This story was written as a gift for Artemis-Day for the 2012 Zutara Secret Santa on LJ. The prompt is listed at the end.

I realise this is probably not what you were expecting, Artemis-Day, but I hope that you like it all the same. ^_^

The Night of Souls

She'd had the dream again. The sky had been crying icy tears, but when the droplets had touched her face it had all turned to ash, and suddenly the snow under her feet was no longer the comforting white she remembered, but poisonous and ugly—a grey sludge that warned of danger. Then she was standing outside the igloo, her heart pounding with a fear she couldn't comprehend as she stepped through the furs and saw her mother kneeling on the ground in front of a man dressed in red. A firebender.

"Mum, I'm scared."

"Go find your dad, sweetie. I'll handle this."

Katara always woke up then, because she knew what would happen afterwards. She would return to the small ice hut, and there she would find her mother unmoving on the ground, eyes blank and staring. The metallic scent of blood would sting her nostrils and, buried between the folds of blue cloth and fur, she would see a stone gleaming like a full moon against an umber-tanned throat, slightly speckled with crimson.

It would all fall into place then, like a broken image that makes its own kind of destructive sense. For in that moment she would realise that the heart that had once sung soothing lullabies to her cheek would never beat again. Her mother was gone, and all that was left was the taste of ashes and tears in her mouth.

Katara closed her eyes and clutched at the pendant she always wore around her neck. The stone felt warm against her skin, and she tried not to think about how cold it had felt when Gran-Gran had first given it to her. Tears prickled at her eyes, hot and unbidden, but she brushed them way with the back of her hand. Crying wasn't going to make her feel better; it would only wake up Sokka, and she didn't want that. She had to be strong. She had to put her emotions behind her, because their dad was still off fighting in the war and—and—

And she just wished that she could stop shaking. She wished that she could stop feeling this way. It had been six years since the day her mother had been murdered, yet the pain still felt so raw, like a festering wound that just got worse the longer she tried to ignore it. Katara couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand the fact that, somewhere out there, that man was still alive. She couldn't stand the fact that, because of the Fire Nation, she would never hear that soothing lullaby play against her cheek again.

"Mum," Katara whispered, bowing her head.

More tears slipped free, rolling down her cheeks in warm trails. She didn't bother to wipe them away this time. Instead, she let them fall—let them stain the ground in droplets of anger and sorrow, so much sorrow. It didn't matter how many years had passed; she just wanted her mum back. She just wanted to stop having to feel this unbearable ache in her chest, reminding her every day of what she had lost. Of what she could never regain.

That was when Katara saw the light shift behind the veil of her closed eyelids, illuminating the darkness with a silver glow. She blinked and saw that a sliver of moonlight had slipped through a crack in the furs, catching her scattered tears so that the liquid seemed to shine with the same luminosity as the moon. The image reminded her of the story Gran-Gran had told around the bonfire earlier that evening; the one about Igaluk, Ahnah and the silver path.

It was the first time Katara had ever heard the tale, despite the fact that her tribe would gather every year on the thirty-first of October to share stories and hold feasts once the preparations for the coming of winter had been completed. A large bonfire would be lit in the middle of the village, both to welcome their dead ancestors and to keep the bad spirits out, because everyone knew that the veil separating the Spirit World from the physical would be at its thinnest during the Night of Souls, allowing those who had passed to momentarily dwell with the living if they so wished.

Katara had used to look forward to the Night of Souls as a young girl, but then the Fire Nation attacked and everything had changed. She stopped caring about the stories and the feasts. Instead, she spent her time staring closely at the empty spaces surrounding the bonfire, wondering if her mother would ever join them, and feeling so terribly crushed when she realised that no one was there.

Tonight, however, had been different.

Her mother's spirit had still not shown, but when Gran-Gran had started telling the legend of Igaluk and Ahnah, Katara had felt something stir within her, like the fragile sprouts breaking free from a seed that had long ago abandoned any hope of life. In the story, the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, Igaluk, had fallen in love with a woman named Ahnah. It was said that her eyes were as blue as the ocean and her hair as dark as the night, and Igaluk had known from the moment he first saw her that she would be his heart's companion. On the day after their wedding, however, one of the rival tribes attacked and Ahnah was killed.

