Live Like A Dog
May. 19th, 2006 08:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
princeinexile[This takes place over Season 2 episode 5 and 6; AVATAR DAY and THE BLIND BANDIT]
He wondered, sometimes, if he was a better thief then he was a prince. Brigandy was fairly simple, though, in wartorn times. The men left behind to protect villages and cities were the weak ones; the ones with some defect that left them unfit for war.
No one could keep on his trail for long. Not in the villages, not no the road.
His conscience, however, could not be shaken. Especially not when it found voice in his uncle's words.
A prince should live better, shouldn't he?
But didn't a prince, like any other man, need to eat?
+++
Two days after he left his uncle, the forest gave way to rocky earth and sparse shade. He slept under the stars near the bird, for the dry, hot plains grew cold at night, and he found even a Firebender could shiver himself awake when the night sky was his blanket.
He found the constellations were the same, across the world; he had only paid so much attention back on the ship. He had learned to navigate by them, knowing the Dragon struck at the Bison's hunches in the east, but to the south the Tribesman still sought The Mother of Sea Beasts, with her wild hair and wisdom for those unafraid to face death.
He remembered the tales uncle had told him (uncle, Zuko was not ashamed to admit, told him all the best legends, but sometimes, he told the worst kind of stories) and they lulled him to sleep at night, giving him something new to dream about.
Sometimes the villains had Zhao's face, sometimes the Gods wore his father's frown, sometimes the girls were crowned with flaxen hair -- but sometimes, Zuko could be a hero in them.
+++
He was losing weight. His clothes hung on him like they might on a airing rack; but these were no fine silk robes, no long sleeved garments of rich production. No; they were geting threadbare in places, frayed at the hems.
Noticing his own stink was new, but he grew inured to it; he bathed when he could (cold streams were sometimes a part of training, for enduring a temperature so foreign to his own) but water was scarce here. Often, his waterskin was as empty as his stomach.
Food was rare. He had learned to hunt once, with a wolf (it seemed a long time ago, walking with wolves) at his side, but now, now he was lucky if he could take from another man.
Featherbeds and soft sheets were forgotten; he was used to the lumpy ribs of his mount, now, and the smell of feathers, or ocasionally waking up to the damn thing trying to eat the hair that was growing in thick where his scalp was smooth and unmarred.
He stopped caring; he didn't think about the war, and he tried not to think about the Avatar. He was a dog now, he realized; just a stray thing, with no pack (and pack was important, he knew -- that he could recognize his lack) and no one who gave a damn whether he lived or died, thrived of fell.
+++
It was strangely liberating, living for nothing but survival. You stopped caring about human concepts like family, honor, or duty. You only cared about the food in your belly, the water on your tongue, and the road beneath your feet.
Zuko went forward, and did not look back.
He wondered, sometimes, if he was a better thief then he was a prince. Brigandy was fairly simple, though, in wartorn times. The men left behind to protect villages and cities were the weak ones; the ones with some defect that left them unfit for war.
No one could keep on his trail for long. Not in the villages, not no the road.
His conscience, however, could not be shaken. Especially not when it found voice in his uncle's words.
A prince should live better, shouldn't he?
But didn't a prince, like any other man, need to eat?
Two days after he left his uncle, the forest gave way to rocky earth and sparse shade. He slept under the stars near the bird, for the dry, hot plains grew cold at night, and he found even a Firebender could shiver himself awake when the night sky was his blanket.
He found the constellations were the same, across the world; he had only paid so much attention back on the ship. He had learned to navigate by them, knowing the Dragon struck at the Bison's hunches in the east, but to the south the Tribesman still sought The Mother of Sea Beasts, with her wild hair and wisdom for those unafraid to face death.
He remembered the tales uncle had told him (uncle, Zuko was not ashamed to admit, told him all the best legends, but sometimes, he told the worst kind of stories) and they lulled him to sleep at night, giving him something new to dream about.
Sometimes the villains had Zhao's face, sometimes the Gods wore his father's frown, sometimes the girls were crowned with flaxen hair -- but sometimes, Zuko could be a hero in them.
He was losing weight. His clothes hung on him like they might on a airing rack; but these were no fine silk robes, no long sleeved garments of rich production. No; they were geting threadbare in places, frayed at the hems.
Noticing his own stink was new, but he grew inured to it; he bathed when he could (cold streams were sometimes a part of training, for enduring a temperature so foreign to his own) but water was scarce here. Often, his waterskin was as empty as his stomach.
Food was rare. He had learned to hunt once, with a wolf (it seemed a long time ago, walking with wolves) at his side, but now, now he was lucky if he could take from another man.
Featherbeds and soft sheets were forgotten; he was used to the lumpy ribs of his mount, now, and the smell of feathers, or ocasionally waking up to the damn thing trying to eat the hair that was growing in thick where his scalp was smooth and unmarred.
He stopped caring; he didn't think about the war, and he tried not to think about the Avatar. He was a dog now, he realized; just a stray thing, with no pack (and pack was important, he knew -- that he could recognize his lack) and no one who gave a damn whether he lived or died, thrived of fell.
It was strangely liberating, living for nothing but survival. You stopped caring about human concepts like family, honor, or duty. You only cared about the food in your belly, the water on your tongue, and the road beneath your feet.
Zuko went forward, and did not look back.
