barking your shins in the dark as fate leads you haphazardly; everything, when you finally open your eyes
An unwakefulness – half in, half out, but none of the foggy frustration, the struggle to the surface.
He knows who the voice belongs to; it has filtered through him for over an hour, and yet has not stirred him.
With his eyes closed, Zuko sees:
(it is an impression of things, a vague sense of place and time based on sound and sense)
The green trees, the red rocks, the great white sky. A bubbling cloud of condensed energy, careful, curious, confused – /near/.
He is gradually coming around, but his mind has yet to catch up with the calm that fills his spirit – that his destiny is just beside him, he could reach out and touch it, could purify the scars in his soul so cleanly that nothing would remain but transience, transcendance: even his anger would fall away, dead leaves, compost; even his own past could be redeemed.
Zuko opens his eyes and the Avatar lets the words hang, suspended; and then his rage washes ragged through body and manifests itself, half-formed fire.
Aang, birdlike, flits away; what he leaves is a conversation they aren't ready for and a sense of unity that is many battles premature: the last cloudy dregs of, I could feel this way for the rest of my life.
Fate is a guide, if not a constant; we arrive at our crossroads, and it nudges – we move wrong, we meet with resistance; right, and all is at peace within us.
It will be hard, but his soul is light.
Many battles later, it has nothing to do with trust; Aang feels it, too.