Note: this is one of the few contenders for my next chapter fic. Once again I have several ideas and I'm testing the waters with each idea.

The snow crunches beneath Sokka's feet as he crosses the tundra. He is almost home, almost. And thank Raava for that, even beneath his gloves his hands a beginning to sting with the cold and his teeth are chattering pretty good.

He supposes that a good day's worth of fishing is worth the trouble of having to cross the snowy landscape. He hoists his catches over his shoulder and trudges the rest of the way home. With a huff he sets the bag on the floor and greets Katara with a wave. "Where's dad?"

"He's telling stories to the kids."

"Like the ones he used to tell us?" Sokka asks.

"Sort of." Katara shrugs. "I think that they wanted to hear stories about the war this time."

"Well, I brought dinner." Sokka gestures to the fish.

"Did you do any hunting?"

"Just fishing this time." Sokka replies. "I'm going to find dad and let him know that dinner's here."

"You do that." Katara replies. "I'll be here."

Sokka takes a final look back at the house before wandering out into the cold again. With any luck, his father will be close buy and he won't have to search the whole village, not that he has too much ground to cover. The tribe is slowly expanding, growing out into what it should have been had the Fire Nation not attacked. It still has a long way to go.

Sokka stretches his arms. He supposes that it is nice to be home again and to go back to the mundane tasks. Tasks that don't involve risking his life and running from angsty princes, deadly princesses, and power hungry firelords with questionable title choices. Sokka snickers to himself, "phoenix king." The whole point of a phoenix is that it's reborn, he won't let that one rise again.

From the hillside, he looks off into the tundra. Snow glitters beneath his feet and stars above his head. The land is vast and foreboding but with a beauty like no other. The wind howls, sending a massive flurry down upon him. He imagines that the polar bear dogs and penguins have long since sought shelter.

He can already tell that a storm is abrew and not a soul should be out in it. Muchless the small figure trekking through the snow.

Even from a distance he can tell that she is trembling. She takes a few final stumbling steps before pitching forward. Sokka watches her sink to her knees. And then her cheek meets the snowy ground below.

Sokka spares the warmth and safety of the village a final look before making his way back out and into the snow. His heart seizes, he doesn't know how he has lost sight of her her already. He listens but the woman makes no sound, not even the faintest cry for help. He calls out. Still she doesn't answer. He thinks that she must be out colder than the snow itself.

"Come on, where are you?" He mutters aloud. For all of the tracking and hunting he does, he should be able to find her. He scans the ground again, the wind howls in his ears reminding him that he doesn't have much time.

It could happen in an instant; a complete white out and then finding his way back to the tribe-even at such a short distance-will be hell.

He trudges forward wondering if he should retreat and bring help and then he spies a bright red ribbon. He is glad for the ribbon, he wouldn't have spotted her otherwise. She lays in a crumpled heap, barely making a sound. Her breathing is dreadfully shallow.

He doesn't have time to be fully thankful for the ribbon, not with the wind whipping so ferociously. As carefully as he can manage, he scoops her into his arms, her cheek is frigid against his neck. She is shaking violently. Enough to send vibrations through him. He thanks Raava again for the girl is mercifully light. Even still, the snow, deep as it is, makes carrying her a task. He resents having taken his snow shoes off.

He tries not to jar her too much with his footsteps, but he can't help it with the snow as deep as it is. Every footstep sends a wave of anxiety over him. He can hear Hakoda telling him that too much movement can trigger a heart attack. He hasn't yet seen it for himself and he doesn't want to.

By the time he reaches the village he is panting softly and shivering for himself. He takes a moment of pause to catch his breath, watching as his shaky and erratic ones dissipate in the sky.

In the light he can see that her nose and cheeks are red and that snow clings to her lashes and hair. He can't imagine that his own face looks much different. He takes a deep breath and readjusts his hold on her before making the last stretch of the trek into the house.

"Katara, help me get some blankets out! I don't know how long she's been out there for."

A flicker of confusion crosses Katara's face before it is replaced by a very vague understanding. "I'll get them and then I'll try to find dad."

