Charumati was a good teacher.

She had been as good as her word. For seven suns and moons she sat with him, directing his efforts to learn the common tongue using her colourful books. Nirav considered himself a quick learner; you had to be when you came from a place as harsh to life as his home was. But it had still been a trial and it was due to his host's patience and tenacity that he was making great strides towards comprehending the language he was forced to be around.

However, although his determination to learn was undiminished, being cooped up in the city for so many days had began to effect him noticeably, despite his stoic nature. He had started to pace more than sit, his lesson progress slowed, his mood darkened hour by hour. He was grateful to his host, but still felt some relief when she had returned to her normal schedule. He had left for a couple of days, leaving her a note that read "Gone Hunt". When he had returned, it was with a good bounty of meat and furs, some of which he passed along to Charumati as payment for his lessons and shelter.

He awoke to the scent of food, as he normally did when he slept at his host's home. He rose, attaching his kukri to his belt and headed toward the kitchen. He paused momentarily near the couch, casting an eye down at the scribbles on the paper. Words and phrases jumped out at him, his newfound skill in deciphering them coming into play. "No forced entry", "no disturbance", "locks", "no struggle"... "found dead".

"So it is," distractedly mumbled the hunter in reply to Charumati's words, both to her greeting and claim of food. He looked up at the older woman, stooping to pick up the newspaper gingerly. "You read? I see some, know some. Man that sent to Long Sleep... that died. His passing too early, yes? Killed by hands. But not by hands. No in. No out. No fight. Just kill. Reminds me of home. Reminds me of the Bhok."

The last word was spoken with venom that had never been heard in his voice before and accompanied with a harsh glob of spit into his left hand, which proceeded to rub one of the many wards and talismans he wore; this time, he touched a black wooden claw shaped pendant.

"Ill-spirits only kind," Nirav stated, the saying of his people nearly butchered in translation from his novice tongue. The young hunter dropped the newspaper as if poisonous, leaving it to flutter loosely onto a nearby chair. The sour expression on his face softened as he sat opposite his teacher. He began to pull some of the food towards him.

"Many thanks for this. You are looking nice. No. Well. You are looking well this day," Nirav stated as he started to tuck into the breakfast before him.

Charumati wasn't certain what Nirav was saying. A bok? Or something? She almost asked, but he had moved on already so she sat down at the table and began to eat.

She nodded her acceptance of Nirav's thanks. "Of course," she said in her quiet way. There was no need to thank her, she felt — Nirav was her guest, and had already hunted for her in thanks. She had frozen, cured, and dried the resulting meat — the local butcher, unfortunately, would not be getting her business for a while.

"It is unsurprising," she said, gesturing to the paper with a small shrug. What was surprising, however, was the request to donate to the Monks. Were the Chief's family attempting to ward off what they believed to be Galgori action? Or were they genuinely in support of the Monks' efforts?

The cat — which had since declared her apartment his home — jumped up on the table. Charu smiled, pinching off some catfish meat and letting the cat eat from her fingers. It was a terrible habit; the little thing had come to realise that he could manipulate her for snacks in addition to his regularly scheduled feeding. Still, she was unable to help herself.

"Aiya," she said softly, deboning a chunk of catfish and shredding the meat. Took her teacup off its saucer and set the fish on it, pushing the small plate towards the cat, who happily dug in. "You're going to get fat," she reprimanded it, poking it's little belly. A muffled 'mew!' sounded through a mouthful of fish.

"Nirav," she asked. "Do your people celebrate the lunar new year?" She paused, trying to think of a way to phrase it better. "The passing of the year, based on the moon."

OOC: I'm so sorry this took so long! I should be back to my normal posting habits from now, though!

The young hunter's eyes squinted out at the feline as it joined them at the table. He had hoped the beast would have left by now, gone to hunt, to live as free creature should. Instead it seemed to have tied itself to his place. Nirav understood, in part. Why hunt when food is brought to you on plate? All he knew was he would never allow himself to become housebroken. Shaking his scarred face, Nirav reached over and prodded the cat himself.

