you still aware of how you're breathing?"
I thought about that. Most of the time, I was so interested in whether the fire had appeared that everything else became secondary. "Not really," I admitted, glancing at my hand. "I think I stop when it happens."
Pathik nodded thoughtfully. "Then that may be worth paying attention to. You might also benefit from resting before you become exhausted."
I looked toward the sunlight spreading across the upper courtyard. The old man was probably right, and I wasn't especially interested in practicing until my arms became too tired to move. Besides, the smell of breakfast had begun drifting from somewhere beyond the corridor.
"Is there food?" I asked, looking toward his basket.
Pathik laughed softly and stood. "There is, although I was hoping you'd ask about breakfast before spending your morning practicing. Come along, and we can talk while we eat."
I followed him into the temple, my thoughts already shifting toward the possibility of a warm meal. If there was one lesson I understood perfectly, it was that almost every difficult problem became more tolerable after eating something good.
Unfortunately, I hadn't even finished breakfast before another interesting problem presented itself.
The sound came from the direction of the lower supply lift, a series of metallic strikes that carried faintly through the temple's courtyards. I paused with a spoonful of rice halfway to my mouth, listening as the bell rang several more times before falling silent. It was too deliberate to be one of the wind chimes, and the rhythm suggested that someone was trying to attract attention.
Pathik looked toward the doorway. "Ah, we have a visitor," he observed, placing his cup beside the breakfast pot. "Someone must have reached the lower station."
I swallowed my rice and turned toward him. "Do people come up here often?"
"Not very," Pathik answered, rising from the table. "Fishermen occasionally stop at the island, and some know how to reach the supply lift. I suppose we should see who's arrived."
I considered the remaining rice. Abandoning breakfast seemed wasteful, but visitors were interesting, especially when they came from the islands I'd spent several days watching from the temple. I ate another few mouthfuls before following Pathik outside, bringing a piece of fruit along in case the unexpected activity interfered with lunch.
We crossed the courtyard and approached the broad staircase overlooking the lower station. From here, the forested mountainside dropped away toward the sea, where small islands rose through the morning haze. A few fishing vessels moved through the channel below, their sails catching the sunlight.
Someone was waiting beside the supply lift. He wore a faded blue headscarf, carried a large woven basket over one shoulder, and possessed the sort of gray beard that looked permanently irritated by the weather. I recognized him immediately, though he seemed considerably more cheerful than the last time I'd seen him.
"Bera!" I called, raising a hand.
The fisherman looked up and grinned. "There he is! I was wondering whether that pretty little rascal was still asleep."
I frowned at the greeting, though I couldn't help smiling when he began laughing. "I'm awake," I informed him, which seemed fairly obvious under the circumstances.
"So I see." Bera shifted the basket on his shoulder as Pathik approached. "Morning, Guru. Brought a few things from the village, seeing as I was passing this way."
Pathik greeted him warmly and offered to help with the basket. Bera waved him off, explaining that the weight wasn't worth worrying about, before setting it upon a low stone bench. The woven covering concealed several wrapped parcels, a small jar of preserved fruit, dried fish, and what appeared to be a carefully bundled collection of medicinal herbs.
I looked at the basket, then at Bera. "How are Nima and Tavi?"
The fisherman's smile softened. "They're well. Tavi's ankle is healing, though he's getting restless, and Nima's been helping my wife with the nets while we find them a ship to the mainland."
I smiled, genuinely relieved. The siblings had left the temple several days earlier, and although I'd hoped their journey would go smoothly, I knew perfectly well that the world wasn't obligated to accommodate my wishes. "Good," I answered, remembering the crooked shell resting beside my bed.
Bera scratched his beard. "That boy's been telling everyone stories about dragons, by the way. Apparently, he's going to find one and teach it to fly him around the world."
I laughed, remembering the afternoon Tavi and I had spent inventing an entire kingdom of flying dragons. "He made that part up," I replied. "I told him the dragon would probably eat him."
"Did you now?" Bera's grin widened. "Well, he's convinced you know an awful lot about them. I wouldn't be surprised if he starts looking for one next time we go fishing."
Pathik chuckled, apparently enjoying the conversation as much as Bera. He asked after the fisherman's family, and the two spent several minutes discussing the recent weather, the fishing routes, and whether the Fire Nation patrols had continued appearing near the surrounding islands. I listened with interest, though I grew distracted when Bera mentioned that he'd be traveling to a market on another island the following morning.
