Hi again! It's been a while, but we're finally up and running again with a brand new chapter! This chapter marks our first major divergence from the original version of this fic. If we have anybody here who read the original, I'm curious to know what y'all will think of the changes I'm making ;)

BTW, I posted an edited Ch4 the day before I posted this chapter (I made some changes to the plot while I was away, so I had to make some changes to Ch4 to reflect the upcoming changes to the plot.) So if you're a returning reader, you might wanna go take a look!

Let's go!

CHAPTER FIVE— LESSONS

His dinner duties completed, Kuei took his own portion and glanced around the meal tent. He wasn't left wondering where to sit for very long: Zafirah spotted him and waved him over. Seated with her were Basam and Amaris, and two other faces he didn't know.

"This must be our guy from the big city, huh?" said one of them, a thin-faced young man with a neatly trimmed beard.

"Yep. Fikri, Kuei. Kuei, Fikri," Zafirah said, gesturing between them as Kuei sat down. "And this is Dua."

Fikri nodded to him. Kuei, unsure of the social protocol here, nodded back. The other one, Dua, a gangly young woman with an angular face, likewise nodded. He nodded back, again.

"Was that Qamar talking with you?" Basam asked.

"Oh, yes, it was," Kuei said.

"What was that all about?" Zafirah asked around a mouthful of food.

"Well, she wanted to know if I could tell her anything about... Ba Sing Se. Anything useful, that is."

"Ba Sing Se? What for?" Basam echoed, eyebrows furrowing. Then his eyes went wide. "Oh! The Fire Na- yeah. Guess she'll be looking for ways to defend against them, for whenever they come back."

"Quite so. I'd like to offer something useful, but..." He sighed. "I'll admit, I'm not sure what I could tell her that might be of value."

"What happened there, anyway?" Zafirah asked. "I mean, all that talk about it being the 'impenetrable city' and whatnot. How'd it happen?"

Kuei swallowed a bite of his dinner a little too hard. "Ah. Yes. That. Well..." He hesitated. He still didn't know if he ought to tell them the truth, but this seemed like an awfully abrupt time to bring it up. Still, they were waiting for an answer. Carefully, he said, "There were spies- or so I understand. They... they brought the city down from within. They had help from within the palace- or, so I've heard."

Zafirah snorted. "And the king did... what? Nothing?"

Kuei froze, his blood running cold all of a sudden.

"I... I don't know," he lied. The weight that settled in his chest felt so heavy, so palpable, that he almost expected it to manifest physically and expose his guilt for all to see.

Thankfully, the conversation took a turn to other subjects after that. Kuei ate his portion- he wasn't about to waste the tribe's scant resources- but each bite felt like ash in his mouth.

It was dusk when they left the meal tent; the tribespeople were dispersing to get back to their tasks, ready to make use of the cool evening hours. The three of them had been given their communal tasks for the evening; they followed Fikri as he led them to their post. Bosco, who had waited reluctantly but patiently outside the meal tent till after dinner for his own portion, trundled along beside Kuei, making happy little sounds.

"Sewing?" Kuei echoed.

Zafirah nodded. "Sail-mending, to be specific, but it's the same thing, am I right?"

"Certainly," Kuei agreed, although he was not remotely certain of anything anymore.

"Ever sewn anything before?" Zafirah asked.

"I'm not entirely unfamiliar with the subject, although I'll admit my knowledge is, um, theoretical," he said sheepishly.

"Thea-what?" Zafirah said, arching an eyebrow.

"...I've read a lot of books," Kuei said lamely.

"Uh huh," Zafirah said skeptically. "I'm thinkin' we start you off with holding the lantern for us while me and Basam do the sewing."

"That's... fair," Kuei said, although his heart sank a little. He sighed. "I told Qamar I'd do my best to pull my own weight while I'm here. I just wish I had more skills to offer."

"They don't teach sewing in the fancy schools of Ba Sing Se, huh?" Zafirah asked dryly.

"Not for me, anyway," Kuei said glumly. "I had tutors in any subject I wanted, except practical skills. There was always someone else to do that kind of thing instead."

"Wow, the tough life of a rich boy," Zafirah remarked, crossing her arms. The corner of her mouth ticked up in the ghost of a smirk.

Kuei flushed. "There are worse problems to have," he agreed sheepishly.

"So what do they teach in rich kid schools?" Zafirah asked.

He had never, in fact, been in a real school, but he supposed that was beside the point. "Oh- history, the arts, literature, natural history, and so on," he said.

She let out a sharp laugh. "And what d'ya do with all that?"

