His name was Kiba. Only his mother called him that. Everyone else was content to refer to him as the cabbage merchant. They never called him this to his face; they never called him anything. Cabbages were his trade, but not his life. No one understood this. His many cries of "My Cabbages!" as his source of income was knocked to the ground were the only thing anyone remembered about him. His despair was mocked, turned into an oddity, as though any number of salesmen would not feel the same anguish to have their products constantly damaged.

The best way to save his cabbages would be to avoid those young travelers who always seemed to bowl him over. Sensible, it would stop him from being a laughingstock. It would be the course of action anyone would take if that person truly cared for cabbages. Kiba didn't.

Cabbages made money, but he did not care about them any more than he would care about any job. What Kiba cared about was her. With exotic eyes and long beautiful hair, Kiba could not keep the young girl out of his mind. He was thirty years her senior - so he had never approached her, but he couldn't stay away. He wasn't a pervert, he told himself. He had stopped himself from imagining her with him. That would be wrong. Still, he couldn't keep himself away. He constantly followed the group's movements and pushed his cabbage cart to likely locations all in the hopes that he would catch another glimpse of her.

He had stopped writing his mother. She had often complained about his lack of a wife, that he would never give her grandchildren. He could have children the age of that beautiful girl. He decided it was for the best that he didn't.

Kiba hadn't been taking care of his cabbage farm. He'd finally sold it so he could be on the road full time, his obsession growing as the girl grew older. She wore her hair down now. He longed to touch it, but he couldn't allow himself to imagine how it would feel against his callused hands. He used the money from his farm to buy other farmer's cabbages when his ran out.

He didn't make enough money doing this. He lost too many cabbages to make a profit. He had started eating the cabbages that were damaged beyond his ability to sell. He didn't have the money for any other food. Without sustenance, he had lost weight, hair, teeth, but he didn't care. Aging happened to everyone anyway, and he'd rather die slowly than miss seeing her.

"Aang, Sokka, run! Go without me. I'll hold him off," a shrill voice called. Kiba's heart lifted at the sound of the voice he knew so well. The cart was stilled in the middle of the road. Before this moment, he had slowly been pushing it into the large city, lost in thoughts. Now he knew that he needed to move, or he would be dramatically run over. His source of income would be diminished once again.

The still cart was overturned. Cabbages spilled. Two boys ran through them, not bothering to apologize. The cabbage merchant let out a rather dull "My cabbages," as was expected. The girl wasn't with the boys. Neither was his gaze. It focused down the street as a bender battle commenced. Her hair was unbound. She had always worn it in a braid before. She was staring at a boy, chest heaving as she met him blow for blow.

Kiba wished for a moment that she would stare at him that way. Passionate. He shook his head, realizing he was cradling a cabbage in his hands. He wouldn't think such things. Kneeling, he picked up his cabbages and re-stocked his cart, but his gaze never moved from the wildly fighting couple. If he were a bender, he could interfere. He wondered if he'd rather fight her, feel her passion, or save her, receive gratitude.

"No!" He whispered to himself. No good ever came of such thoughts. He couldn't ever be that close to her. He pulled on his facial hair, ripping his face down toward his spoiled wares. This was his life. This was it.

The girl disappeared as he finished picking up his merchandise. He forced himself to continue. Another day in the markets; it would be a long wait. He would see her again. He could make it. One day after another.