"Yes, hear Charumati. You should be out. Hunting. Following food. You are beast, yes? You should be hunting," the man said sternly to the feline. It cast a look his way that could only be described as disdainful before continuing to eat the meal placed before it. Tutting to himself, muttering something in his own language and shoveling some more food into his mouth, the hunter almost missed his host's question as she spoke.

His chewing slowed as he thought on her words. He was unfamiliar with what 'celebrate' meant, but he knew she was asking about the event of a new year and want it meant for his people. Such a thing was not really a discussion for the table, but she had asked. So he would answer. Swallowing his mouthful, Nirav scratched at the scraggly smattering of facial hair on his jaw, the lines of the claw mark across his face pinching as he frowned.

"When... er..." Nirav began, looking down at his long fingers and folding them one by one as he tried to recall the right number in her language. "When twelve great moons in the sky, my tribe move further up mountain. Away from Dead Trees. Away from the dwelling of the Bhok."

A haunted look cast itself across his normally blank features as he recalled the times his tribe retreated to the highest climbs of the Wild Mountains to escape the spirit's clutches. "It calls. To the... tired, the weak, the young. Even in high up, one time every... err... every few great moon cycle, someone is drawn away, under the Dead Trees. If we find them later... they are gone. No hurt. Untouched. No death. But..." Nirav lifted a finger and pointed to his eyes, meeting Charumati's own. "Nothing there. The Bhok takes them... All the things that makes them, it takes. They do not eat. Drink. Smile or laugh. Cry or speak. We have to... send them on to the Long Sleep."

The hunters eyes returned from those moments and back to the present day, yet retained a small measure of the haunted look in them even as he ate more food. "Ill-spirits only kind," he repeated again.

There was that 'bok' thing again. Charumati chewed her food thoughtfully, wondering if it was the appropriate time to press Nirav on this ... spirit. After a few moments, she decided against it. She gathered what he meant — whatever this 'bok' thing was, it seemed to render whomever encountered it a husk of a person and his people were then forced to euthanise them. To ask what this spirit was seemed to be something best left for another day.

"Perhaps," she murmured in response to his final comment. The Galgori had long thought of Koh the Faceless as their patron, their guardian spirit. Charumati, for her part, had difficulty accepting that Koh — the stealer of faces — would deign to bestow power on a disenfranchised nation simply because he was nice; she wondered, not for the first time in her life, if the supposed boon granted to her people, and in particular to the Monks of Koh, came with a hefty price — if not in this world, then in the next.

"Perhaps it is simply that spirits do not follow the rules of our world." Charu looked at him, head tilted to the side. "We are not spirits; spirits are not mortals. The rules of the spirits may be... different from the rules of mortals. Perhaps we see them as bad because we do not understand their rules."

She rifled through the paper to a back page, to show him a photo advertisement for one of the local Temples' rummage sales. Charu pointed her finger at the building behind some robed figures.

"This building is built to honour a spirit," she said, a little cautiously. "However, they do not call to the spirit; instead, good works are done in the spirit's name. They feed the hungry, shelter the homeless. And," Charu looked up, "it is where we will train beginning tomorrow."

The older woman paused briefly before continuing. "The rules of this place are different from the rules of your people. I will train you to fight, using only your body as a weapon." She paused again, clearly considering something. "To disable, only," she said after a little while. "No long sleep. Only so you can get away."

"And," she said with a small smile that could only be described as mischievous, "I will teach you a secret."

Nirav considered what his host had said about rules. There may be some truth to that, perhaps. He himself had been in a similar situation when he first came down from the mountain; no way to communicate, laws that were confusing to him... It had been like submerging in water and coming back out into a different world. But no. There was a difference. Big difference.

"Hard to see that way when their rules mean your people die," the young hunter said darkly, picking out bits of food from his teeth with his tongue. No, no matter how it was put he could not try to see things from their perspective. Years of fear and paranoia left too much bad blood.

So when Charumati suggested that they train in a place where a spirit was heeded, Nirav very nearly choked on what food he had swallowed.