"In a city like Ba Sing Se, quite a lot. Out here? Considerably less," he admitted, then added wryly, "It certainly doesn't help me with sewing."

Zafirah snorted, but she was also smiling a bit. "Yeah, well, you up for learning a thing or two?"

Kuei brightened. "Certainly!"

"Don't worry, it's pretty easy. You can watch us, learn how it's done. If you're feeling brave, we might even let you take a stab at it." She lightly jabbed his side with her knuckles. "We'll get some work calluses on those soft hands of yours yet, you'll see."

"Oh! Wonderful," Kuei said, and fought the urge to look self-consciously at his hands.

Still, the idea of learning to sew was exciting. It was about time he attained such a useful skill! Especially if he intended to continue traveling on his own once he left the desert. This was a chance to gain some true independence, real self-sufficiency!

The chief seamstress of the royal palace, Lihua, turned at the small scuffling sound behind her.

"Another moth-mouse pilfering scraps for its nest, I'm sure," she sighed. Standing, she turned and cleared aside a pile of fabric remnants- and it was not a moth-mouse, but the bright green eyes of the little ten-year-old boy-king peering owlishly back at her.

Lihua gasped and stepped back, dropping into a bow. "Y-your Majesty! We weren't expecting a visit from you today, my apologies-"

"Oh, n-no, it's okay!" the boy said quickly, clambering out from behind the fabric pile. "S-sorry, I should've asked first..."

"You're the king, you may go anywhere you wish in the palace, Your Majesty," Lihua said, surprised. "But... is there a reason for your visit?"

The boy shifted from foot to foot and fidgeted with his overly-long sleeves, looking far more sheepish than one would expect of a monarch, even such a small one.

"W-well, um, I-I was gonna ask... could I maybe learn how to sew?" he asked shyly.

Lihua blinked, startled. "Learn to sew? Is there... any particular reason why?"

"I've already got tutors in most other things, and my history tutor was reading to me about seamstresses, and, and, I was thinking maybe I could have tutors for stuff like sewing too, and..." the boy-king said in a rush, twisting his hands together.

Lihua smiled gently. "That's what I and the other royal seamstresses are here for, Your Majesty. You needn't sully your hands with menial work. Besides, sewing needles are quite sharp. You wouldn't want to prick your fingers, now."

The boy looked downcast for a moment, and then his eyes went wide. "They're sharp? But, y-you and the other ladies don't get hurt, right?" he asked anxiously.

Lihua hesitated, and almost unconsciously clasped her hands together behind her back, hiding the pinprick marks left by years of service to the royal family.

He'd always known he'd had a sheltered life, but he was becoming increasingly aware every day of just how sheltered and protected he'd been. It wasn't as if he'd had much say in the matter as a child, of course, but he found himself wishing he'd pushed harder to learn the practical skills he'd always been curious about, martial arts and sewing and other useful things. He'd had Long Feng steering and manipulating him, yes- but he'd been a grown man eventually, and the king no less. He could have pushed harder. He should have pushed harder.

They reached the edge of the encampment, where the tribe's sailers stood in a half-circle.

"Hey, Amir! Got some extra hands for you," Fikri called out. A stern-faced, broad-shouldered man looked up from his work, and ambled over to meet them.

"Zafirah, Basam, good to see you two again," he rumbled.

"You too, Amir. Still as smiley as ever, I see," Zafirah remarked dryly.

"Sorry, did I say it was good to see you? I meant the other thing," Amir grunted.

"She's in an odd mood today, looks like. Sorry, Amir," Basam jibed.

"At least you're as cooperative as always, Basam, thank goodness for that." Turning to Kuei, Amir said, "You must be the new arrival from Ba Sing Se."

"That's certainly what everyone keeps saying," he agreed ruefully. "I'm Kuei, pleased to meet you."

Amir jerked his head in a short nod, then glanced warily at Bosco before turning and gesturing for them to follow him. He brought them to the sailer at the leftmost end of the half-circle, where a crew was already at work. They were poring over the sailer from top to bottom and end to end, examining every inch for damage.

A series of crates and baskets sat lined up alongside the sailer; Zafirah immediately stooped down and retrieved a small woven basket from one of the crates. She pushed the basket into his hands.

"Here, carry this," she told him. He took it with a solemn nod, determined to make himself useful.

He followed the twins between the sailer's hulls. Bosco trotted along behind him, and two workers approaching the hulls gave him a wide berth. Oil lamps cast flickering lights on the underside of the sailer. The sail hung slack, its lines loosened so that the heavy cloth hung close to the ground between the hulls. In the lamplight, Kuei could see a few spots where the tough cloth had frayed and torn.