"A market?" I repeated, looking toward him.
Bera nodded. "Keshan Island. Need fresh sailcloth and a few things for the boat, so I'll be stopping there before heading home."
I looked toward the ocean, trying to imagine which island he meant. I'd seen several settlements from the water during our earlier journey, but none closely enough to understand what ordinary life in a busy Earth Kingdom trading town looked like. The possibility of visiting one was immediately more interesting than anything else we'd been discussing.
"Is it big?" I asked.
"Big enough," Bera answered with a chuckle. "There's a proper harbor, plenty of shops, and food stalls all along the waterfront. You'd like it."
Food stalls.
Well, that settled the matter.
I turned toward Pathik, who was examining one of the bundles Bera had brought. "Can we go?"
The old man glanced up, clearly surprised by the speed of my decision. "As it happens, I need several supplies that aren't available here. Writing paper, medicinal herbs, and a few replacement tools would be useful, though I hadn't planned to travel quite so soon."
Bera spread his hands. "Come with me, then. I've got plenty of room, and the weather looks good for tomorrow."
Pathik considered the offer before nodding. "That would be very kind of you. Provided everything is ready here, I see no reason we couldn't make the journey."
I grinned.
Bera noticed and burst out laughing. "Never seen a boy look so happy about visiting a market. You'd better save some coins for the trip, though. Those sellers can smell an eager customer from across the harbor."
I had no coins.
That particular difficulty hadn't occurred to me.
I looked toward Pathik, wondering whether I could somehow acquire a small fortune between breakfast and tomorrow morning. The old man seemed to recognize the question forming on my face, because his smile grew slightly wider.
"We can discuss spending money later," he assured me. "For now, perhaps you could help me carry Bera's supplies inside."
I sighed, then reached for one of the smaller bundles. At least there was a reward waiting at the end of this particular errand, and an entire island full of interesting things seemed a reasonable exchange for carrying a few jars through the courtyard.
That evening, I packed my shoulder bag while sitting cross-legged beside the window.
The bag wasn't particularly large, but I'd already managed to fill most of it with objects I considered potentially useful. There was my notebook, a flask of water, a little cloth for wrapping anything I bought, and a smooth black pebble I'd collected during our earlier trip to the coast. I also found several things that had no obvious reason to be there, including a piece of colored string and a small wooden ring I'd picked up somewhere around the temple.
I examined the ring for a moment, trying to remember why I'd kept it. Nothing came to mind, so I returned it to the table and resumed packing. The pebble remained, largely because I liked its shape and had become oddly attached to it.
Tavi's shell rested beside my sleeping mat. I'd considered bringing it with me, though I didn't want it rattling around among my other belongings or getting lost in the market. After a little experimentation, I threaded a narrow piece of cord through the opening near its edge and tied it loosely around my neck.
The shell settled beneath my shirt, light enough that I barely noticed it. I smiled and turned toward the window, where the last of the evening sunlight was fading over the sea. Somewhere beyond those distant islands, Nima and Tavi were probably finishing dinner with Bera's family, unaware that I was preparing to visit a place I'd never seen before.
I wondered what Keshan would look like.
My imagination supplied an enormous city with winding streets, floating lanterns, and hundreds of merchants selling magical artifacts. That was probably a little excessive for an ordinary fishing market, but I couldn't entirely help myself. Before long, I'd invented a shop selling bottled moonlight and another run by an elderly spirit who exchanged secrets for unusual seashells.
The shopkeeper was about to reveal a particularly interesting secret when I heard a knock.
"Jinx?" Pathik called from the doorway. "Have you finished preparing for tomorrow?"
I turned toward him, still holding a spare piece of cord. "Almost. Do I need anything else?"
Pathik stepped inside and examined the little collection of objects spread across my sleeping mat. His eyes paused on the smooth black pebble before returning to the bag, though he was kind enough not to ask why I considered a random stone an essential traveling supply.
"Nothing particularly unusual," he answered. "We'll be returning before evening if the weather remains favorable. A little food and water should be enough, and the market will have plenty of both."
I nodded and began putting the remaining items away. Pathik watched for a moment before reaching into his sleeve and removing a small cloth pouch. He placed it upon the table beside me, where it landed with a faint metallic clink.
I blinked.
"What's that?"
