I'm sure that Sokka's beautiful.
His voice is so optimistic that I believe this whole thing is possibly going to work out. His silence is so tragic that I go to him and sit with him and am with him, without a word, until he breaks his own silence and then he's better.
When he's running, not thinking of anything but the fight or the flight, he is light and solid. His shoes never slip. There is never the unsure half-step. But when he's walking, and thinking, his steps are heavy and his strides short.
When he touches me, playing a joke or something like that, it warms my heart and I feel like a part of the conversation without saying anything. When he is pulling my arm, showing me the way to safety, I am protected and someone in the world cares and worries about me.
When I get near him, he usually smells like bison and stale fear and weeks of hard travel. Just after a bath, though, he smells crisp, like ice water in a glass. I don't know where he buys whatever cologne he uses, but, if he ever runs out, I'll buy him gallons more.
And his taste…will be a surprise.
He is perfect all though his inside, I know that. But the outside… It doesn't matters to the little blind girl.
But I'm sure that he's beautiful.