His eyes, expressive for once and showing unmistakable surprise and fear, stared up into the woman's own. Could she seriously expect him to go to a place where a spirit had sway? Where fools would listen to them, obey their whims? Such a place deserved only suspicion and shunning. Still... the opportunity to learn to move the way that Charumati had in that alleyway was a temptation not easy to ignore.

"Those who... hear the words and... whims of spirits are fools, and will pay. One way or 'nother, they will find they must pay," he began, rubbing a thumb along his bottom lip contemplatively. "But... to learn the way you move... it is too good not to know. I will go... so long as they do not try to... get me to listen to spirit."

And a secret, now? Was the movements not the secret? "I am... not good with secrets," Nirav confessed sheepishly. "I am not used to hiding my words."

(OOC: We can timeskip after your next post, if you'd like)

Charumati waved her hand dismissively. "The Temple does not preach," she said. "No words for the spirit, and the spirit does not speak. It is simply built in the spirit's name. Does this make sense? All are welcome, even those who do not believe the spirit is kind. Many believe this spirit is unkind, in fact. But... it is a spirit honoured by my people." She shrugged, as if she didn't quite have faith. "I do not understand such honour. My eyes have seen no proof that the spirit cares. But nor does it harm my people, or others, as of yet."

When Nirav said he couldn't keep his words to himself, Charumati laughed. "My secret is not a secret of words," she said, not unkindly. "My secret is a tool. But a tool to be used only if you find yourself in danger." She looked at him, her mouth smiling but her eyes grave. "Only in danger, you understand? This secret is forbidden. To use frequently, or in the open... the police will come."

She finished her meal. "I will go to the temple to make sure the Monks — " here she pointed to the brown robed figures in the newspaper photograph, " — leave us be. No spirits, no words. Then I will return when the clock — " she pointed to the timepiece on her mantle, " — chimes four times." She held up four fingers.

"Wear comfortable clothes, but warm clothes. It will snow today."

Nirav listened to Charumati's words, his head tilting to the side like a baffled animal as he tried to understand. But understanding would not come. Building a house to honour a creature that does not even fully exist on this plain? Honouring a thing that you did not even believe would bring good to you? That sounded much like fear to the young hunter, fear of the unknowable. The scarred man knew this fear well; his people had lived under that shadow for many moons.

But a secret not made of words? This he understood. Like lessons and ritual passed down from elder to youngling through nothing more than the act of observation and repetition. It would seem his host's enchanting battle movements were no common thing, nor a thing in which the so-called laws of man approved of. Nirav nodded his understanding, shoveling the last remnants of his meal into his mouth as Charumati finished her own.

"This is good. They not like what I would say of their spirit," Nirav said, fairly spitting the last word from mouth. The fleeting moment of tension was dispelled when he snorted at Charumati's next words in a rare show of amusement.

"You know nothing of snow and cold. You come to Wild-Mountains during the Dark Season. Then you learn of snow and cold," the young hunter uttered, casting a glance at his host. There might have been a glimmer of humour in his dark eyes as he looked at the older woman, despite the fact the words he spoke were nothing short of the truth.

OOC: I'm happy with a timeskip! And birthday post!

OOC: Thanks! :')

Charumati laughed softly; the soft barb was not meant maliciously, and the older woman was happy that Nirav had progressed enough with the common tongue to be able to crack jokes. "As you wish," she said, smiling. "One day, perhaps we'll go."

======

The cab dropped her off at four o'clock on the dot. The brief interlude at the artist's stall had not hindered her punctuality, though it was cutting it a bit close for Charumati's tastes. She instructed the driver to wait for her return.

Nirav was, dutifully, ready to go. The two of them then spend away, courtesy of the taxi driver, back to the temple she had just departed. Still in her martial arts outfit, the older woman lead the way to the training room.

In her absence, the young man she had spoken with seemed to have left, and the monks had repaired the dummy head that she broke. As per her request, the training room was then cordoned off as being in private use by one of the temple volunteers.

Luckily, there were no Monks nearby. Charumati had no idea how Nirav would react to seeing one of those faceless beings float into view.