"A little money for the market," he explained. "You've been helping around the temple, and I thought you might enjoy choosing something for yourself."
I picked up the pouch and loosened the cord. Several small coins rested inside, stamped with designs I didn't recognize, and I turned one between my fingers while imagining everything I might buy.
"Thanks," I said, smiling up at him. "I'll find something good."
"I'm sure you will." Pathik's expression softened, then became faintly amused. "You might want to look around before spending it all, though. It's easy to become excited when everything is unfamiliar."
I nodded, completely confident in my ability to exercise reasonable judgment. I'd survived three consecutive near-death experiences on Earth, an actual death, and the inconvenience of being reincarnated into a world at war. Surely I could manage a simple shopping trip without doing anything spectacularly foolish.
As it turned out, that confidence was deeply misplaced.
I woke before Pathik came to get me.
That alone should have been considered a miracle, though I was far too interested in the coming trip to appreciate the significance of my achievement. The eastern sky was still pale when I sat beside my window, watching a thin layer of mist drift between the temple's mountain peaks. Far below, the ocean was beginning to reflect the first traces of sunlight, and small fishing boats were already moving through the channels between the neighboring islands.
I dressed quickly, fastening my burgundy sash and pulling on my fur-trimmed leather boots. My hair had apparently decided to spend the night attempting to become an entirely different species of creature, so I dampened my fingers and tried smoothing it into something vaguely respectable. The effort accomplished very little, leaving the black strands hanging in their usual uneven arrangement, with one side falling across my right eye.
I looked at my reflection in a shallow basin of water. The violet eyes staring back at me belonged to an extraordinarily pretty boy, although the combination of my soft features and messy hair probably explained why strangers sometimes mistook me for a girl. I tilted my head, briefly imagining how I'd look with my hair tied back, then decided I preferred it loose.
Pathik was waiting outside when I finished packing. He carried a larger bag containing several items he intended to trade, while his walking staff rested against one shoulder. The old man seemed pleasantly surprised to see me approaching without any encouragement.
"You're ready already," he observed, smiling as I joined him. "I was expecting to find you asleep."
I adjusted the strap across my shoulder. "Couldn't wait."
"So I see." Pathik glanced toward the distant coastline, where sunlight had begun spilling across the forest. "Then we should make an early start. Bera will probably be preparing his boat by now."
We descended through the lower courtyards and reached the old supply lift shortly afterward. I'd become familiar with the mechanism during our previous journey, but I still found its arrangement of ropes and counterweights interesting enough to inspect whenever I passed. The platform creaked softly as Pathik released the brake, carrying us down the mountainside while the temple's rooftops slowly disappeared above the cliffs.
I leaned against the railing and watched the forest rise around us. The trees were still wet with morning dew, and distant birds moved between the branches in little flashes of color. A waterfall spilled down the opposite slope, sending mist into the air where sunlight transformed it into a faint rainbow.
A movement near the lower station caught my eye. Something small and green was climbing across a fallen branch, its round shell covered in moss and a cluster of tiny yellow flowers. I recognized the little creature immediately and leaned forward for a better look.
"Pathik, there's one with flowers," I said, pointing toward the branch.
He followed my gaze and smiled. "Ah, another moss crab. That one seems particularly well decorated."
I watched it disappear beneath a root. "They're cute."
"They certainly are," Pathik agreed. "Although I suspect they appreciate being left to explore the forest in peace."
I glanced toward him, amused that he'd anticipated my next thought. He had an unfortunate talent for that, particularly when it involved my interest in collecting unusual creatures. I was still watching the root when the lift reached the lower station, forcing me to reluctantly abandon the possibility of acquiring a tiny walking garden.
We followed the trail toward the western inlet, where Bera's boat waited between the rocks. The fishing vessel looked much less intimidating in the morning sunlight than it had during our previous encounter, its green-and-white sail folded neatly along the mast. Two sailors were arranging cargo near the stern while a younger man argued with Bera about how to secure a bundle of fishing nets.
"I tied it the way you said," the young man insisted, pulling at a length of rope. "It's not going anywhere."
Bera gave the knot an unimpressed look. "You said that last week, and we lost half the net overboard."
"That was different," the young man protested, looking offended by the comparison. "The rope broke."
"Because you tied it wrong," Bera replied, shaking his head before noticing us. His expression brightened immediately, and he raised a hand in greeting. "Morning, Guru! Morning, Jinx! Come aboard whenever you're ready."
