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31_days2006-11-16 08:35 pm
sophiap.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-11-16 08:35 pm
[Nov. 16] [Avatar] Flying Sorcery
Title: Flying sorcery
Day/Theme: November 16 - he wishes for the cloths of heaven
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Aang
Rating: PG
A shadow races over the flock of birds. They scatter and wheel, thinking hawk, but the sound above them is bubbling laughter, not the cruel shriek of the predator.
Aang swoops down and above the vineyards, watching his shadow grow and fade, grow and fade, as the wind carries him along the rolling countryside. A flick of the glider's wing, and he rises again. Perhaps he rises with the wind, or perhaps he bends it to his will, but it has always been hard for him to tell the difference.
Up, up, up, backlit by the setting sun, down, down, down, veering across Appa's path then on, on, on, grinning as the bison's startled bellow and Sokka's impressive streak of cursing dwindle away behind him.
Bank, turn, drop, rise. Ride the thermal, feel the bending of the air in the pull of the glider against his arms.
Aang veers around and hovers over Appa's saddle just long enough to point at a cloud, a glimmering mountain of gold and red in the late afternoon light, and shout out look at it, all piled up like that, it looks like the city of Omashu, doesn't it, Katara, doesn't it? before pulling up and away again. Up and away to where the air is so thin he has to bend it around and under himself to stay aloft. This far up, he can even see a few pinpricks of starlight. But he can't stay there for very long, so he dives back down to fly alongside the others. He wheels off to chase a bird or his own shadow, but he always returns.
They're going to land for the night pretty soon. Katara is calling after him, and Aang is--for now--pretending not to hear her. When Appa gives him a longsuffering look and starts drifting downwards, or perhaps when Momo starts circling his head and chittering at him in a tone that means food now and rest, Aang will lean and swoop in a lazy curve to rejoin the others.
He'll land with a flourish, running a few steps to compensate for how unsteady he feels on too-solid ground. He's talking the moment he lands, asking his friends if they saw the farm with the funny red windmill, or if they noticed how the leaves were already turning gold and yellow and bright flame orange.
It's good to be with his friends. The three of them talk until well after dark. They rest up against Appa's flanks, and in the warm lee of the bison's massive form even Aang sometimes has a hard time believing that Appa can fly. It's a time when they can plot their course for the next day, and argue over how long to stay in camp the next morning to work on Aang's waterbending lessons. It's a time for them to be grounded, rooted. It's a time when he can tell them about how much he misses a life that is now a hundred years out of reach, and he can confide in them about how he doesn't know if he'll be ready for a future that seems all too close (and if only he could reverse the positions of future and past, if only, if only...)
The next day, he'll ride with Sokka and Katara a bit before taking to the air again. The sky is the same as it was a hundred years ago (bank and whirl, swoop and dive, back to where he was a moment before), and the same as it will be a month from now (circle and soar, round and round and round again). The stars are the same, and the sun, and the moon. From high enough up, from far enough away (rise and rise and rise until there is only air and the unchanging stars above) the earth of a hundred years ago is the earth of today is the earth of tomorrow (he moves the air and the air moves him) and in the flying there is only the now and the always and the forever.
Day/Theme: November 16 - he wishes for the cloths of heaven
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Aang
Rating: PG
A shadow races over the flock of birds. They scatter and wheel, thinking hawk, but the sound above them is bubbling laughter, not the cruel shriek of the predator.
Aang swoops down and above the vineyards, watching his shadow grow and fade, grow and fade, as the wind carries him along the rolling countryside. A flick of the glider's wing, and he rises again. Perhaps he rises with the wind, or perhaps he bends it to his will, but it has always been hard for him to tell the difference.
Up, up, up, backlit by the setting sun, down, down, down, veering across Appa's path then on, on, on, grinning as the bison's startled bellow and Sokka's impressive streak of cursing dwindle away behind him.
Bank, turn, drop, rise. Ride the thermal, feel the bending of the air in the pull of the glider against his arms.
Aang veers around and hovers over Appa's saddle just long enough to point at a cloud, a glimmering mountain of gold and red in the late afternoon light, and shout out look at it, all piled up like that, it looks like the city of Omashu, doesn't it, Katara, doesn't it? before pulling up and away again. Up and away to where the air is so thin he has to bend it around and under himself to stay aloft. This far up, he can even see a few pinpricks of starlight. But he can't stay there for very long, so he dives back down to fly alongside the others. He wheels off to chase a bird or his own shadow, but he always returns.
They're going to land for the night pretty soon. Katara is calling after him, and Aang is--for now--pretending not to hear her. When Appa gives him a longsuffering look and starts drifting downwards, or perhaps when Momo starts circling his head and chittering at him in a tone that means food now and rest, Aang will lean and swoop in a lazy curve to rejoin the others.
He'll land with a flourish, running a few steps to compensate for how unsteady he feels on too-solid ground. He's talking the moment he lands, asking his friends if they saw the farm with the funny red windmill, or if they noticed how the leaves were already turning gold and yellow and bright flame orange.
It's good to be with his friends. The three of them talk until well after dark. They rest up against Appa's flanks, and in the warm lee of the bison's massive form even Aang sometimes has a hard time believing that Appa can fly. It's a time when they can plot their course for the next day, and argue over how long to stay in camp the next morning to work on Aang's waterbending lessons. It's a time for them to be grounded, rooted. It's a time when he can tell them about how much he misses a life that is now a hundred years out of reach, and he can confide in them about how he doesn't know if he'll be ready for a future that seems all too close (and if only he could reverse the positions of future and past, if only, if only...)
The next day, he'll ride with Sokka and Katara a bit before taking to the air again. The sky is the same as it was a hundred years ago (bank and whirl, swoop and dive, back to where he was a moment before), and the same as it will be a month from now (circle and soar, round and round and round again). The stars are the same, and the sun, and the moon. From high enough up, from far enough away (rise and rise and rise until there is only air and the unchanging stars above) the earth of a hundred years ago is the earth of today is the earth of tomorrow (he moves the air and the air moves him) and in the flying there is only the now and the always and the forever.