"Okay, let's get started. Needle and thread, if you please!" Zafirah said the last part with exaggerated grandiosity, gesturing with a flourish to the supplies in his hands. Kuei obligingly took the woven lid off the basket and held it up for their perusal.

Inside were spools of rough, thick thread, and a roll of leather. Zafirah lifted it out and unrolled it to reveal two rows of curved, tarnished-white needles, arranged neatly from smallest and thinnest to longest and thickest. They looked unnervingly like bone; they probably were, he realized.

As Zafirah and Basam selected needles and spools of thread, Kuei's eyes were drawn back to the sailer above them. He wondered how old this sailer was, how many miles it had traversed back and forth across the dunes, and how many more miles it would still travel. It occurred to him, suddenly, that this was a vessel that people relied upon. It seemed like an obvious notion, but somehow the weight of it fully hit him.

He looked down at the supplies in his hands. The bone needles had a worn-smooth look, their lengths yellowed in places from fingers that had gripped them. These, too, were tools that the Aqila tribe depended upon. For a moment, those yellowed patches with their varied hues held his thoughts; how many sails, he wondered, had these needles mended?

Zafirah and Basam set about their work; Kuei observed from the side, holding the basket of supplies tucked under one arm and an oil lamp in his other hand. Bosco, as if aware of the duty upon them, sat stoically at Kuei's side. Kuei had been tasked with watching, learning, and helping, and Spirits damn him if he wasn't about to do the best he could at it.

Zafirah was a mess. The journey across the desert had at least kept her busy, kept her thoughts on the move and her mind full. And then they'd arrived. And they'd delivered their message. And she'd had just enough time sitting alone on that sand dune to start thinking about all the things she'd very carefully pushed to the back of her mind during their journey.

So... now what?

Zafirah was glad for the tasks they'd been assigned. Granted, everyone that could pull their weight in the tribes was expected to do so, so it wasn't like Qamar had given them chores to do as a favor. But at that point, Zafirah would've taken any chore: sewing, cooking, shoveling giant beetle dung, counting grains of sand. Literally anything was better than having time to sit and think about what they'd left behind at the Oasis, that night, that next morning, and what was maybe, possibly ahead. Having something else to focus on was... good, to say the least.

To her left was Kuei, clutching the oil lamp and watching them sew like his life depended on it. When she'd suggested that he learn by watching, she hadn't expected it to be that much of a big deal to him. Either he was funny in the head, which was an option she was still not ruling out, or he actually did want to learn how to sew.

He was still being aggravatingly helpful. He had continued to be aggravatingly helpful ever since they'd arrived, gladly taking on whatever chores were assigned of him. Qamar had told him she expected him to do his fair share and he was taking her extremely seriously, it looked like. Pampered rich boy though he was, as far as she could tell he was actually trying to make himself useful and help out. He was embarrassingly earnest about it, too.

It still nagged at her for an outsider to be so nice.Every instinct she had, honed by a life at the Oasis with all its motley passers-by, screamed at her that no outsider was ever nice without a reason. Granted, this one didn't seem like the scheming type; then again, to seem like the scheming type would make scheming much more difficult.

But, on the other hand: there was one of him, and a whole tribe of them, and days of travel across sun-scorched sands in every direction. And he knew it. If he'd come out here with some hidden goal in mind, he was either going about it in a very bad way, or he was secretly craftier than a Pai Sho grandmaster... which didn't seem terribly likely.

And there were bigger things to worry about than one weird outsider, and at least he wasn't making things worse. Not yet, anyway. So as long as he stayed more helpful than not-helpful, she'd deal with the aggravation of not understanding him. For a while, anyway.

And then they ran out of sails to mend. The sailers were in good repair; this had been more of a maintenance check than anything else, going over the sailers to make sure there was no significant damage, or anything that was looking to become significant any time soon. Good for the Aqila tribe, not so good for Zafirah's state of mind.

The Aqila camp started winding down for the night. Small campfires flickered to life all around the circle as people finished up their tasks and set work aside for a little time with friends and family.

Qamar had gotten a spare tent set up for the three of them, placing it next to the family sailer where Amaris lived with her aunt and two little cousins- who, apparently, had some friends over. The gaggle of kids peeped their heads out as the three of them trudged to their tent; Zafirah caught sight of their goggling stares and poked out her tongue, making the kids giggle. One by one, they crept out and approached the newcomers.