After giving her charge a few minutes to take in the room, she gestured to a nearb bench and motioned for him to sit.

"This secret," she said in a low voice, "will protect you from benders. This will... disable them. But then you must run." The older woman paused, staring at Nirav's eyes as she repeated the words with greater emphasis. "You must run. Run as if you were being hunted. Lose the trail."

She motioned for Nirav to give her his arm. When he complied, she touched the chi points in his arm gently. "To stop the power, one must stop the chi — the energy."

Holding up her index and middle finger, pressed close together, she tapped the chi points again gently. "Here," she said, tapping the inside of his upper arm, at the midway point.

"Here," she said again, tapping just above the elbow, on the side that would brush against the body.

"And here." She tapped at the inner wrist, where one could feel the life blood pulsing through.

She paused. "This will not hurt," she said softly, "but it will be uncomfortable. I will undo it immediately. Please trust."

After Nirav had a moment to steel himself, she let go of his arm. Taking a deep breath, she struck, quick as lightning, with both hands. First she struck with the index and middle fingers of her right hand, hitting the chi point in his upper arm, followed by the index and middle fingers of her left arm hitting the chi point above his elbow, and finished with her right hand hitting the chi point on his wrist.

Not even a heartbeat's time had passed. Charumati waited for a few seconds for Nirav to realise he had lost the use of his arm entirely, before repeating the process to undo its effects.

Wordlessly, she waited as the feeling returned and watched her charge's face for a reaction.

There was a slight smattering of snow, as Charumati said there would be. Nirav had watched the skies; he had known, too, that it would snow, thanks to a lifetime of living outdoors. His host had suggested to wrap up warm, but he found the cold air refreshing and so he wore his sleeveless hide jacket on its own, baring the vast majority of his sinewy chest and wiry arms to the chill. His lower half was somewhat more protected, with thick hide and fur boots adorning his feet and a fur wrap around his simple brown cloth trousers.

What the young hunter had not been expecting was the wave of homesickness the cold had brought on. But he pushed it down. It was not the time for it.

Nirav had left the flat at the four chimes and was not waiting long for Charumati to arrive. The young man eyes the metal steed warily, steeping forward cautiously only after his host had called out his name and remaining visibly uncomfortable for the entire journey. When they arrived at their destination, he wasted no time getting out and sighed in relief.

The building, however, instilled no small amount of unease in him. Worshiping spirits. What road led to such madness? He followed Charumati into the place nonetheless, his eagerness to learn her movements overpowering his revulsion at what the building represented... for the moment.

The young hunter followed her instructions for him to sit, his gaze flickering around the room and taking it in. When Charumati began to speak in a low tone, Nirav paid full attention, nodding at her insistence that he run and hide if forced to use the technique she wished to impart.

"The day Nirav is... is found when Nirav does not want to be found is day I... break my bow in, err... in two," the hunter said gravely, holding up an invisible bow and snapping it in half to ensure his words had the right meaning.

Holding up his arm at Charumati's unspoken command, he watched with interest as she pointed out several points on the limb. Nodding his permission for her to demonstrate, Nirav took note as her hands flew forward and his arm fell as if dead. The young man attempted to move the limb and found that he could not. Raising the limp arm with his still functioning one, Nirav made a grunt of interest before letting go and letting the limb fall back to his side with an audible thud.

After Charumati had repeated the process and the feeling began to return, Nirav lifted the arm and flexed the thin fingers of his hand in front of his face. Nodding, the young hunter looked at his teacher, his expression still blank save for a single raised eyebrow.

"That... is good. No, umm, strength could move it. And I am strong. Body as... weapon. You break the blade; weapon useless. That is good." Nirav stood up, stretching out his now restored arm and facing her. "Learn to, err, wield weapon right, with you now?" Nirav's question came as he stepped closer to his teacher. Holding up his own long index and middle fingers, he tapped the three locations she had on him. "Here, here, and here. So it is?"

OOC: we can gloss over the actual training itself, if you find it hard to describe, time skip to like, a short break or something.

