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Katara’s eyes scan over Aang as he tells her of how he came to be frozen in the iceberg. She takes in his hunched shoulders, the way he won’t meet her eyes, and her heart pangs. His voice, normally so bright and cheerful, is filled with self-loathing and anger. He ran because he was afraid of being taken away from the only home he’d known, ran because he was afraid of being separated from the one person who didn’t see the Avatar, the one person who still saw Aang .
She supposes that to some, leaving might seem irrational. But Katara thinks she understands; by running away, Aang was asserting his own agency for the first time since he was informed of his role as the Avatar. Not for the first time during their journey, she thinks back to telling her village that if Aang were banished, then so was she. He had gently and earnestly told her that he didn’t want to come between her and her family, and then left. She had raged at everyone afterwards, for many reasons. Katara was convinced that Aang was special, and she was right—although she hadn’t known just how right she was at that moment. She loved her village, loved her Gran, but at the time the decision had seemed so narrow-minded.
But that hadn’t been the only reason she was upset. As much as it embarrasses her to think of, she had felt rejected by Aang. She knows now that the feeling wasn’t warranted; he had become her best friend in a dizzyingly short period of time, and she knows that he simply hadn’t wanted to make her choose. And now, listening to his voice break with sadness, she realizes that he was scared. Scared that he may not be able to bring Katara back home, because he had left and now his home and his people were all gone.
Aang, Appa, and Momo were all of the life that remained of the Air Nomads. Her hand drifts to her necklace at the thought, and she tries not to think of losing everyone she’s ever known. She wonders sometimes how Aang can bring himself to smile, with that totality of loss. Katara didn’t smile for six months after her mom died. It took another two months to laugh. And the fact that she’s the only waterbender from the South Pole, that there is no one left in her tribe to teach her, never leaves her.
And yet, Aang was able to spread joy and laughter almost anywhere he went, mere weeks after discovering the loss of his people. She supposes that it’s a way of coping with the grief; Gran Gran told her that different people grieve in different ways after Katara had gotten mad at Sokka for telling stupid jokes only a week after their mom had died.
Gran Gran explained that while they were removing her grandfather’s belongings from their house, she had started laughing. Katara had felt her eyes go wide when Gran Gran told her that. Didn’t you love Gramp Gramp? Kanna had burst out into laughter. Very much, my little waterbender. I was so sad when he passed on. But at that moment, the grief wanted to escape, and that’s the way it left. Grief takes many forms; it can appear as laughter or tears, as rage or joy. Try not to judge your brother for coping as best he can .
At the time, she hadn’t understood, but she left Sokka alone. The anger took a backseat to her new, exhausting list of responsibilities, and figuring out how her brother’s grief worked was not worth her energy. Besides, she figured out that she didn’t have to understand it to respect it, and for all that her big brother was annoying and overbearing at times, she loved him dearly. And he needed her now that mom was gone, just as she needed him.
But now, clarity hits her like a bolt of lightning. Aang’s joy was not something separate from his grief; he was making sure those he loved still lived on through him. She thinks back to the stories he told while they all set up camp, stories that she and Sokka had never heard. Katara thinks of the look of concentration he wore four days ago when he did his best to imitate an old Air Nomad dish for dinner; it had turned out fairly well despite their meager supplies, and for once, Sokka hadn’t complained about the lack of meat. He had, however, eagerly told Aang about all the reasons a boomerang was the best weapon, and how their tribe made spears and daggers. For all that Aang was a peaceful spirit (and a vegetarian), he had listened intently as Sokka explained, his voice catching in his throat, about how their dad had taught him how to spear a fish.
Katara’s eyes had stung with tears, and she excused herself rather than admit she was crying.
After he finishes telling her of his past, of how he ran, of his shame, she comforts him, tells him that this is the way it was meant to happen. She doesn’t love saying it, because it seems callous to imply that the Air Nomads were destined for death, but she doesn’t know how to say what she really means ( that she can’t imagine going her whole life without ever knowing him ), or that she thinks something like this would’ve still happened without the genocide, because they had to meet, somehow. And then the fisherman’s wife arrives, scared out of her mind, and they go rescue Sokka and the sour old fisherman. She’s pleased when he thanks Aang; she doesn’t think much of the old man, but the relief it brings to Aang is worth more than her weight in sea prunes.
But later that evening, even as her throat begins to ache and her head begins to pound, Katara thinks about how much of his heart and soul Aang has entrusted to her and Sokka in such a short amount of time. She had already told him that she and Sokka would be his family from now on, but something about that promise seemed different after he resolved to stop dwelling on his past, on his guilt. It seemed…deeper. More serious.
Before Katara falls asleep, she thinks that the gray of Aang’s eyes seems far steadier and far lovelier than it did before the storm.