"What kinda aminal is that?" asked the youngest, pointing a chubby finger at Bosco.

"He's a bear," Kuei said, smiling.

"Can we pet him?" the kid asked. The rest clustered around her, chattering eagerly. Kuei chuckled.

"Of course! He loves to be petted," he assured them.

The kids giggled and shoved each other towards Bosco, squealing and whispering. Finally, one of the girls steeled her nerves and reached out, placing her little hand on the dense fur of Bosco's neck.

"Wow, his fur is so puffy!" she exclaimed. She stroked the bear, who gurgled happily, and she sank her fingers into the dense fur till her little hand was almost entirely hidden. "Look, my hand's all gone!" she giggled gleefully.

Bosco whuffled and turned his head, licking her cheek. The girl squealed and laughed, darting back. The rest of the kids surged forward and gathered around, patting and stroking Bosco's fur. The bear sat down, tongue lolling out in a blissful bear-grin. Zafirah couldn't help but smile.

"Now what in the world is going on out here?" came a woman's voice. Amaris's aunt Marwa poked her head out from the tent, and a smile crossed her face when she saw Zafirah and Basam. "Ah, it's good to see you two again!" she said, stepping out of the tent. She hugged them both one by one, then added, "I only wish it were for happier reasons."

Zafirah's momentary good mood sank, replaced by a squeezing in her chest. "Yeah," she said thickly. "Me too, Auntie."

Marwa caught sight of Kuei and smiled wryly. "And this must be the visitor Amaris was telling me about, I suppose?"

Despite herself, the corner of Zafirah's mouth ticked upward. "Oh, she was, was she?" Zafirah shot a sidelong grin at Kuei, who looked entirely flummoxed. "Yeah, this is him, all right."

Marwa offered him a smile. "Welcome to the Aqila tribe. Again, I wish we were meeting for happier reasons."

Gathering himself, Kuei hastily sketched a short bow and said, "Ah- thank you for your hospitality. I'm sorry to have come bearing such bad news."

"I guess that's what happens when the world's been at war for a hundred years, hmm?" Marwa said grimly.

They settled into their tent, laying out their bedrolls and stowing away the few personal belongings they'd brought.

"Anyone home?" called a cheery voice outside. Fikri poked his head into the tent. "Hey, Basam, it's bath night, us guys are up first this time around. New guy, you come along too. Let's go!"

Kuei stared at Fikri like he'd sprouted a second set of arms, then turned in wordless confusion to Basam.

"Probably not a bath like you have 'em in Ba Sing Se," Basam said, chuckling. "More like a scrub than a bath, but it gets the job done. Basically. More or less."

"That explains... absolutely nothing," Kuei said faintly.

The two of them swept the poor unfortunate outsider out of the tent in a whirlwind of reassuring chatter over Kuei's worried protests, the tent flap fell shut and Zafirah had the tent to herself.

Which was not great, because even though privacy was about as scarce as water in a Sandbender tribe, in this particular situation it meant that Zafirah had run out of distractions and was alone with her thoughts.

She entertained the notion of going to see if Amaris was around, and... and do what? Talk about it, about the horrible thing that had happened? Distract herself with idle chitchat and not talk about it, like it hadn't even happened?

She heaved a sigh and flopped backwards onto her bedroll, and she tried not to think about it.

Needless to say, Kuei was confused. Herded along by Basam and Fikri, the three of them headed for the steep slope of a dune at the western side of the encampment. Fikri hurtled ahead and hit the base of the slope with an exuberant whoop, charging upwards with the help of his Bending.

Basam, turning to Kuei, grinned broadly. "C'mon, we're goin' up the Sandbender way!" he said.

"What's the Sandbender waaaaaaaahhh!" Basam had already seized his arm and launched the both of them up the slope on a swirling crest of sand. They came to a sliding halt at the dune's peak, Kuei windblown and spitting out sand.

"Ah. Of course. The Sandbender way. Sandbending," Kuei said shakily. "That... that was kind of fun, actually!" He let out a breathless, giddy laugh.

Basam laughed too and clapped him on the back. "That's the spirit!"

On the other side of the dune, the three of them joined a crowd of Aqila men gathering on the far slope. At the foot of the dune stood a large and slightly lopsided tent, propped up with several extra poles across the center.

"So, what, exactly, is this bath? Or, scrub?" Kuei asked tentatively.

"It's purified cactus jelly, mixed with some sage and firewood ash," Basam said. "You scrub down with the cactus jelly stuff, and you put your clothes in a burlap sack with some sand and sage and stuff and shake 'em around."