Sokka shakes his head. "There's a big blizzard, dad is going to stay wherever he is and we're going to stay here until it's over." He sets the woman in front of the fire, she stirs just enough to reassure him.

"If he's outside then…"

"He's not outside, nobody in the tribe is going to just leave him out there. Worst case, he's having an awkward dinner with strangers."

"Sokka, we've been through a war, I can handle a snow storm."

"You can fight Fire Nation soldiers, Katara. But you can't punch a blizzard." Softer, more reassuringly he adds, "dad can take care of himself, that's where you get it from."

Her own expression softens. "I'm gonna go get those blankets."

For the time being, Sokka strokes the fire, coaxing it to a brighter, hotter flare. He steals a glance at the woman. It finally has time to settle in just how precarious her condition is. The corner of her mouth is split and bruised and her lower lip is slightly swollen-also bleeding lightly. Carefully he moves some of her hair to find a cut on her brow. She had been in some sort of altercation. Recent too from the prominence of the bruises on her pale skin and the freshness of the blood. He gets the sense that the cold had frozen it before it even had the chance to coagulate.

With the fire blazing to his content, he moves back over to her, her clothing is soaked. He recalls again, Hakoda's warning to avoid excess movement. As tenderly as he can manage he cuts away her wet clothing and tosses the articles aside. He casts his own wet clothing aside and bundles her back into the blankets already in the room.

He doesn't know if she is alert enough to hear him but he thinks that it would do well to try, "I'm Sokka. My sister Katara is going to bring you some blankets and maybe some stew." He pauses. "I guess that I can start on the stew."

She clutches the blankets tighter to herself, her lips part but the only sound the spills from them is a very weak mumble. He watches her try to sit up, her attempt is clumsy and uncoordinated. "Don't do that!" He says quickly. "Just lay down and try to warm up."

He meets her gaze and it dawns upon him that she is Fire Nation. He shudders at the thought of her cheek on his neck; a firebender should never feel that cold. He shudders twice over when he is struck by a sense of familiarity. He steps away from her and into the kitchen with his stomach tying itself into knots.

He gathers a small pot and a few ingredients. Before re-entering the room, he fills the pot with water. The firebender still hasn't moved much. He fixes the pot over the fire and begins dumping in ingredients for what he hopes will be edible seaweed stew.

"Are you warming up?" He asks. He picks one of her hands up and pulls the mitten off. His stomach lurches again. "C-can you feel you fingers?"

She shakes her head. Her speech is so slurred that he can barely make sense of it. "Not all of them."

And no wonder, the glove in his hand is torn by the pinky. He guesses that this also happened during whatever skirmish she was involved in. He removes the other glove, this hand is just as icy to the touch. "Can you flex your fingers." He breathes a sigh of relief when she bunches her hand into a feeble fist and then unclenches them once more. He looks back at her left hand, the fingers on it are redder than her cheeks.

Most of them anyhow.

Her pinky is a sickly blackish-blue.

He has seen it happen enough to know that it is dead.

He doesn't have the heart to tell her but he has an inkling that she already knows. He watches her nestle her damaged hand against her body.

Sokka retrieves the pot and pours her a bowl of the stew. He helps her sit up. For the longest time, she simply holds her hands above the bowl, letting the steam warm her hands. He hadn't noticed that Katara had returned.

"She needs clothes."

Katara nods. "I think that she'll fit in mine."

Sokka wraps her up from head to toe. "Here." He says, he holds out a spoonful of seaweed stew. "Dad always has people eat something warm when this happens. He says that you need to be warm inside and out...or something like that." He wishes that he would have let Katara find the man. He'd know exactly how to help her.

He manages to feed her a few spoonfuls before her head seems to dip and sag. Slowly, Sokka props her up against the nearest sofa. Her eyes seem to dim, she blinks several times as she fights to keep herself at least semi-awake. He gives her a moment before offering another spoonful.

In closer proximity his speculations become more apparent. It isn't just her eyes that are familiar to him. It is the shape of her nose and the structure of her cheeks and chin. "Azula?" He asks.

Not that he expects an answer. As soon as her name leaves his lips, her eyes seem to roll back and her body goes limp.