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Description
In a small village on the tip of the island chain, the smoke could be seen: a black column that stained the horizon.

The fishermen craned their necks from below deck, momentarily forgetting the wet slap of gasping fish against the nets.

The scent of sulphur swept through the farms dotted across great grassy plains that rippled like water in the wind.

Livestock crooned anxiously while the children soothed them, staring at the mountain in silent horror.

In the city it had been felt before it had been seen. The tremor was followed by a split second of numb silence, before the angry ash cloud roared through the streets. Before long the city had been consumed: all was covered in a thin sheet of fine black soot. The stunned citizens coughed and crawled from their shelter, floating into the dim light like ghosts. They turned in unison to face the centre of the city, where the palace- the great centrepiece- slowly tumbled to the ground with a spectacular rumble.

An ashen ghost blinked, and the spell broke. A single step forward turned into another, her pace building until the buildings and faces that parted for her become a blur.

As she neared the palace the people and smoke grew thicker. She had to slow down. After wrestling her way to the front of the crowd she found herself restrained by arm arm flung wide across her chest.
"Let me through!" Her voice was thin and muffled by the silty air. The eyes at the end of the arm looked at her. "Let me through!" She said again. She was recognised. The arm was lowered. As she squeezed through the gap the masses surged forward in her wake, to find it instantly sealed once more by the arm.

Some had been deemed worthy by the arm: they stumbled forward over the smoking ruins, smouldering gently uner their feet. She followed in their suit. Over the shouts, the screams, the crackling and creaking of dying structures it was incredible that the weak croaks of those beneath were heard. But she saw them: pulled painfully slow from the rubble like grotesque weeds. Some were carried away, others staggered for a moment, before joining in the hunt. Others still were closely and queitly spoken to for a moment, before their still, unresponsive bodies were left.

There wasn't one of these that she was not called to. With each she helped her panic grew: none of the faces she helped drag out into the open were the ones she was looking for. There were six, burned into the front of her mind.

Her name carried across the ruins, and her head snapped up instantly. She scrambled to her feet and ran towards the sound.
One: shaken but unhurt, carried in his arms a limp form. Two. She was alright, he said. She wasn't moving, but she was alright.
A small party of shadows appeared through a curtain of smoke. She checked every one for signs of a life-threatening injury. In the party were three of the faces. All alive. Almost there.

One of the faces had his hand on her shoulder, and spoke to her in a low voice. It was hard to hear him, but eventually she comprehended his meaning. Her eyes widened. She shoved her way past him.

The middle of the palace was a crater. She skirted a great arc of stone that curved from the ground like a wave, under which the party had been sheltered.
For a very long moment it appeared there would be no sign of its creator.
And then she saw it: a small pale shape protruding from the rocks like a flag. A hand.

She didn't remember removing the debris. It seemed that one minute she was staring at a hand and then next pulling a broken body into her lap. She pressed her ear to his chest, a painful lump rising in her throat as she felt the bones shift beneath the skin. But there was a flutter beneath it. It was very weak.

"You found me." With her head against his sternum she felt the words rather than heard them. She raised her head to meet the eyes that were fixed on her. They were happy.
"I found you." She didn't know why they were whispering.
He nodded slowly, as if he had known it would happen.
"Don't worry-" she began, but couldn't think of how to finish the phrase. He blinked at her.
"I'm not worried," he said softly. He looked peaceful. "Is everyone okay?" She knew who he meant, and she nodded. He sighed in relief. "Good... Good..."
His hand quivered, and she gripped it hard. He smiled.
"Don't cry, Katara." She wanted to obey him, she really did. She took an unsteady breath. Her eyes burned.

She wasn't quite sure what posessed her to do it. Gathering his frail body towards her, she cradled his head in her hand and gently pressed her lips against his. Dimly aware of the figures materiealizing from the smoke, she ignored them. She felt his face warm against hers as he responded to the kiss for one, wonderful moment.
She drew back an inch and opened her eyes. Her cheeks were wet: they stung.

The hand in hers slackened.