"I... see. And, um, where does this happen?" He already suspected the answer and almost didn't want to hear it.

"In there." Basam pointed to the tent. "We go in about six or seven of us at a time, usually."

"...Ah," Kuei said, blanching.

"What, they don't do this is Ba Sing Se?" Basam jibed lightly.

"No, not at all," Kuei said, but then it occurred to him that they very well could. It wasn't as if he'd seen much of the place, after all, he realized sourly.

"Hey, I heard in places like Ba Sing Se they bathe in hot water, is that really true?" Fikri asked.

"In fact, they do!" Kuei said.

Fikri cackled. "So, you're just sitting around in a great big bucket of hot water, like a turnip boiling in a pot of soup?"

"Well, not quite," Kuei said, chuckling. "It's not really a bucket, for one thing- or at least, mine wasn't. It was more like a... a basin in the floor. And you'd have nice-smelling soaps and things like that."

"Sitting in a basin of hot water, soaking in nice-smelling stuff, huh? So, exactly like a turnip in a pot of soup," Fikri said, smug.

Kuei raised a finger and opened his mouth to disagree, but then he considered it. "Well, you're not entirely wrong," he conceded.

"Man, city folks are weird," Fikri chuckled.

"You say that, but you've never sat in a basin of nice-smelling hot water like a boiling turnip," Kuei said, and now it was his turn to be a little smug, proud of himself for the snappy comeback, and he couldn't help smiling wistfully as he remembered the expansive bath in his quarters at the palace. It felt like a lifetime since he'd been there; Spirits, it felt like a lifetime since he'd last bathed in water at all. He was then keenly aware of how grimy and sticky he felt. Morbidly curious, he ducked his head and sniffed near his armpit.

Fikri cackled at the look on his face. "Yeah, welcome to the desert," he chortled.

They moved down the slope bit by bit as groups of men left the tent and the next went in. Kuei had very nearly gotten over his nerves about the situation- that is, until it was their turn, and the three of them entered the bathing tent with four others, all of whom except Kuei began to disrobe.

"Right," he said weakly. "I suppose I should, um... disrobe as well..."

"Yeah, kinda hard to scrub down if you've got all your clothes on," Basam agreed, voice muffled as he wrangled his shirt up over his head.

"Right," Kuei agreed, trying not to look around... too late. "Right..."

There was, at least, an air of camaraderie in the tent; the other men talked amongst themselves, joking and chatting idly and jostling each other. Had it been silent, it would've been even more awkward.

Well, he told himself, it would be a relief to get these sandy, smelly clothes off. And as the old saying went, "when in Omashu...". So he started with the broad scarves wrapped around his head and shoulders, and tried not to think about the fact that he would have to strip down in front of several strangers- and, somehow even more unnervingly, in front of Basam whom he'd been traveling with for the past few days.

It was a tremendous relief to unwind the thickly layered bindings on his forearms and lower legs; even though they were carefully done so as not to constrict his limbs too much, they had still begun to feel quite heavy.

Someone jeered and hooted behind him when he shed his pants, setting off a ripple of laughs around the tent, and he started to wheel around indignantly before thinking better of it, going beet-red.

"Don't mind them," Basam told him, laughing. "Here, catch!" Kuei turned just enough to grab the waxed burlap sack Basam tossed to him. Inside it was a cool and aromatic gel. Kuei scooped up a bit of the gel, sniffing it dubiously. It smelled, as described, of firewood ash, something distinctly plant-like (the cactus, he guessed), and sage.

"Go ahead, get scrubbing!" Basam told him.

Kuei sighed. This was definitely not like living at the palace...

Emerging from the tent dressed once more, freshly scrubbed, clothes decidedly less smelly after being shaken in a bag of sand and sage, Kuei had to admit it had been worth the embarrassment. He did feel refreshed.

"Hey, Basam, guess what I picked up on my last supply run," Fikri said slyly. He took a hardened leather flask from some hidden pocket and smugly proclaimed, "Got more where this came from!"

Kuei looked back and forth between the two of them and the flask, mystified.

"I hope it's at least good rice wine this time, not that ostrich-horse sweat from before," Basam said, elbowing Fikri. He took the flask, uncorked it, sniffed the contents, and nodded approvingly. "Not bad!"

"Hey, outsider, you wanna come with us? We're gonna go meet up with some of the other fellas," Fikri said, wiggling the flask.

"Me?" Kuei asked, surprised. "Is it like a... a party of some sort?"

Fikri cackled. "Yeah, something like that!"

