Arctic Flower

Nuktuk and the Giants

"Katara deserves better than to have to be with that evil prince," added Yuka, a delicate-looking boy, scarcely old enough to be on the fishing trip, who was mending a net with a darning needle. 
Amaruq, a burly young man the same age as Sokka, who already had an impressive beard, shook his spear and chuckled. "Katara's one sweet little snowdrop. That royal pansy doesn't deserve to have her in his bed."
Rumors about Katara's fate had reached all the villages in the area. Apparently, Prince Zuko was infatuated with Katara and made her a royal consort, a fancy Fire Nation term for sex slave.
"Watch it," Sokka snarled. He knocked the spear out of Amaruq's hand. "That's my little sister you're talking about."
"Too bad she didn't get the chance to find a real man." Some of the younger members of the fishing party laughed and nodded in agreement. Sokka scowled. O the curse of having a beautiful sister.
These knuckleheads were right about one thing: Katara did deserve better.
As much as Sokka grumbled about how stubborn and willful Katara was, how she always tried to boss him around and act like their mother, even though she was younger, he missed her something awful. 
Katara would have left home someday to join her husband's village. Gran-Gran spoke about how Katara was approaching marriageable age, and when Dad returned with the fleet, he'd probably arrange a betrothal for her.  Like a good father, he would have let her have the final say in who she married.  Southern Water Tribe girls could be married off against their will, but it was frowned upon. Sokka often joked that he couldn't wait for someone, anyone, to come to take her off their hands. Now he had to eat those words.
When a husband did come to take Katara, he should have been a brave and honorable warrior who treated her with the love and respect she deserved. Definitely not some asshole Fire Nation prince who'd steal her innocence then pass her around among his crew like a peace pipe.
"Look after your sister, Sokka," Dad had said before he left for war.
Sokka hugged him, tears running down his cheeks. "I will. I promise." 
Katara's misfortune meant that Sokka had failed in his promise to protect her. She never made it easy for him to keep this promise. As an old Water Tribe proverb said: It's easier to look after one hundred reindeer-moose than one girl. But Katara was still his responsibility, and he couldn't fail her again.

Old Tarkik got it right. Dad wouldn't have stood for this, and Sokka sure as Hell wouldn't either.

"Shit," Amaruq grumbled. The boat had drifted into a vast ice flow, and the bow was now stuck.
Sokka readied his boomerang. "I got it," he said, using the boomerang to hack through the snow and ice.
A few leagues away loomed the Fire Nation warship, its sharp, metal-enforced bow wedged into a thick sheet of ice. The ice sheet grew thinner towards the center, and the bow was strong enough to cut through it. The ship wasn't stuck but rather docked.
A dozen dark, barely-distinguishable figures descended the gangplank.  They came more into view, and Sokka could make out the red and black Fire Nation armor.
Sokka continued to swing his boomerang and hack into the ice and snow surrounding his boat's bow. "Bastards," he growled. The ice sheet cracked around him, breaking into rectangular and diamond-shaped chunks.
"Hey," the leader of the group of soldiers shouted at him. "What are you doing?" His men ran back towards the ship.

Sokka tapped Old Tarkik on the shoulder. "Turn around."
All but one of the Fire Nation soldiers made it to safety. The unfortunate young man swam, puffing and gasping, past the boat as they rowed back towards the village, his face purple and his lips blue.
"Help," he panted, a thick cloud of smokey breath obscuring his face.
"Where you going, buddy?" Sokka replied. "You're heading in the wrong direction. The Fire Nation's the other way."
"What are we going to with him?" Yuka asked.
Sokka grabbed an oar. "If we pull him out of the water, he'll probably freeze to death before we get back to the village. It's only a slightly horrible way to die than if we just left him here. The merciful thing to do would be to put him out of his misery."
The oar hit the drowning man in the face and pushed him under the water. As he choked on his final breaths, a smokey fog covered the ice.