I stepped carefully from the landing onto the deck, accepting the young sailor's hand when the boat shifted beneath my feet. The wooden planks moved in a way that felt strange after spending so much time on solid stone, and I instinctively stiffened until Bera told me to relax my knees. Once I stopped fighting every little movement, balancing became considerably easier.
"First time on a boat?" the younger sailor asked, examining me with open curiosity. He had short brown hair, a narrow face, and the faint beginnings of a beard that seemed unsure whether it wanted to exist.
"Second," I answered, remembering our earlier trip from the temple's island to the western inlet. "Still feels weird."
The young man laughed. "You'll get used to it. I'm Daro, by the way. That's my uncle over there, in case he hasn't already started complaining about something."
Bera shouted from the stern that he could hear perfectly well, earning an amused grin from Daro. I introduced myself and followed him toward a sheltered spot near the bow, where a few empty crates provided somewhere to sit without getting in the crew's way. Pathik settled nearby while the sailors finished preparing the boat.
We departed shortly afterward, gliding between the rocky edges of the inlet before turning toward open water. The sail filled with wind, and the boat leaned gently as it gathered speed. I held the railing and watched the Eastern Air Temple's island rise behind us, its forested mountains climbing toward three enormous peaks connected by ancient bridges.
The view made me realize just how isolated the temple really was. There were no roads connecting the island to the Earth Kingdom mainland, no bridges spanning the open sea, and no convenient way to travel between the surrounding islands without a boat or a flying creature. The Air Nomads must have found the arrangement perfectly reasonable, but I suspected their opinions had been strongly influenced by possessing sky bison.
I looked toward the highest peaks, trying to imagine Appa soaring between them. An enormous fluffy creature capable of carrying me across the world would have been useful for any number of reasons, most of which involved avoiding unnecessary walking. Perhaps someday I'd find one, although the idea of persuading a sky bison to trust me seemed considerably more complicated than simply wishing for it.
Bera joined me near the bow, holding two pieces of dried fruit. He offered me one before leaning against the railing, watching the water move alongside the hull.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked.
I nodded and took a bite. "Yeah. It's nice out here."
"Good weather for it," Bera replied, glancing toward the pale clouds gathered above the eastern horizon. "Wind's steady, and the currents shouldn't give us much trouble. We ought to reach Keshan before the market gets too busy."
I examined the water beside the boat. Long bands of foam curved around the hull, breaking into little swirls that vanished almost as quickly as they formed. Farther away, the sunlight caught the waves in thousands of bright flashes, making it difficult to see beneath the surface.
Then something silver moved through the water.
I leaned forward, watching a long, narrow shape pass beneath the boat before disappearing into deeper blue. A moment later, the creature surfaced briefly on the opposite side, revealing a ribbonlike body decorated with little blue markings.
"Bera, what was that?" I asked, pointing toward the place it had vanished.
The fisherman followed my gaze. "Ribbonfish, probably. They're common around these channels when the water gets warm."
I waited, hoping he might tell me something interesting about them. Instead, he took another bite of dried fruit and mentioned that the fish weren't particularly good eating unless prepared carefully.
I stared at him. "You see a weird silver fish, and that's what you think about?"
Bera laughed. "I've spent forty years fishing these waters, boy. Most things in the sea eventually become a question of whether they're worth catching."
I considered that for a moment before nodding. He had a point, even if I found the creature considerably more interesting alive than sitting on someone's dinner plate. I returned my attention to the ocean, hoping something even stranger might appear before we reached the market.
The journey lasted long enough for me to learn several things about Keshan and the surrounding islands. Bera explained that the settlement served as a trading point for fishermen, craftsmen, and merchants traveling along the eastern Earth Kingdom coast. It wasn't a particularly large town compared with the great mainland cities, but its sheltered harbor made it useful during favorable weather and relatively easy to reach from nearby islands.
He also warned us that Fire Nation patrols sometimes traveled through the outer channels. Their appearances had become less predictable during the war, and smaller settlements generally preferred to avoid drawing attention. I remembered the dark warship we'd seen during our previous coastal excursion and glanced toward the open sea, relieved that nothing resembling it was visible.