Torn by grief, Igaluk carried the body of his beloved to the sacred shrine and begged the Ocean and Moon Spirits to return her soul to him, for he knew that he could not carry on living without the woman who held his heart by his side. It was a desperate man's plea—an impossible plea—but the spirits were moved by his cries and decided to take pity on Igaluk, understanding the pain of being separated from a lover. They told him that, because it was the Night of Souls, he had a chance to call Ahnah back from the Spirit World; however, they could only create the opening to guide her through; he would have to be the one to summon her lost soul back through the veil.

Igaluk understood that there was no guarantee she would return and that performing such a ritual would put his own life in danger, but he was willing to take the risk. He set up the summoning rite, using objects that contained ties to her mortal life to call her back, as well as the love that made his frame tremble with longing and need. True to their word, the Moon and Ocean Spirits created a path of silver to guide Ahnah through the endless space that separated the two worlds. Igaluk watched and waited, praying that it would be enough; praying that she would hear his call and turn back to reunite with her mortal form.

Gran-Gran had paused in the story then, observing that the accounts of what happened to Igaluk and Ahnah often differed from this point. Some said that Igaluk could not summon his lover back to his arms; that what the spirits had really meant was that, to be reunited with Ahnah, he would have to follow her along the silver path into the Spirit World, thus giving up his own mortal body. Morals and tragedy; that is all this account had cared for, because the dead should never be allowed to rise again. But then there was another ending—one that had Katara listening to her grandmother's voice with unnatural stillness, for it had spoken of a heart renewed with life; of a woman who had been lost in the undying lands, but who had eventually found her way back as she followed a silver path to be reunited with her lover.

Ahnah had lived again; the only difference was that her hair, which had once been as black as night, had become the colour of moonbeams. Everything came at a cost, the spirits had warned, but in this case they had paid the price for Igaluk and Ahnah; they had restored what had been lost. It was an ending of tears and happiness, and it was one that Katara could not banish from her mind. Try as she might, she could not ignore the small voice that kept whispering in her ear impossible thoughts—desperate thoughts.

What if the legend was real? What if it actually was possible to revive the dead?

Katara touched the warm stone at her throat, feeling the patterns and grooves that had been carved with so much attention to detail, so much love. She didn't know when it was that she made her decision; perhaps it had already been forming in her mind from the moment Gran-Gran had first started telling the story, like tiny threads being pieced together to form a tapestry of realisation. Her mother was dead, but maybe it didn't have to be that way. Maybe the Ocean and Moon Spirits would help her as well. She had the necklace, and she knew she wanted her mother back more than anything. It could work … it could work.

"I have to try," Katara said aloud, getting to her feet.

It was the Night of Souls: a time when the two worlds were at their closest and the dead could walk again. If she wanted to bring her mother back, it had to be tonight. It had to be now.

Katara stuffed her feet into her boots, then slipped on her mittens and fur over-coat, making sure to do up all the ties to keep out the cold. Winter was coming; it would be foolish to go to the shrine unprepared. She grabbed the lantern resting by the door and then hesitated, glancing back to where Sokka was sleeping on his pallet. He was snoring softly, oblivious to the world. She knew that he would tell her not to go if he was awake; that travelling to the shrine alone was too dangerous, and that her plan was nothing more than a foolish dream, but Katara was beyond reasoning now. Hope was a wild drum in her chest, beating and beating, and urging her onwards. She had to do this. She had to try.

Pushing aside the hanging furs, Katara stepped out of the igloo and felt the icy touch of the night brush against her exposed cheeks. The bonfire was still smouldering, but there were no adults laughing and drinking around the fire like there should have been; all of the men had gone to war, and the women were tucked up in their igloos with their children. Once, this might have saddened Katara, but tonight it just made her relieved. No one would be able to stop her this way, for no one need know that she had even gone.

She used a stick from the bonfire to light the lantern and then hurried through the village gates, determined to reach the shrine as quickly as possible. Crunch, crunch, crunch went her boots against the snow, but she was relieved that the little white flakes weren't falling from the sky as well. The night air was frigid enough and she could feel her hand going numb from having to hold the lantern, even with the added protection of her mittens.

Katara shivered and quickened her pace, ignoring the way the flame created monstrous shadows to dance and weave alongside her. She couldn't afford to be afraid, not tonight, so she put aside her childish fears of night wraiths and focussed only on taking one step forward after the next. There was a time when the trek to the shrine would have been a simple feat—back before the Fire Nation attacked and the tribe was reduced from a sprawling centre of life to a few igloos protected by a fragile wall—but now the path was barely maintained and riddled with holes waiting to trip an unsuspecting foot. It was therefore a relief when the thin peninsular came into view, and she wasted no time in making her way up the slope.