Kuei smiled tentatively. "Thank you, that's... that's very kind of you! I've never really been to a party before."

Fikri grinned wickedly. "Well in that case, hang onto your butt! It's boy's night!"

A snuffling sound at the tent flap caught Zafirah's attention.

"What? Who's there?" she called, sitting up and hastily wiping her cheeks. Her answer was a large, furry snout peeking through, its wet black nose wiggling. Bosco peeked into the tent with a low whining sound. Zafirah huffed. "I'm amazed those two convinced your buddy to leave you here," she remarked.

Bosco whined again and bobbed his head up and down.

"Yeah? You want something? I, uh, I don't have any food for you, if that's what it is," Zafirah told the bear. Bosco just whined again, pawing at the sand just inside the tent's opening. "Uh, you wanna come in here? Kind of a small tent, Furball."

Bosco drooped his head, his round little ears sagging. Zafirah tried not to feel guilty. She tried even harder not to feel guilty. She groaned, rolled her eyes and patted the sand next to her bedroll. "Fine, c'mon in."

The bear made a happy noise and trundled into the tent, where he did in fact take up most of the room. Bosco plunked down next to her, tongue lolling out in a goofy bear-smile. He gurgled happily and nuzzled her cheek.

"Yeah, yeah," Zafirah scoffed, gently pushing Bosco's snout away. "Don't go gettin' used to it, all right? People find out you're nice sometimes, and then they want you to be nice all the time." Her mouth curled in a bitter, humorless smile, which then twisted into something not at all smile-like as tears stung the corners of her eyes again. Frustrated, she scrubbed at her face with the edge of her headscarf.

Bosco made a small, low sound and nudged her cheek again with his snout, whuffling at her hair. Zafirah grunted and shouldered Bosco away, but the bear just whined again and licked her cheek.

"Ugh, yeah, fine, I was crying, okay?" Zafirah growled, wiping her cheek. Bosco whined and shuffled closer, curling up next to her. She grudgingly patted the bear's shoulder, mindful of the freshly-changed bandage. In the daylight hours, the warmth that rolled off the bear's furry bulk would've been stifling in the small tent; but with night settling in and the day's heat draining away fast, it was almost comforting. Not that Zafirah would've admitted as such out loud.

She slumped sideways against Bosco's fluffy side, arms crossed tightly over her chest and staring listlessly at her cloth-wrapped feet stretched out in front of her.

"Y'know," she said slowly, "there's been times today- just sometimes, once in a while- where I keep forgetting. I almost forget why we came here. Or it's more like, I just stop thinking about it. And I almost feel... normal. Like everything's fine. And then- and then it comes back to me, and... and then it's like I'm just... gonna... break into little pieces. Or maybe... I'll start screaming and never stop."

Bosco cooed quietly. Zafirah scoffed again, but there was little venom in it. "Thanks, Furball. Great advice," she said wryly.

Kuei hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He'd come back to check on Bosco; not seeing the bear outside where he'd been last, Kuei had been about to check inside the tent, but then he'd heard Zafirah's voice from within. He'd paused, thinking perhaps Amaris or another friend had come to visit her, but then he'd made out what she was saying.

When she fell silent, he heard one of Bosco's familiar noises. Well, that answered the question of where Bosco was. He smiled slightly, nodding. He was glad his companion was in there; Bosco was very good at comforting, and it sounded like Zafirah could use some of that.

But he hesitated outside, torn. Amaris had advised him not to interfere, but the pain in Zafirah's words was dreadful to hear, and all too familiar. It seemed wrong to look the other way. Well, he had told Basam and Fikri that he wanted to check on Bosco; surely if he just dropped in for a moment, and happened to ask if everything was all right...

He tapped on the end of the wooden crossbeam pole where it emerged above the flap.

"Yeah," came the response from within.

Taking a breath, he ducked into the tent. Sure enough, there was Bosco, with Zafirah slouching against his broad, fluffy side. She glanced up, then hastily swiped the back of her arm across her face and nodded to him.

"Survived your first-ever desert bath, huh?" she remarked.

"Yes, it was, um... certainly a new experience," he agreed with a wince. He mustered a smile. "I see Bosco's being good and keeping you company," he remarked lightly (he hoped).

Zafirah's mouth twisted in a bitter expression that was not quite a smile. "Yeah, ol' boy Furball here's been lending me an ear."

"Oh, wonderful! Bosco's a very good listener," Kuei said.

She scoffed, but then she paused, head tilted as she considered it, then her forehead furrowed and she shrugged. "Y'know, you're actually not wrong."