Daro eventually joined our conversation and began describing some of the market's more unusual attractions. There was an elderly craftsman who sold mechanical puzzles, a woman who made little animal figurines from colored glass, and a cook whose honey-sesame cakes were apparently famous throughout the harbor. That last detail immediately captured my attention.
"Are they good?" I asked, turning toward him.
Daro grinned. "Best I've ever had. My uncle once bought a whole basket and ate most of them before we got home."
Bera protested that the basket had been intended for his family, though Daro seemed entirely unconvinced. I laughed as the two began arguing about the incident, their voices carrying across the deck while Pathik quietly enjoyed the exchange.
By the time Keshan Island appeared on the horizon, I'd learned that fishermen were apparently incapable of telling a simple story without turning it into a disagreement. I rather liked that about them, particularly because neither Bera nor Daro seemed genuinely annoyed. Their arguments had the comfortable rhythm of people who'd known one another long enough to understand precisely which insults were harmless.
The island grew larger as we approached, revealing a forested hillside rising above a broad natural harbor. Small houses with green-tiled roofs clustered along the shore, while workshops and warehouses occupied the lower streets near the waterfront. Wooden piers extended into the sheltered water, crowded with fishing boats, merchant vessels, and people carrying goods between the decks and nearby buildings.
I stood as we entered the harbor.
The noise reached us before the smells. Merchants called across the piers, sailors shouted instructions while securing their vessels, and somewhere farther inland a group of musicians was playing a cheerful tune that drifted above the surrounding conversation. Gulls circled overhead, occasionally diving toward scraps of food before retreating from the angry gestures of vendors.
Then the smell of cooking reached me.
Spices, warm oil, roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and something sweet mingled with the salt air. I inhaled slowly, trying to identify everything at once, before deciding that the simplest solution would be to find the sources and taste whatever looked good.
Bera noticed my expression. "There it is," he said, grinning as the crew prepared to dock. "Keshan Market. Try not to eat the whole island."
I smiled without looking away from the waterfront. "No promises."
Keshan was wonderful.
That was my conclusion after approximately five minutes of wandering through the waterfront streets, and nothing I saw afterward did much to change it. Canvas awnings stretched between wooden buildings, narrow lanes twisted uphill through rows of shops, and the entire market seemed determined to fill every available space with noise, color, and interesting smells.
There were fishermen selling their morning catch, merchants displaying bundles of brightly dyed cloth, and craftsmen arranging pottery or wooden carvings upon low tables. Children raced through the crowds carrying baskets, occasionally receiving sharp warnings from adults who were trying to conduct business without being knocked over. Near one corner, an elderly man was demonstrating a little wooden puzzle to a group of fascinated customers, while two women argued cheerfully over the price of fresh vegetables.
I looked everywhere, trying to absorb as much as possible.
Part of the excitement came from recognizing the world I'd once watched on a screen. The clothing, architecture, and everyday objects all possessed the familiar character of the Four Nations, though seeing them in person revealed details that animation had never needed to show. The streets smelled of damp wood and cooking smoke, the stone beneath my boots was uneven, and ordinary people moved through their daily lives without the slightest concern for whether an Avatar might eventually appear.
A little girl ran past carrying a basket of oranges, nearly collided with a man transporting a crate of fish, and shouted an apology without slowing down. The man called after her, but she was already disappearing into the crowd, apparently convinced that whatever awaited her was more important than listening to another lecture.
I smiled.
It was good to see children behaving like children.
Pathik walked beside me, occasionally slowing to examine a stall or greet someone who recognized his robes. His appearance attracted a few curious looks, though most people seemed more interested in their own business than in an elderly spiritual teacher visiting the market. I appreciated that; it was nice being somewhere that didn't treat every unusual person as the beginning of some grand prophecy.
We stopped near a stall selling medicinal herbs, where a middle-aged woman with graying hair welcomed Pathik and began showing him several bundles of dried roots. The two quickly became absorbed in a conversation about the quality of the harvest, leaving me free to examine the various plants arranged beneath the awning.
One bundle smelled pleasantly of mint. Another possessed a sharp, almost peppery aroma that made my nose itch, while a third smelled as though someone had forgotten wet leaves inside an old shoe. I leaned closer to confirm the impression, then immediately regretted it.
"That one's awful," I muttered, stepping backward.
The merchant heard me and laughed. "My grandson says the same thing whenever I make him drink it. Works well for stomach complaints, though."
I nodded, still trying to escape the smell. "Poor kid."