"I'm almost there, Mum," she whispered, half-running as she headed for the mound of snow-covered rocks positioned at the edge of the cliff.

The tip of her boot came up against something hard, and she fell to the ground from the momentum, dropping the lantern in the process. The flame within gave a pitiful stutter before dying in a puff of smoke, but the moon was so bright now that she no longer needed the candle to light her way. Abandoning the lantern, she crawled the last few feet to the shrine—or what was left of it—and then knelt down in front of the mound. She brushed her hand across the coverlet of white to reveal frozen water trapped inside a circle of rocks. She knew that there was meant to be statues of the Moon and Ocean Spirits carved into the rock on either side of the prayer altar, and that the altar itself was meant to be much larger, but it had all been destroyed during one of raids. It was rumoured that the Fire Nation had thought that destroying the tribe's link with the spirits might also stop any new waterbenders from being born, and that was a risk the firebenders had been willing to take, regardless of the repercussions. Katara could only hope that the link had not been truly severed; she wouldn't get very far tonight if the spirits couldn't hear her prayers.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she undid the clasp of her necklace and tugged the choker free from her throat, hesitating only a moment before she placed the pendant down on the frozen water. The blue stone seemed to glow silver in the moonlight, and she could hear the waves crashing against the rocks on either side of her, as if the world had narrowed into this single union of moon and ocean. If there was ever a perfect time to begin the ritual, this would be it. She exhaled slowly and forced her body into a state of calm.

"I call upon the great spirits!" Katara began in a clear voice, bringing her palms together as she closed her eyes. "Spirit of the Ocean! Spirit of the Moon! Hear my prayer and be with me now, for I am need of your aid! I—"

She paused, not really sure how to phrase her next words. Gran-Gran had never mentioned the exact wording that Igaluk had said when making his request to the spirits, and the text-book prayer that they had all been forced to learn as children only covered asking for protection in battle. What if she got the words wrong and the spirits didn't help her?

"Speak, daughter."

Katara trembled slightly, still keeping her eyes shut. The voice had seemed to come from within her, but also outside her; it was a whisper, almost a sigh, yet was still somehow as loud as thunder, and it pierced straight to her heart. She had never felt more afraid, or relieved.

"Speak," the voice commanded again. "Tell us your desire."

"I—" She swallowed, moistening her dry lips. "I want to bring my mother back. I know you have the power to revive the dead—you did it for Ahnah—and it's the Night of Souls, so—"

"The one named Ahnah had only been dead for a few hours when we helped to guide her soul back to her body. She had not yet lost her ties to the mortal world."

Katara clenched her hands into fists. "Are you saying that my mother can't be revived?"

There was a sigh, and for a moment she was surrounded by the scent of the ocean and a glow of silver light.

"We cannot undo what has been made permanent. The dead are like dust drifting in the wind; if they travel too far, they cannot be returned."

"Then you won't even try?" Katara demanded, feeling frustration and disappointment settle in her stomach like a plummeting stone. "You're just going to give up now because it seems impossible?"

"We are sorry that this upsets you. We understand that the loss of your mother has been a heavy burden for you to bear."

She shook her head, even as something hot prickled at the corners of her eyes. "You don't understand! If you did understand you would make an effort to help me! You would bring my mother back!" She took in a shuddering breath, trying to hold back her tears. "My whole life I've been led to believe that you are the great spirits—the most powerful beings in the world—yet when I need you the most, you just turn your back on me. Why help Igaluk and not me? My mother was snatched away from me, too! My heart bleeds for her just as much as Igaluk's did for Ahnah, so why won't you just try? Why won't you bring her back?"

There was no response. Katara hugged her arms around her body, not even caring if she had offended the spirits. The pain of her disappointment was too much. Her very soul felt twisted and broken, and there was just so much bitterness turning inside her, like acid burning through her insides. She had thought that the spirits would be able to help her; she had never thought that they wouldn't try at all.

A salty breeze washed over her, surrounding her with the scent of the ocean. Katara gritted her teeth, still huddling into herself. She didn't want to think about the spirits right now, but then she felt a cool hand cup her cheek, gently raising her face and brushing away her tears.

