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❝ the threshold ❞
· • -- ٠ ♛ ٠ -- • ·
Nari wakes to a warm rag pressed against her forehead, it's dripping water trailing down her cheekbones as it slides along the curve of her ear. Her fingers move along the fabric below her; soft, almost silken... cloth. It's laid over a padded and squished surface, and her head is elevated as a thin sheet of covers are placed over her.
Nari rests in her room, body aching with a soreness which does not fade away. She grimaces as she attempts to sit up, but Rai pushes her back down gently with a frail hand.
Nari looks to her mother, who's hair is pulled back in a sloppy low bun, framing her aged face as she tucks it behind her ear. Her oil black eyes— onyx orbs which no one else has been graced with, to Nari's knowledge— hold a lowered demeanor, something pulling down on them like a weight tied to a string.
"Mom?" Nari weakly raps, turning slightly to take in her entire stance— something is not right. It is not often that Rai seems remorseful, not even after the fights she has with Nari. "What-"
Rai places a hand on the girls bicep, her opposite hand stealing the rag from the Nari's forehead. She hushes the girl, eyes closing as she pats Nari. "You need rest, Nari." Rai softly says. Her care is something Nari finds confusion in, not comfort. For a reason unplaced, tonight her family has given her more care than she has gotten in many months. Her father stood up for her with a stern haste, Tayiko never left her side when it came to making sure she was okay, and Rai acted less of a teacher and more of a mother. To say this has not made Nari the least bit weak inside would be a lie.
Nari shakes her head at her mother. "What happened?" She asks, a classic post-pass-out question more needed now than ever. She faintly remembers her fight with Akio; it was somewhat of an informal Agni Kai, one could say, as there was less fire bending then there was antagonizing. The victor is unclear in her mind, as the one thing she is sure of is the pain which radiates with each slow beat of her heart.
Rai lowers her hand to Nari's, cold fingertips pressed against the back of her hand. In her eyes, she holds a dread darker than their own hue. There is hesitation in her every movement. "You're a very strong bender, you know?"
Nari nods— she doesn't feel the need to emphasize 'very', or to dwell on her mother's compliment.
"You bent white fire and lightning bent, dear. Nobody knew you could do that." It seems as though Rai continues to stray from a topic, the very question of fog Nari can't make out. "You struck Akio with it."
Nari forms a deep chasm between her brows, expression confusion without words.
"Nari," her mother says with a warned and wary tone, "what all do you remember?" Rai holds her hands under her chin, clasped together. But with the concern of her daughters memory, she places her hand down on Nari's hand, thumb brushing over a bare burn.