Pathik chuckled without looking up from the herbs. He was comparing two bundles of roots, apparently deciding which would be more suitable for whatever medicines he intended to prepare at the temple. I watched for another minute before becoming distracted by a small food stall across the street.
A woman stood behind a shallow pan filled with little golden cakes. She was turning them with wooden sticks, occasionally brushing their surfaces with something that glistened beneath the sunlight. A tray beside her held finished pastries coated in sesame seeds and drizzled with honey.
I looked toward Pathik. "Can I go over there?"
He followed my gaze, then smiled. "Certainly. Just stay nearby so we don't lose one another."
I nodded and started toward the stall, only for the old man to call me back. When I turned, he held out a few coins from the pouch he'd given me, explaining that they were smaller denominations better suited to purchases at the market. I thanked him and tucked them away, already considering which cake looked most delicious.
The woman running the stall noticed me immediately. She was broad-faced and cheerful, with dark hair tucked beneath a patterned headscarf and flour dusting the front of her apron.
"Morning, sweetheart," she greeted as I approached. "Want something warm?"
I looked toward the tray. "What are those?"
"Honey-sesame cakes," she answered, lifting one with her wooden sticks. "Made fresh this morning. Crispy outside, soft in the middle."
They looked magnificent. I asked the price, discovered that I could easily afford one, and handed over the required coins before accepting a warm cake wrapped in thin paper.
The first bite was extraordinary.
The outside cracked gently between my teeth, revealing a soft center with just enough sweetness to make me close my eyes for a moment. Honey clung to the sesame seeds, and the warmth of the freshly cooked dough made the whole thing taste even better. I stood beside the stall, chewing slowly while trying to decide whether it was the best thing I'd eaten since arriving in this world.
The woman laughed at my expression. "Good?"
I swallowed and nodded. "Really good."
"Want another?"
I looked at the remaining cakes. There were several fresh ones, all equally tempting, and the thought of saving one for later seemed like an excellent idea. I bought two more, carefully wrapping them before slipping them into the outer pocket of my bag.
That should have been enough.
It wasn't.
A little farther along the street, I discovered a vendor selling sweet bean buns, followed by another offering grilled rice balls filled with vegetables and seasoned fish. I wanted to try both, so I did, telling myself that sampling unfamiliar food was an important part of learning about the local culture. By the time I reached a stall selling bright orange fruit, I'd already begun forgetting how much money I'd spent.
The fruit seller's son offered me a slice while his father spoke with another customer. The boy was about my age, with a round face and an impressive collection of freckles scattered across his nose. He watched me taste the fruit, then grinned when I immediately asked what it was called.
"Sunmelon," he explained. "My family's orchard grows them near the hot springs on the northern island."
I examined the bright flesh and tiny black seeds. "Does it grow anywhere else?"
"Some places," he answered, scratching his cheek. "Likes warm weather, though. Doesn't grow too well up in the mountains."
That was interesting. I wondered whether someone skilled enough at controlling temperature could create a suitable environment for unusual plants, even in places where they normally wouldn't survive. The possibilities expanded rapidly, and I was halfway through imagining an enormous greenhouse made from supernatural ice when the boy asked whether I wanted another slice.
I blinked, realizing I'd stopped listening. "Hm? Oh, yeah. Thanks."
He laughed and handed me another piece. I eventually bought a small portion of the fruit, adding it to my growing collection of snacks before returning toward the herb stall.
Pathik was finishing his purchases when I arrived. His eyes moved toward my bag, then toward the honey still clinging to my fingertips, and I noticed a familiar glimmer of amusement enter his expression.
"Found something you enjoyed?" he asked.
I nodded enthusiastically. "The food's great."
"So I see." Pathik accepted one of the cakes I offered him and took a small bite, smiling at the taste. "Very good. Did you leave yourself enough money for the other things you wanted to see?"
I paused.
Then opened my pouch.
The remaining coins looked distinctly less impressive than they had that morning. I counted them once, frowned, and counted again, apparently hoping that arithmetic might become more cooperative if approached with sufficient determination.
It didn't.
"...Not much," I admitted, looking up.
Pathik examined my expression, then the food tucked into my bag. He didn't scold me or offer more money, though his smile suggested he knew exactly what had happened.
"Well, you still have plenty of time to look around," he said gently. "Perhaps you'll find something inexpensive that you like."
