(no subject)
Azula sat, her meditation consisting of calligraphy. Unlike her brother, she hardly ever worked with the candles. It was too easy, a child could do it, and hence it did nothing for her. The brush strokes were careful, measured.
Like everything else she did, she kept it perfect. The characters on the paper she had found spelled out a simple, short haiku. The first, and largest, characters on the sheet made up her name, and its meaning ‘of blue flame’. The rest, the small characters on the side made up the poem. It was nothing she composed herself, but a simple and common on.
The point was not the poem after all, it was the brush strokes. It was the characters. Ty Lee should make her way back soon, and at least now Azula was centered enough to deal with her friend’s odd moves. Not that anyone else would come knocking.
Like everything else she did, she kept it perfect. The characters on the paper she had found spelled out a simple, short haiku. The first, and largest, characters on the sheet made up her name, and its meaning ‘of blue flame’. The rest, the small characters on the side made up the poem. It was nothing she composed herself, but a simple and common on.
The point was not the poem after all, it was the brush strokes. It was the characters. Ty Lee should make her way back soon, and at least now Azula was centered enough to deal with her friend’s odd moves. Not that anyone else would come knocking.