Brown leather parka, white fur of his hood around his neck, face rough with stubble, save for the beard on his chin, so much like his father's. He's slow and sure and not as quick to smile, a little more defined in the face from hard work and hunting, and finding it so hard to meet her eyes.

Sokka nods and squeezes her hands again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Steph."


For the fight, for everything that came before it.