"Open your eyes."

Her breath caught in a shuddery gasp, but when she obeyed the command there was no one there. Instead, she saw the silvery beams of the moon reach down to touch the frozen water, making it glow with a strange luminosity. Little cracks began to appear on the surface, spreading like a cobweb until the element broke free of its icy shackles and started spiralling up into the air from the circle of rocks. Heart pounding, she glanced down to see that the necklace had remained unscathed, resting on an icy island in the centre of the altar, where the pendant glimmered and shone in the colours of the stars.

"Look into the mirror," the voices of the spirits whispered. "If your desire is strong enough, you will be able to call back the one you have lost."

Katara raised her eyes to the liquid hovering in front of her and saw that, sure enough, it was indeed more of a mirror, shifting in an eternal flow like the push and pull of the tides without losing a single drop. She sat up straighter on her knees, dropping her hands back to her sides as she stared at the awe-inspiring sight. Never had the moon shone so brightly, illuminating the water so that it seemed more silver than the clear blue she was used to associating with her element—so that it seemed to flicker and dance with an unearthly light that whispered of mystery and power. This was indeed the work of the Moon and Ocean Spirits, and it was then that she realised that she was looking at the gateway mentioned in the legend of Ahnah and Igaluk; not a path, but a mirror that could reflect back her heart's desire.

She clenched her hands on her lap, staring at the surface that was now only showing a distorted vision of her own face. Her heart was beating like a wild tattoo against her ribs, pounding and pounding until her whole body seemed to pulse with the rhythm. She could barely think, barely breathe; she just watched, waiting for the image to change.

Please, Mum, she called in her heart. Please, come back. We need you. I need you.

The waves crashing against the rocks seemed to get louder, even as the wind picked up and blew the hood from her face, exposing her skin to the cold. Katara swallowed, feeling a strange, raw energy crackling around her—the power of the Spirit World. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms prickled, and she watched as more threads of silver reached down from the sky, connecting with the necklace on the altar to make the pendant glow even brighter. She had never seen anything more beautiful. She had never seen anything more terrifying.

Her hands trembled as she saw the water ripple, blurring the vision she had of her own wide-eyed expression so that, for a moment, she could see nothing but silver flickers of moonlight dancing on the surface. Then an image began to form, like a drop of dye spreading in water so that tendrils of colour flowed out and then fused as the lines looped back to connect with one other. Blue eyes, dark hair, umber-tanned skin; it could have been her own face she was looking upon, but the jaw was more defined, the cheekbones more angular. This was a woman, not a girl, and Katara felt her heart stutter to a halt as she met the other's gaze.

"Mum," she whispered, reaching out a hand towards the image. "Is that really you?"

Kya did not speak, but her mouth curved into a smile—one that Katara knew very well. She had seen her brother wear a similar expression during those rare, tender moments, when he wasn't being loud and obnoxious. It was like the last of the puzzle pieces falling together, and it had a sob breaking free from her throat.

"Mum!" she cried again, scrambling closer to the mirror on her hands and knees. "You're here! You're really here!"

The image of Kya flickered and rippled, but no mortal body took shape from the silvery surface, no tangible form that could be touched. She wouldn't even speak. Katara didn't understand. Hadn't the summoning ritual worked? Wasn't her mother right here in front of her?

"Why?" Katara demanded, swallowing against the hard lump in her throat. "Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you come out?"

Kya just stared at her with that loving little smile, her face shifting and blurring with the flow of the water. It was almost like staring at a shadow puppet on a wall, except it was moonlight that had created this woman, not fire. Katara squeezed her eyes shut, trembling as the truth began to sink in with each silent second that passed, making her feel suddenly hollow.

"No," she whispered, even as unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks. "No, no, no! This isn't fair! This isn't fair!" Her eyes snapped open and she glared up at the sky. "You promised me that you would bring her back!"

"We do not make promises that we cannot keep," the ancient voices of the spirits sighed in her mind. "You asked us to try, and so we have. But the dead cannot return to the world of the living when there is no vessel for their souls to inhabit, no anchor to keep them grounded. The one named Kya has been lost for too long."

Katara fisted her hands into the snow, still shaking as she tried to control her breathing. "Then what is this woman I'm looking at? Is she even real?"

"What you see now is a reflection of your mother's spirit. She is as real as she can be in the mortal world."