He wavered, taking half a step back towards the entrance, then stopped; well, now what was he to do? Should he bring up what he'd overheard? Zafirah, noticing his waffling, raised her eyebrows.

"Yes?" she said pointedly.

Kuei flushed, immediately losing his nerve. "I- I was just... checking in on Bosco," he said lamely. "But, it looks like he's in good hands! I'll just- you see, Basam and Fikri invited me along to something called a boys' night...? I'm not sure what that is, but..."

Zafirah chortled and waved a hand. "Go on, have fun. I'll keep an eye on the bear. Try not to let 'em set too much of a bad example for you, yeah?"

"Um, right," Kuei said. He took a step back, turned, hesitated again. Was it really right to just... leave her alone here? Even after overhearing what kind of pain she was in? Even with Bosco's comforting presence? Still, Amaris had seemed quite certain that he shouldn't try and talk to Zafirah about her troubles. Besides which, he knew Basam and Fikri were waiting for him.

"Yes?" Zafirah said again, so pointedly this time it could've prodded him right out of the tent.

"Oh, n-nothing. I..." Kuei cursed inwardly, willing himself to either just speak or leave. "It's... been a difficult few days, hasn't it?" he ventured.

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "Yeah. Yeah, it has." Her tense, curled-in posture brought to mind a wounded tigerdillo caught in a trap; and similarly, he couldn't help but feel that he might lose a hand if he reached out too recklessly.

Kuei backed out from the tent and headed over to Basam and Fikri, putting on a smile. It was really none of his business, after all. Even so, leaving her to sit alone with her misery felt... awfully cruel.

"Bosco's keeping Zafirah company, it seems," Kuei said as lightly as he could manage.

"Great! Let's get going, night waits for nobody!" Fikri said, grinning. He led the way, chanting, "Boys' night! Boys' night! Boys' night!"

"You look kinda rattled, what's up? Zafi didn't try and eat you, did she?" Basam said lightly.

"Eat-? Um, no, but... she seemed quite upset. Is it really all right...? Leaving her there alone...? She's by herself in the tent- well, aside from Bosco, who's very good company, but... well, he can't exactly talk..." Kuei was aware, painfully so, that he was rambling.

Basam sighed and laced his fingers behind his head, staring ahead as they walked. After a moment, he quietly said, "She'll go find Amaris or somebody else if she wants company. Might be best to just leave her be, right now. It was a lot, y'know, what happened back at the Oasis."

Kuei observed Basam from the corner of his eye; it had seemed like Basam was less upset, but it did occur to Kuei that perhaps he'd been mistaken.

"Are you...? Doing all right...?" Kuei ventured.

Again, Basam didn't answer right away. "It hurts, thinking about it," he mused. "It's just, y'know, the ones that got taken... there's nothing we can do for them now. Not right now, anyway. We carried the message out here, we're gonna kick some Firebender butts if they show their faces here again- and if it comes to that, we'll be doing it in their names. So I'm just... I just gotta trust that we'll see 'em again someday soon. That we can do something in the names of the ones that fell. That's all there is right now, I guess. Because I can't just, y'know... y'know?"

"I think I do know what you mean," Kuei said softly. "I've tried not to think about it, as well... about Ba Sing Se. But then I feel guilty for not thinking about it, but then..."

"Yeah," Basam agreed. Then he heaved a loud sigh and clapped Kuei on the back. "Anyway, tonight's a night for fun! Hope you're ready to see how Sandbenders party."

"I'm... not sure?" Kuei felt oddly like he had right before he'd ridden on Appa, when the great Sky Bison was just about to launch into the air. He barely even knew how citizens of Ba Sing Se partied, never mind Sandbenders.

Across the camp, at the peak of the northward-facing sand dune, a cluster of men sitting around a campfire rose a cheer at their approach.

"Finally! Took you long enough," one of them said.

"Brought the outsider, huh?" another one remarked.

"Yup! Don't worry, he's not bad for an outsider," Basam told them. Kuei smiled, grateful for the vote of confidence.

The three of them settled in by the fire, the others scooting aside to make room. Fikri took the flask from his pocket and took a swig, then passed it along.

"Hey, not bad," one of the men remarked after taking his turn.

"And that's from my personal stash, so: you're welcome!" Fikri told him.

When the flask came to Kuei, he hesitated. It wasn't as if he'd never had rice wine, but usually with dinner, and he'd certainly never sat with a group like this. What was the proper etiquette?

"C'mon, go for it!" one of them called out.

"Yeah, don't be shy!"

