Iroh can feel the years creeping up on him. He was able to shrug them off for a time, but he can’t ignore them forever.
When the young people crowd around a spread-out map, Iroh takes his cup of tea outside. Against the westering sun, the city’s spires are solemn black. A breeze picks up, carrying the acrid smell of ashes, but also cedar.
Iroh feels the shadow fall across him, and then the warm breath. He puts out a hand, but Appa licks his face. Iroh chuckles, then they both stand still and quiet together, watching the setting sun.