Description
In a small village on the tip of the island chain, the smoke could be seen: a black column that stained the horizon.

The fishermen craned their necks from below deck, momentarily forgetting the wet slap of gasping fish against the nets.

The scent of sulphur swept through the farms dotted across great grassy plains that rippled like water in the wind.

Livestock crooned anxiously while the children soothed them, staring at the mountain in silent horror.

In the city it had been felt before it had been seen. The tremor was followed by a split second of numb silence, before the angry ash cloud roared through the streets. Before long the city had been consumed: all was covered in a thin sheet of fine black soot. The stunned citizens coughed and crawled from their shelter, floating into the dim light like ghosts. They turned in unison to face the centre of the city, where the palace- the great centrepiece- slowly tumbled to the ground with a spectacular rumble.

An ashen ghost blinked, and the spell broke. A single step forward turned into another, her pace building until the buildings and faces that parted for her become a blur.

As she neared the palace the people and smoke grew thicker. She had to slow down. After wrestling her way to the front of the crowd she found herself restrained by arm arm flung wide across her chest.
"Let me through!" Her voice was thin and muffled by the silty air. The eyes at the end of the arm looked at her. "Let me through!" She said again. She was recognised. The arm was lowered. As she squeezed through the gap the masses surged forward in her wake, to find it instantly sealed once more by the arm.

Some had been deemed worthy by the arm: they stumbled forward over the smoking ruins, smouldering gently uner their feet. She followed in their suit. Over the shouts, the screams, the crackling and creaking of dying structures it was incredible that the weak croaks of those beneath were heard. But she saw them: pulled painfully slow from the rubble like grotesque weeds. Some were carried away, others staggered for a moment, before joining in the hunt. Others still were closely and queitly spoken to for a moment, before their still, unresponsive bodies were left.

There wasn't one of these that she was not called to. With each she helped her panic grew: none of the faces she helped drag out into the open were the ones she was looking for. There were six, burned into the front of her mind.

Her name carried across the ruins, and her head snapped up instantly. She scrambled to her feet and ran towards the sound.
One: shaken but unhurt, carried in his arms a limp form. Two. She was alright, he said. She wasn't moving, but she was alright.
A small party of shadows appeared through a curtain of smoke. She checked every one for signs of a life-threatening injury. In the party were three of the faces. All alive. Almost there.

One of the faces had his hand on her shoulder, and spoke to her in a low voice. It was hard to hear him, but eventually she comprehended his meaning. Her eyes widened. She shoved her way past him.

The middle of the palace was a crater. She skirted a great arc of stone that curved from the ground like a wave, under which the party had been sheltered.
For a very long moment it appeared there would be no sign of its creator.
And then she saw it: a small pale shape protruding from the rocks like a flag. A hand.

She didn't remember removing the debris. It seemed that one minute she was staring at a hand and then next pulling a broken body into her lap. She pressed her ear to his chest, a painful lump rising in her throat as she felt the bones shift beneath the skin. But there was a flutter beneath it. It was very weak.

"You found me." With her head against his sternum she felt the words rather than heard them. She raised her head to meet the eyes that were fixed on her. They were happy.
"I found you." She didn't know why they were whispering.
He nodded slowly, as if he had known it would happen.
"Don't worry-" she began, but couldn't think of how to finish the phrase. He blinked at her.
"I'm not worried," he said softly. He looked peaceful. "Is everyone okay?" She knew who he meant, and she nodded. He sighed in relief. "Good... Good..."
His hand quivered, and she gripped it hard. He smiled.
"Don't cry, Katara." She wanted to obey him, she really did. She took an unsteady breath. Her eyes burned.

She wasn't quite sure what posessed her to do it. Gathering his frail body towards her, she cradled his head in her hand and gently pressed her lips against his. Dimly aware of the figures materiealizing from the smoke, she ignored them. She felt his face warm against hers as he responded to the kiss for one, wonderful moment.
She drew back an inch and opened her eyes. Her cheeks were wet: they stung.

The hand in hers slackened.