[They'd caught her with both feet up, though her head lifted at the sound of the door, hopeful, one foot reaching for the floor . . .]
[And suddenly there they were, both of them, swooping in on her.]
Aang!
[This is for the first voice, immediate. And then there's another, accompanied by hands sliding the thick folds blanket over her shoulders. Familiar hands. And a familiar voice.]
[Aang's told her that she's been gone a while. Which, frankly, is hard to wrap her head around when for her it's only been a night, but if she accepts it as truth, it makes sense that a lot of things have happened in that time. Including the arrival of the owner of those hands.]
[Still. It's hard to erase that feeling of only just having fallen asleep. She's accepted a lot of strangeness about the turtle . . . but this involves the betrayal of her own senses. And for someone who lives by the information that she gathers . . . this new truth is hardest of all.]
. . . Sokka? [Her voice lacks the bold notes it usually carries. It ventures into uncertainty. She wants this part of reality to be accurate . . . but almost worse would be to be wrong.]
[Too long waiting for them, the weight of the war lingering in the back of her brain.]
no subject
[And suddenly there they were, both of them, swooping in on her.]
Aang!
[This is for the first voice, immediate. And then there's another, accompanied by hands sliding the thick folds blanket over her shoulders. Familiar hands. And a familiar voice.]
[Aang's told her that she's been gone a while. Which, frankly, is hard to wrap her head around when for her it's only been a night, but if she accepts it as truth, it makes sense that a lot of things have happened in that time. Including the arrival of the owner of those hands.]
[Still. It's hard to erase that feeling of only just having fallen asleep. She's accepted a lot of strangeness about the turtle . . . but this involves the betrayal of her own senses. And for someone who lives by the information that she gathers . . . this new truth is hardest of all.]
. . . Sokka? [Her voice lacks the bold notes it usually carries. It ventures into uncertainty. She wants this part of reality to be accurate . . . but almost worse would be to be wrong.]
[Too long waiting for them, the weight of the war lingering in the back of her brain.]
[So much worse to be wrong.]