"I don't think this guy knows how to do that," Fikri said with a grin. "Our boy here said he's never been invited to a party before." He shot the others a significant look.

Kuei flushed. "I think you'll find that I can party just like anyone else," he proclaimed. To prove it, he took a hearty swig from the flask- and immediately started coughing. This was much, much more potent than the rice wine he'd had on occasion with dinner at the palace.

The rest of the men laughed and cheered.

"Way to go, outsider!"

Once he'd caught his breath, Kuei felt like he'd passed some sort of test. The rest of the men chattered amongst themselves; someone began to sing, and the rest joined in. Kuei leaned back on his hands and let his eyes slide shut, enjoying the lilting tune and the faint warmth from the swallow of rice wine. Was this what it felt like to be included?

The flask ran out quickly, but Fikri had another, even larger flask. And that one, too, was full of very potent rice wine. Jokes and stories flew around the circle, and there was singing and dancing; Kuei mostly kept to himself, chiming in when spoken to, but that was fine. He was content to sit and simply be there. He was starting to feel like everything, in fact, was fine.

The rice wine was really quite potent, in fact. And it kept passing around the circle. Kuei, not wanting to be rude or a spoilsport, accepted the flask as it reached him again, and then again, and then again...

Kuei, overcome with warmth and well-being, flopped backwards onto the sand and heaved a sigh.

"You, you all... 're so nice!" he said, sniffling as a swell of emotion choked him up. "Inviting me to, to your nice... sand dune party... I, I hosted sooo many fancy parties in Ba Sing Se, and, and, do you know? All those parties and I attended none of them! Noooo, not even one! Everyone else, they all got to have fun, but... me? Noooooooo... I just had to, had, had to watch through a curtain!"

Basam laughed giddily, thumping him on the shoulder. "Huh?! C'mon! What's that even mean? You're talkin' nonsense!"

"Nuh uh! 'S true! I wasn't all- alllllowed... not allowed! Terribly unfair," Kuei sulked.

"Whaaaatt? Who's they?" Basam said, incredulous.

"They," Kuei said, very solemnly. "Never got to go anyyyywhere... not even to the Upper Ring, ever! Never got to talk to anyone, 'cept my tutors, and, and... An' now look at me... allll the way out in the Si Woing Desert! Drinkin' with, with you, with all you nice Sand... Sandband... you nice sand folks! Isn't that silly? It's all so silly!" He giggled, amazed by just about everything.

Basam was frowning, brows furrowed in deep concentration. "But, uh... what about, the school place...? The uni... versy? That place, with uhhhh Zei?"

Kuei scoffed loudly and waggled a finger in the air. "Oh noooo, they never let me anywhere near there! Uh uh! Nope... wish I could'a been a student at the universy..."

Basam was still concentrating very hard, but then the man next to him elbowed him. "Hey, Basam, sing us a sing!" he shouted.

Kuei laughed again. What a silly thing that man had just said! Everything was quite silly, and quite funny.

Zafirah woke up to the eyebrow-raising spectacle of an unsteady Basam trundling into the tent with a passed-out Kuei's arm slung around his shoulders.

"Hiiii, ZiZi!" Basam said, waving with his free hand.

Zafirah rolled her eyes and said through a yawn, "I think I preferred Zafi." She eyed the outsider, who mumbled incoherently as Basam lugged him in. She sat up and watched as Basam dropped him onto his bedroll. "And here I told him not to let you two be a bad influence," she said dryly.

"Whoops," Basam said, grinning. He yawned and stretched, and then scratched the back of his neck. "Hey, so, uh... he said something kinda weird."

Zafirah crossed her arms, the corners of her mouth quirking up. "Who, Kuei? This guy? This guy said something kinda weird? You're kiddin' me!"

"Nah, I mean..." Basam waved a hand vaguely, swaying on his feet, "I mean like... r'member when he said he was a student at Ba Sing Se Univer... versy... the school place? Only now he said he's never been there." He grimaced. "So, uh, there's definitely stuff he's been lying to us about... so I was thinking, y'know, if he lied about that, then... y'know, is there more...?"

Zafirah's gut sank. She sighed heavily. "Hogfeathers! The one time I'm nice to an outsider," she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"So, uh, should we bring it up in the morning, or...?" Basam shot an uncertain look at their sleeping guest.

"Don't worry, Basam." Zafirah scowled down at Kuei, her face dark. "I'll handle this."

LMAO, yep. Stay tuned for Ch6! Can't guarantee when it'll be completed, but it will be. Thanks for your patience!