Katara glanced back at the mirror, meeting the ocean-blue eyes that were so like her own and yet completely different. Kya was still smiling, yet there was a hint of sadness in her expression now, as if she understood that her daughter was in pain. As if she understood that they could not truly be reunited—at least, not in this world.

The young waterbender reached out her hand, almost touching the silvery surface. "Mum."

Her fingertips were so close, and for a moment she wondered what would happen if she did remove the distance between them. Perhaps she could be the anchor to draw her mother's soul out from the undying lands. Perhaps they could be reunited. It was the Night of Souls, after all. There was no saying what could happen.

Katara's hand trembled as she inched a bit closer, letting droplets of water splash on her mitten. She held her breath and then—

"No!" someone shouted. "Don't touch it!"

She barely had time to react before arms encircled her waist, wrenching her away from the mirror and dragging her down to the snow in a tangle of limbs. Instinct kicked in, and she began struggling and kicking, trying to break free of that alarmingly strong grip. The boy—for it was indeed a boy, judging by the raspy sound of his voice and the firm chest pressed against her back—just grunted and kept his arms wrapped securely around her middle, refusing to let her escape.

Katara opened her mouth to demand him to let her go, but the words got choked in her throat as her gaze fell on the mirror. The image of her mother was blurring, fading in and out as droplets of water started falling away from the surface like rain. Her eyes widened and she looked up at the sky, unable to stop the wail of despair that escaped her lips when she saw the moon hide its face behind a veil of clouds, sealing off the silvery beams of light.

"No!" she screamed. "Let me go! Mum! Mum!"

She lashed out at the boy, still screaming as she saw her mother's smile disintegrate into ripples, coming apart so that streaks of colour swirled through the water as if someone had come along with a brush and stirred the image round and round. Her heart clenched, compressing so tightly that it seemed to shatter in her chest like glass splintering into a hundred tiny pieces, tearing through her ribs and lungs. She couldn't breathe. Her mother was fading. Her mother was fading.

"No!" she screamed again, even as she clawed and kicked at the boy, desperate to break free—desperate to reach the mirror before it was too late. "Let me go! I have to save her! I have to bring her back!"

"You'll die!" the boy shouted, still holding her tightly.

But Katara wasn't listening. She kicked and scrabbled and, as the frustration surged through her in thick, violent waves, the snow suddenly shot up from the ground and smashed against his face. He made a muffled sound of surprise and his grip loosened around her waist; she didn't hesitate, throwing her whole body weight against his arms so that she stumbled forward onto the ground. Scrambling to her hands and knees, she rushed towards the mirror and reached out for the blurred, disintegrating image of her mother's face, but it was too late. The moon, though back to shining bright and full up in the sky, had snatched away the beams that had illuminated the pendant. Helplessly, she watched as the water that had once been shaped into a perfect oval gave one final glimmer before splashing back into the circle of rocks, once more looking ordinary and clear. There was no sign of her mother.

A scream clawed its way up inside her, but no sound escaped her lips. Instead, she stared at the empty space where the mirror had floated, feeling so cold and hollow, as if ice had crept its way through her veins and frozen all the life inside her. Gone. Her mother was gone. The words seemed to echo in her brain over and over until she was trembling; until she was curling her fingers into the snow and hanging hear head, feeling hot tears roll down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry."

It was the boy. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing against the choking lump in her throat.

"Why did you stop me?" she asked in a hoarse voice. "Thanks to you, I lost my connection with the spirits."

"Would you rather have been killed?"

Katara flinched. "You don't know that would have happened."

He made an exasperated noise. "Don't you know anything? You created a portal to the Spirit World. Only the Avatar can survive in the land of the dead, and you are not the Avatar. If you had touched that water, you would have been sucked inside and lost your connection to your mortal body along with it. You would have died."

She let out a small breath, still keeping her eyes closed. "I just wanted my mother back."

The words were the barest whisper, and for a long moment he said nothing. Then she felt him kneel down beside her and a hand touched her shoulder.

"I'm sorry you lost your mother," he said softly. "That's something we have in common."

Katara looked up, staring at his face for the first time. He was pale, reminding her of the purest ivory, but the left side of his features had been marred with a large scar: a slash of red that had warped his eye into a cat-like slit and burned away flesh and hair, leaving the skin rough and disfigured. She had never seen anything so ugly, but then her eyes met his and she saw the sincerity in those golden irises—saw the shared pain and understanding. That was when she realised that it didn't matter that he was scarred and pale and strange; what mattered was that he was there. What mattered was that he understood.