I nodded, accepting the situation with more dignity than I felt. The food had been delicious, and I wasn't prepared to pretend otherwise, but it was beginning to occur to me that I might have been a little careless.
That realization became considerably more painful ten minutes later.
The woodcarver's stall stood beneath a faded green awning near the center of the market.
Its owner was an elderly man with broad hands, a narrow face, and a pair of spectacles balanced near the end of his nose. He sat behind a table crowded with miniature animals, decorative boxes, carved combs, and little figures whose craftsmanship varied from charmingly simple to astonishingly detailed. A collection of small tools rested beside his knee, and he was carefully shaping a piece of wood while customers examined the display.
I noticed the sky bison almost immediately.
It stood near the center of the table, no larger than my palm, with six carefully carved legs and a broad tail covered in tiny grooves resembling fur. The arrow upon its head had been painted blue, and its expression was wonderfully sleepy, as though the little creature had just awakened from an exceptionally satisfying nap.
I picked it up carefully.
The wood was smooth and warm from sitting beneath the sunlight, and the details became even more impressive when I turned it between my fingers. Its little face reminded me of Appa, although the carving's drooping eyelids made it look considerably lazier.
I wanted it.
"That's a nice one," the old man remarked, looking up from his work. "Made it after hearing a sailor tell stories about the old airbenders."
I smiled at the carving. "How much?"
He named a price.
I opened my pouch.
Then stared at the coins.
Not enough.
Of course.
The old carver watched my expression and chuckled. "Little short, are you?"
"Yeah," I admitted, returning my attention to the figure.
"Well, it'll probably still be here next time. Not many people come looking for sky bison these days."
I turned it over one last time before carefully returning it to the table. It was disappointing, but I couldn't exactly blame the old man for expecting payment, and I wasn't inclined to ask him to lower the price simply because I'd spent most of my money eating cakes.
"Did you ever see a real one?" I asked.
The carver shook his head. "Not me. My grandfather claimed he'd seen whole groups of them flying over the islands when he was young. Said they were so big they could block the sun if one passed directly overhead."
I smiled at the thought. An enormous sky bison drifting above the sea, casting a shadow over the boats below, sounded like a wonderful sight. I wanted to see one even more now, especially after remembering Pathik's stories about how comfortable their fur was.
"Hope I get to see one," I murmured.
The old man nodded, his expression softening. "Would be something, wouldn't it?"
I thanked him and moved away, though I glanced back at the carving once before disappearing into the crowd. I decided to remember the stall's location in case I ever returned with more money. The little sky bison had immediately become one of my favorite things in the entire market, and I wasn't ready to abandon the possibility of owning it.
Unfortunately, the next stall was selling notebooks.
I stopped in front of a neat display of handmade paper, inkstones, and writing brushes, suddenly remembering how few blank pages remained in my own notebook. The paper was thicker and smoother than what I'd been using at the temple, and several small books had been bound with sturdy thread that would probably survive being carried around in my bag.
I picked up one and examined its pages. It was exactly what I wanted for recording experiments, observations, and the occasional drawing. I asked the price, already suspecting the answer would be unpleasant.
It was.
I looked down at my pouch again.
Three coins remained, and the notebook cost more.
I sighed.
The merchant, a woman with neatly braided hair and ink stains on her fingertips, watched me with mild sympathy. "Saving up for something, dear?"
"Was," I answered, returning the notebook to the table. "Got hungry."
She laughed, apparently understanding immediately. "Happens to my son every market day. He never remembers what he wanted until after he's spent everything."
I smiled reluctantly. That sounded uncomfortably familiar, and I wasn't particularly pleased to discover that my remarkable intelligence had failed to protect me from such an ordinary mistake. I examined the notebook once more before deciding that looking at it wasn't going to improve my financial circumstances.
Pathik found me standing beside the stall a few moments later. He glanced at the notebook, then at my expression, and waited while I explained what had happened.
"Ah," he said, smiling gently. "I see."
"Yeah." I looked toward the little pouch at my waist. "I should've looked around first."
"Perhaps," Pathik agreed. "But now you know what you'd like to save for. That's useful too."
I nodded, though I was still mildly annoyed with myself. He could have bought the notebook without difficulty, but I was grateful he didn't immediately offer. The coins had been mine to spend, and I'd made my decision; I could live with the consequences without turning the situation into someone else's responsibility.
