I stared into the horizon.

White ice. Whitish sky. The cold swallowed most of the majesty that the sparkling blues and whites might have wrought. The same bitter cold that killed all but the most stubborn of plants and animals that foolishly tried to make a home here.

The cold was the reason that every man in the village spent the best years, days and hours of their lives away from their family and home. Everyone, that is. As it would turn out; food doesn't grow very well with six and half hours of sunlight a year. Most scientists and philosophers theorized that the average temperature of "damn cold" didn't help either.

As the universe (or the Spirit whatevers) didn't allow good stuff to exist here in the South Pole, we had to look elsewhere. Our hunters traveled fantastic, unreasonable distances to steal the life from surrounding not-wastelands. This was of course dangerous. It was also incredibly time-consuming. Stressful too. Unforgiving is a word. I think futile is also a word, but ostensibly it must not mean what I think it means.

To not have a father was life in the Southern Water Tribe. That was just the hard truth. To not have a mother either... it was... hard isn't the right word. It's hard to live in an icy wasteland. It's not difficult at all to grow up without parents: Step 1: Have no parents. Done. Check.

It was just empty sometimes. Meaningless. Insidious and heartbreakingly infinite. Often, I'd be happy. I'd be happy doing chores and happy playing with the younger ones. Then I'd remember there's no reason to be happy.

Slam. Crunch. Lock. An avalanche of bleakness just came down and... Well. Just no more happy.

What I did have, for better or worse, was my younger brother Sokka. Not yet old enough to be whisked away on the seasonal hunts, he was able to keep me company. He was... a companion with me in the darkness at least. He didn't make the hurt go away, but at least we weren't alone. (Although he could certainly try harder!)

"What are ya mopin' about sis?" Sokka blurted out, elbowing me in the side. From the shock, I nearly lost my balance and fell over. I wobbled a ridiculous violent wobble trying to stay up, and managed to trip entirely.

"Woooooaah." - "Aaaah! Oh crap"

He caught me clumsily, ripping a part of my left sleeve nearly up to my shoulder. (That was going to be a long fix!)

"Sokka! What the hell?" I pushed him away angrily. The idiot hadn't let go of my sleeve, and ripped my whole upper jacket in half. (That was going to be a very long fix!)

"I can fix this... probably... ?" The idiot mumbled in mix between anger and panic. "Don't you know how to stand Katara?!"

"I was doing very well standing! Thank you very much." My voice shrieked much more than I intended which made me even more furious. I tucked my exposed limb into my underarm, the cold already starting to bite.

"Woah, sis... are you crying?..." His posture was compassionate. His voice was smug.

He was on the ground. My hand throbbed with pain. More tears than I remembered seared my face in the frigid wind.

I was confused. (Completely manic to be honest) Then reality dawned on me.

I had hit Sokka. Hard.

I couldn't have possibly hit him. Yet every sense said I definitely did. Oh spirits, I hope my knuckles weren't broken... they HURT.

"I think my hand is broken!" I screamed at Sokka. Brilliant evaluation of the situation. Thanks brain.

He looked up at me. Less confusion than I expected, and much more sadness. Somehow. The tears that trickled down his left cheek. Somehow I knew. Sokka wept out of sadness for me, not pain.

"I miss mom."

"I know. Katara. I miss her too."