[It's the earthquake that wakes Toph; makes her snap upright in the nest she's taken up in the lower bowels of the Air Temple. The shaking goes on and on, and she can't feel it, can't see the world splinter into a thousand fractals of vibration and echo, can't delve into the heart of the quake and determine its source. The earth rolls beneath her again and again, roaring in her ears. She roars with it -- screams -- because she can't feel it, can't see it, something which ought to be as natural as breathing, and it's nihility, as though someone has ripped off an arm or leg, stabbed some part of her into silence, and that silence is worse than anything else.]
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