It seems to Azula that she can’t breathe out until the airship is drifting over the valley, nose pointed eastwards, the setting sun on her back. Up here, she’s safe. Up here, there’s nothing she didn’t mean to bring with her.
The gondola of the airship is close- it wouldn’t be possible to spend more than one concurrent night in the air, at least not comfortably- but if she needs space, all she has to do is land. Here is the nearest thing to home she’s had since before the asylum. A small, secret space that nobody else can touch.
Day 2
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