Charumati reached over held Nirav's hands as she guided his fingers to each spot. "Here, here, and here," she corrected gently. "But it is not so easy. You must be accurate and fast."

She struck him again in the same spot as the first chi point, about as fast as an average strike. While still rapid, and hit harder, she knew it would not have the same effect. "Too slow," she said. She then struck him again, at the correct speed, but about a hair's breadth to the left from the original point. Again, she knew it would not have the same effect. "Too far."

The older woman stood and gestured to the dummies. "On the body, there are twenty-three major points. First, we work on these three until you can hit them accurately nine out of ten times."

Rummaging around a large bin, she pinned a sack on the side of the dummy; the sack was a fairly good approximation of an adult's right arm. From an inner pocket, she produced a small stoppered inkwell.

"Dip your fingertips." She held up the index and middle fingers of her right hand and pantomimed a gentle dip in the ink. "And strike. We will work on placement first."

She had no expectations of perfection. She knew that there would be a fairly decent amount of grouping in the correct vicinity, but experience training the other Equalist recruits showed her that even with the most skilled of newcomers they would lack the speed and accuracy for immediate proficiency.

"One hundred strikes on each point." She clapped her hands, and waited for Nirav to get in position. Once he did, she clapped her hands again.

"Begin"

Nirav nodded in understanding as his host corrected his movements, watching intently as she went on to explain how speed and precision were the most important aspects of this technique. He could appreciate that. When using his bow, he had to be accurate and quick if he was to take his prey. Yes, this was something he knew.

He moved himself to the fake man with his teacher, raising an eyebrow as she told him put his fingers in the black substance she withdrew from a pocket. He leaned forward briefly to sniff the stuff before dipping his fingertips in as he was told.

Turning to his inanimate opponent, Nirav slowly mimed the movements he had seen, not yet touching the fake man. For about half a minute he moved at an easy pace, his fingertips hovering millimeters away from the sack arm in the places that would deaden the limb on a normal human. The speed quickly picked up, faster and faster, until he was finally making contact with the fake man, leaving little black stains on the fabric of the sack arm.

It was not long before the dark liquid had dried on the tips of his fingers so that it was no longer leaving marks. Stepping back, he cast an appraising eye on where his blows had landed, noting their close proximity to the target areas before turning to his teacher.

"Fingers dry, no more... dark mark," he said simply.

OOC: That's sounds good to me! If you wanna skip to a break in your next post we'll go from there.

Nirav was a quick learner and Charumati's eyes gleamed, though her expression and stance remained a carefully practiced neutral. Soon the ink on her charge's fingers dried up, and she sent him to take a break and get something to drink from the canteens of water she had asked to be delivered by a volunteer. While he was busy, she examined the "arm" of the dummy.

The groupings were wildly off the mark, at first; as could be expected. But the fresher ink was grouped closer and closer to the correct spots, and she was immensely pleased with his progress. He was no prodigy, but he picked it up a lot more quickly than some of the younger Equalists she had trained. She estimated within a few weeks his strikes would be quick enough to actually block the chi points. Of course... she would then have to be a living test doll to make sure of that fact.

She started with the right arm because most benders were right-side dominated; once she was certain of his speed and accuracy in the right arm, she'd move on to the left. While this would not particularly help him against most earthbenders, whose powerful moves were mostly determined by leg movements, this would incapacitate a majority of moderately skilled fire- and waterbenders. Theoretically it should even incapacitate even the most skilled of benders, but that would only be true after years of hard work.

Once Nirav felt refreshed, Charumati added more ink to his fingers and had him continue. This time, she would stop him every so often to correct his positioning or to clap a rhythm for him to pace himself with. After a few hours, the lights in the training room were no longer enough to see clearly; unlike the probending stadium, the Temples of Koh could not sustain bright, arena-style lighting.

As the pair exited the training area, the hairs rose on the bank of Charumati's neck. She cursed inwardly. A Monk. She would know that sensation anywhere, and she was sure that the mountain heart still very much alive in Nirav's spirit would pick up on the otherworldly presence. The Monk, however, was nowhere in sight. They couldn't be far off, she knew, and needed to get Nirav off temple grounds before he caused a scene.