Besides, the cakes had genuinely been excellent.
I wasn't going to apologize for enjoying them.
As we continued through the market, I considered whether there might be some clever way to earn a few extra coins before we left. Unfortunately, the only useful skills I possessed were still developing, and I doubted anyone would pay to watch me produce an occasionally successful candle flame. I could perhaps offer to invent elaborate stories for children, but the idea of turning my daydreams into a business seemed like an excellent way to make them feel like work.
I abandoned that possibility almost immediately.
Then I smelled smoke.
Not the familiar aroma of cooking fires or the sharp smell of burning charcoal drifting from the food stalls. This was different, carrying the dry scent of heated clay and stone, accompanied by a steady warmth that seemed to be coming from somewhere beyond the crowded market street.
I turned toward a narrow lane between two workshops.
The smell grew stronger whenever the wind shifted.
Interesting.
I stopped walking and looked toward Pathik, who was examining a shop selling replacement tools and pieces of rope. He appeared to be comparing two small metal fittings, though he glanced up when I approached.
"Can I look down there?" I asked, pointing toward the lane.
Pathik followed my gaze. "What have you found?"
"Not sure. Something's burning."
He looked toward the distant rooftops, where a thin trail of smoke rose above the buildings. "Likely one of the workshops. There are several pottery kilns in this part of town."
I considered that. A pottery kiln wasn't exactly mysterious, but something about the steady heat had captured my attention, and I wanted to see how it worked.
"Can I go look?"
"Of course," Pathik answered, smiling as he returned to examining the fittings. "I'll be here for a little while. Just ask before entering anyone's workshop, and come back if you decide to go farther."
I nodded and slipped into the lane, carefully avoiding a porter carrying an enormous basket of pottery toward the market. The noise of the crowded street faded behind me, replaced by the quieter sounds of people working with wood, rope, and metal.
The smell of heated clay grew stronger.
I followed it around a corner.
And discovered something considerably more interesting than I'd expected.
The pottery workshop occupied the end of the lane, where a broad stone building stood behind a little courtyard filled with shelves of drying clay vessels. Most of the building was open toward the street, allowing the sea breeze to move through the work area, but a separate room near the back radiated enough heat that I could feel it before reaching the entrance. A narrow chimney rose above its tiled roof, releasing a thin stream of smoke into the afternoon sky.
I stopped near a shelf of finished bowls.
Some were glazed in deep green, while others possessed pale blue patterns resembling waves. A few large jars stood near the doorway, their surfaces decorated with flowers, birds, and little curling shapes that reminded me of the clouds carved into the Eastern Air Temple's walls.
The workmanship was beautiful, but it wasn't the pottery that had attracted me.
It was the fire.
The heat coming from the rear room seemed unusually steady. I'd watched ordinary cooking fires throughout the market, and their intensity changed constantly as fuel burned and fresh air moved across the flames. This kiln was different, its warmth almost perfectly even despite the shifting breeze.
I leaned closer to the narrow opening in the firing room's outer wall. Inside, orange light flickered behind the bricks, and I could hear the faint roar of burning fuel. For a moment, the glow grew slightly brighter before returning to its original intensity, as though someone had adjusted the flame without changing the amount of air entering the chamber.
I frowned.
Was there some kind of mechanism inside?
I was about to move around the side of the building when a woman's voice interrupted me.
"If you're planning to stick your head in there, don't."
I turned.
A woman stood in the workshop entrance, holding a long wooden tool and a folded cloth. She looked to be somewhere in her forties, with dark hair tied into a practical knot and several loose strands escaping around her temples. Pale clay dust covered her forearms and the front of her brown work clothes, while a small scar crossed the knuckle of her left hand.
She wasn't particularly beautiful or imposing. Her features were ordinary, with a slightly crooked nose and tired lines near her eyes, but the way she held herself suggested someone accustomed to dealing with problems without making a fuss. She looked at me, then toward the kiln, and sighed.
"That thing's hot enough to burn you before you realize what happened," she continued, setting her wooden tool against the doorway. "If you're curious, ask. Don't go poking around."
I glanced toward the firing room. "Sorry. I was looking at the fire."
"I noticed." The woman folded her arms, examining me with an expression that suggested she'd dealt with curious children before and hadn't enjoyed every encounter. "You buying something, little miss?"
I blinked.
There it was again.