The sob she had been trying to hold back finally escaped her lips, and she threw herself against his chest, gripping onto his jacket as she buried her face into his shoulder. He seemed a bit stunned at first, but then his arms hesitantly came around her, cradling rather than restraining. She closed her eyes, still trembling as fresh tears dampened her cheeks.

"She was right there," Katara whispered, tightening her grip on his jacket. "She was right there and I couldn't do a thing. I couldn't bring her back."

The boy said nothing; instead he just held her, letting his actions say the words that he could not. Once, she might have found it odd that she was seeking comfort from a stranger, but in that moment it just made sense. He was so warm, so solid. He made her feel like the world wasn't crumbling to nothing from under her feet; that there was still something to hold onto, even if her heart felt crushed and scattered into a hundred pieces.

She didn't know how long they knelt there together like that, arms wrapped around each other, but then he gently disengaged himself, telling her that he had to go. His crew would notice that he had gone if he didn't return soon.

"Crew?" she asked.

The boy tensed, as if he just realised that he had let slip too much information. She stared at him then—really stared at him—taking in his white jacket, pants and boots, so like the colour of snow. As if he wanted to camouflage with his surroundings. As if he didn't want to be seen at all. Doubt prickled at her mind, reminding her that this boy's skin was too pale and that his half-shaved head and high pony-tail were nothing like the styles she had seen the men wear in her own tribe.

Because he is a foreigner, an inner voice warned.

There was no escaping the truth. This boy did not come from the South Pole, and in that she knew that there was no reason for him to be wandering the frozen outskirts of her village at this time of night. Slowly, she backed away from him, her eyes wide.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

The boy averted his face, showing her the scarred, ugly side. "I have to go."

She wanted to stop him. She wanted to shout and demand explanations, but he was already running and the words got choked in her throat. Instead, she could only watch as he slipped away into the night just as swiftly and silently as he had come, like a wraith fading into the shadows. The wind swirled around her, and a few scatters of snowflakes began to fall. His footprints would be covered by the morning; there would be no way to follow him, no way to discover where he had come from. It would be like he had never existed at all.

Katara let out a small breath. But he had existed. He had stopped her from touching the mirror; he had saved her life.

"I'm sorry you lost your mother … That's something we have in common."

She closed her eyes, picturing the boy with the far too pale skin and golden irises; the boy who had held her close and shared in her pain. "Who are you?" she whispered again.

But the night had no name to offer. The boy was gone, taking his answers with him. She sighed and turned back to the altar, picking up the necklace from the circle of rocks and brushing away the droplets of water that clung to the stone. Then, with calm assurance, she clasped the pendant back around her neck, feeling its cold, damp weight settle against the familiar spot on her chest.

Katara had not been able to revive her mother, but if there was anything that she had learnt that night, it was that sometimes one had to just keep moving forward. She had looked to the past, and she had almost died because of it. The strange, pale boy had come and gone, and now there was nothing for her to do but go home and forget that this night had ever happened.

Perhaps she might have managed to do so as well, had life settled back into its usual routine of helping her grandmother and brother take care of the village while she waited for her father to return home. But it had not. The cogs of destiny had been put in motion and, barely a month later, she was scrambling to reach a giant iceberg that she had revealed with her bending. Inside, she and her brother had found a strange boy with fair skin and an arrow tattooed on his forehead. An airbender. They took him back to their village and all seemed well until a flare was triggered on an abandoned warship. It glowed bright like a miniature sun in the sky, burning in a signal of smoke and light. Burning for all to see.

Sokka had banished the foreigner for the danger he had put their village in, but Katara had chosen to stay with her family. She had looked to the ocean and saw her nightmares come true. Because the Fire Nation had returned, and that was when everything changed.

Artemis-Day's prompts:

1: Zutara and Sokka/Yue double date.

2: Zuko loses a bet with Katara and has to do a striptease for her.

3. Zuko and Katara watch The Avengers.

4. Halloween.

5. Dress.

I decided to go with Halloween, though I took a more traditional approach to the holiday. I should also state now that I actually do plan to continue this story and make it into a chaptered Zutara fic. For now, however, you can just consider this a one-shot. ^_~