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Blue and red bodies surround her, she tries to keep running while she struggles to stay on her feet as warm blood melts the ash-caked snow.
Where’s her mother? She was supposed to stay with her mom. But Sokka looked like he was having so much fun making snowballs and Katara’s been kept busy doing chores but where’s mom━
Their igloo’s curtains are singed at the bottom. Black boots can be seen along with brown hands clenched tightly in the owner’s lap. The tribe only wears animal skin shoes no one wears black.
The young girl wastes no time flinging the fabric aside to hug her mother and wake up from this nightmare.
“Mom!” Katara shouts frantically.
But instead blue meets gold and there's no more air. Despite her parka Katara’s blood goes cold and her body is frozen. She can’t look away from his golden eyes.
“Just let her go and I’ll give you the information you want,” Kya says in a stern voice to the man.
“You heard your mother. Get out of here!” The man said, angling his body more towards Katara.
“Mommy,” Katara breaks eye-contact with him to look at her mother, “I’m scared.”
Kya doesn’t move to answer her daughter for a moment, not until the man raises his fist.
“Go find your dad sweetie, I’ll handle this.” Her smiles meant to come off as sweet and lovingly but all Katara can feel is bitter.
With a final glance at the man Katara runs and runs, searching for her father.
Daddy can save mommy.
But he didn’t. Mom’s gone and she’s never coming back, she belongs to the spirits now.
May Yue guide and care for her spirit.
Katara gently touches her necklace, remembering her mom’s still warm neck when she removed it to keep as a token of a mother’s love.
It’s days when Katara is ill that she misses her mother the most.
Misses being tucked into bed after her mom rubbed special paste made up of blubber and pepper berries on her chest. Waking up the next morning better than ever.
She sees him in every pair of gold eyes. They could be the most joyful and cheer filed eyes but there will always be coldness hidden behind the bliss.
She knows she shouldn’t. He’s long dead by now, a frail old man who grew a garden in his yard.
It’s not fair. Why did he get to grow old and wrinkly? Why did he get to live but not her.
Hand on her stomach, Katara whispers to herself, “Kya. I want to name you Kya.”