"Soldier, close your eyes... within these arms of mine."

       For as long as I could remember, I have known only those who were destined to fight in battle. My brothers and sisters are soldiers. I do not know my biological parents; my parental figures shifted as I grew, with new figures occupying the roles of my mother and father routinely. The kind soul that that taught me to tie my shoes as a young girl, the person who taught me the meaning of empathy, would be sent far away from me, thought I will never forget her. The soldier that first taught me how to use a rifle, one of the latter of my many parental figures, instilled upon me the meaning of bearing arms-- he had done so to protect whom he loved, and soon I realized that I was one of those under his protection. When he was sent away, I knew it was to protect us. I have since vowed to do no harm.

        When the war proper broke out, I was told to stay back. I was told to go home, yet the many military encampments I have visited through my years were my home. My rifle was taken from me, but I did not need it. I was taught to heal. I learned the ways to the best of my ability, and sought to mend my brothers and sisters whom I have grown up with. I tended to their wounds, I tended to their hearts. 

       After nine years of serving in the war, I let my brothers and sisters down. With a missing arm, I was sent away from the people that I have grown up with and, for the better part of a year, had been attempting to eek out an existence in a culture I was unfamiliar with. I take solace in knowing I have changed and saved a great many lives, but felt despair that I was unable to save myself. My year alone was the hardest of my life.

     Upon conclusion of the war, on a day that began like any other, I was greeted at the front doorstep by the man I called "Commander." He insulted my dreary habitat, and insisted I reunite with the people from the place I considered my true home. I missed that idiot. Together, we found Sozin, the soldier who lived far North and sent me letters occasionally, along with his new wife. My year of struggle had come to a conclusion, and I am happy at last.

       This is who I am, and such is my story. Now, friend, rest your head upon my lap. Life is turbulent, but together we weather the storm.