Her eyebrows rise at the first comment, though her reply is less offended and more a matter of pride. "Unlike some, I am not confined to my pools. And if I am to be forced to be here, I may as well understand my cell."

Yes, Mia, you and Aang both suggested it. And she knows it, privately, even she does not give the credit openly.

"As for my . . . sketchbook, there is nothing to mar." Her hand moves for the girl to see the finished product; the result is . . . well . . . pretty bad, like a two year old with their first crayon -- a fact that she's fully aware of, pressing her lips together briefly. "Apparently I cannot begin to reproduce what little human art I have seen."

So irritating, to have a human make something she actually admires -- and then be unable to echo it.