Anghraine

“You’re certain you can manage, Taraka?”

“Yes,” she said. “And Noatak won’t let anything happen to me.”

Noatak opened his mouth, then shut it again. Her blind trust both irritated and soothed him; he felt burdened by it, but he also felt as if a tilting world had righted itself, his place once again clear to him. So what if Taraka should be capable of defending herself? He was her older brother. It was his duty to protect her. It would always be his duty.

Noatak opened his mouth, then shut it again. He only recovered himself when Yakone led them towards their prey, and Taraka let out a small moan. Noatak grabbed her arm, digging his fingers into it as tightly as he could.

“Don’t,” he hissed. Don’t let him hear you. Don’t let him see any weakness. Don’t give him any reason—

“Noatak.” It was all she said, his name a hopeless prayer in her mouth. Noatak looked away, into the cave their father was leading them towards.

“It’s—it’s just rats,” he said helplessly.

Behind his mask, his lips twitched into a small, painful smile. She was a monster, his baby sister, but at least she was a magnificent one.

Then he looked at his hands, his waterbender’s hands.

At least they both were.