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A. It's too cold to be outside, or she would most certainly be out. It's snowing outside the library, the flakes drifting down beyond the pane, and the woman perched in the windowsill doesn't seem to be anywhere near dressed for the weather. Her robes are light, more ornamental than practical -- some relics of a bygone era. Dark hair is impossibly long, spilling down the sill and nearly to the floor, left loose and undecorated. In her lap is a pad, and she appears to be attempting to draw . . . though it's hard to say, watching her, that she even knows how to hold a pencil. She keeps shifting her fingers, trying to find something that looks comfortable, and the scrawl that she's producing doesn't look much like anything at all.

You'll either find her trying at this or casting down her pencil in disgust, staring out at the falling snow. For anyone spiritually-inclined, she's exuding an enormous amount of spiritual presence; for anyone else, she's merely a woman -- though one who looks very out of place.

B. Sounds like the triads are at it again. They seem to have cornered a tall, pale woman in the nearby alley. Her dark eyes spear them, her voice raised in demand. Whatever she says, however, is lost on the triad members, who smirk. One sparks fire into his hands, ready to move.

The woman answers with no bending. Perhaps she doesn't have any at all.

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The Mother's eyebrows arch, watching him, unwillingly intrigued. A soft light surrounds the spirit in her arms -- not a light of healing, but at least one that soothes, causes the trembling to fade entirely, and the small one breathes out note that sounds like a sigh, falling asleep.

The boy who tried to speak before wriggles against his rock bonds. "L-Look. We didn't do it. It was just in there, and we found it, and it was like that, and we were gonna let it go."

Wan was in the kid's face in two strides, his eyes lighting up with the fury both he and Raava shared. His voice echoed hers as he snapped, "Stop lying!"

The light faded and though he didn't lash out physically, his hands were balled into fists at his sides, "I already know it was you. That spirit wasn't alone and it's friend came and got me to stop you."

The boy cowered as the spirit's friend finally came back, first peaking around the corner and then floating over to Wan. It landed on his shoulder before hopping over to the boy and jumping up and down on his head in anger, telling the kid off. Wan didn't try to stop it.

He took a stop back, gave a challenging glare to the other kid to make sure he didn't have any lies he wanted to attempt, and moved back to the woman. His posture relaxed, worry for the small spirit still on his face.

"Please, allow me to try and heal it."

Again, he made no attempt to take the spirit from the woman. He wanted her permission.

The light suddenly in his eyes comes like a stab -- as though someone has suddenly driven a blade between her ribs. Twisted. Her breath shivers in her lungs as a murmur, small and involuntary, comes to her lips.

And then it's gone. Her arms curl around the little spirit. Holds it closer, her face temporarily obscured by a dark curtain of hair.

Until Wan's voice interrupts her, asking again. Her muscles tighten; she almost turns away. Instead she stands without breath, held taut between two choices.

"What will you do?"

She isn't asking about healing. It's a repetition of the same question as before.

"I'm going to show them what they did was wrong and why," he said a little more gently. Hoping to calm the woman. She was a spirit, that much was obvious now. But he was having trouble recognizing her for who she was. "They'll be made to make up for their actions. I'm not going to let them get away with doing this. I promise."

"The spirits attacked the humans who were not content with what was theirs." Her voice is still a murmur, but it has a tighter undercurrent, answering the comment from long before. "Because they took from and defiled what was not theirs. They do not understand, and they have no respect. They understand only fear."

"They can learn," he replied, voice still gentle. "They just need to be taught."

Whomever this spirit was, she'd been hurt by humans. She didn't see any good in them. Much like Raava hadn't. And he knew that was a hard image to break.

"Teaching takes time and now that the spirit portals are open and Vaatu's influence is not a danger to the world, they have the best opportunity to learn it than they've had in ten thousand years. Please, I know these two aren't good examples... I know a lot of humans aren't good examples, but humans can be just as amazing as spirits if they're shown how to respect and care for nature as the spirits do. Keeping them afraid will only lead to anger and hate and the problem will never be fixed."

She raises her head and looks back at him . . . and for long moments her eyes search his face -- looking as though she wants to find something, see something.

"I've already waited more than ten thousand years," she replies quietly, and passes him the sleeping spirit in her arms. "How many of my kind need to be healed by you before they understand? How many lifetimes will you live? And how many faces will I make you?"

Her fingers lift, hesitate . . . and lightly touch the hair near his temple before they fall away and she turns as though to go.

How many faces...?

His eyes widened and as she turned away he murmured, "Mother-"

And then a little louder, "Mother of Faces! Wait. Just a moment."

She looks back over her shoulder at him, querying. She waits.

He took a deep breath and, holding the spirit carefully, gave her a very respectful bow, "Thank you for your help."

She studies him for long moments, her eyes dark and expressionless.

"I will never not help my kind." Her gaze flicks briefly toward the boys. "I suggest that you teach them well. I am not inclined to be so lenient."

"Being expected, doesn't mean it shouldn't be acknowledged," he answered politely, maintaining the bow. "I don't thank you because I think it's out of the ordinary, I thank you because you did a good thing for an innocent person. That should always be recognized. And I'll do my best."

Her eyes narrow at the response. It irritates her, though she could not easily explain why.

"While in this case you are correct, Avatar, I suggest that you not take too many of your preconceptions for granted. The world of the spirits is as varied as that of the humans, and a span of mere years does not equal lifetimes."

"You are still a child with the spirits, and you do not know me."

Wan held his bow, though her words obviously hurt him. He was human, yes, but he wasn't an ordinary one and he held Raava within his soul. He knew more about the spirits than she wished to give him credit for. But he'd also somehow offended her and now wasn't the time or place to ask about it. He had a sleeping spirit to heal and two humans to start giving lessons to. He could search for the Mother of faces at another time.

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