"Nirav," she barked sharply, in a tone that was clearly not meant to be disobeyed. "I know you feel this. Ignore it. We must go." She took a step forward, then glanced back at her charge. "There is no danger," she emphasised, "but we must go now."

The young hunter drank some water while his teacher inspected his work on the fake man. She seemed to be happy enough with his progress; no frown of anger or disappointment marred her brow, her lips were not drawn thin. This was good. He was doing right.

When Charumati told him to start again, Nirav simply nodded and got back into position. He felt as if he could do this all day and night if he had too; if there was anything he had brought down from the mountain with him, it was stamina and perseverance. As it was, they kept it up until the small lights and the sounds of his host's corrections were the only illumination left. It was decided that it was time that they left the ill-spawned temple.

As they made their exit, however, Nirav felt an old familiar feeling wash over him. He visibly shuddered as if cold, but the fact the chill air of the outside had not bothered him in the slightest, despite the fact his chest was bare beneath the vest he wore, indicated that it was no physical sensation that plagued him. A memory returned, from when he was just a small child:

They had just moved further up the mountain. The air was cold, even by the cruel standards he knew. Nirav tossed and turned in his tent with the other children, unable to reach sleep, fearful of the dreaded call that might lie in his dreams. A sound from outside. A shuffling step. Terrified, but unable to refuse the siren song of curiosity, the boy peeked out from under the hide walls of the tent. Watched, as the old man made his slow but steady way back down the mountain, towards the Dead Trees. Watched, and did nothing, as his grandfather left, never to return...

Nirav's head turned this way and that, like an animal catching the scent of a predator, and his hand had just touched the hilt of the kukri strapped to his hip when Charumati barked her orders at him. Teeth clenched but unwilling to ignore her words, the young hunter instead stuck close to his mentor... although his hand never left the handle of the wicked blade.

"*It will not take me. My soul is strong. I will not bow. It will not take me. My soul is strong. I will not bow. It will not take me. My soul is strong. I will not bow,*" Nirav muttered to himself in his own tongue, the mantra steeling his will against the urge to simply draw the blade and lash out at the first sign of danger, like the wild beast of fear inside his heart was screaming for him to do.

"Good," Charu murmured in what she hoped was a soothing voice as she led Nirav out of the temple proper. "Very good. Keep breathing, keep moving."

Soon (though not soon enough, she felt), they were once more outside and the prickling feeling in her neck subsided. She turned to her charge and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You were not in danger," she said firmly, moving her head a little lower to catch his eyes. "Do you understand? There was no danger."

She led the way further, steering Nirav off of temple grounds entirely and to a street bench just outside the walls.

"Sit."

Once he sat, she crouched down in front of him. "There was no danger," she repeated. "Not for you." She took ahold of his hands, cradling them in her own, palm up. "No fire, no water, no earth from these hands. They permit only those who have none. Do you understand? It is only... how they are. They change the air around them, somehow, which sometimes causes fear. But you must understand you do not need to fear them."

Charumati's soothing words appeared to have little effect on the shaken hunter. His breathing was ragged and his hands shook as they found their way out of the temple at last. His fist finally unclenched from its position the hilt of his kukri, dark marks on the palms that would eventually blossom into bruises.

Nirav flinched away slightly from the sudden contact of a hand on his shoulder, but soon regained his composure. The feeling was gone now. They were out, and the creatures of the temple remained inside. The young hunter allowed himself to be guided further away and directed to a seat.

He stared blankly at her for a moment as she explained that he had been in no danger from whatever it was that had been in the temple, the Monks he guessed. That he had nothing to fear. His dark eyes bore into his mentor's, a frown pinching his scarred features.

"They are..." Nirav began, pausing a moment while he struggled to think of the right word. "Tools. Of those in the Beyond. No fear mean no... no understanding of what that means. But I do know what that means. I have... everything to fear from them. So... do you. So do this place," he continued, moving an arm to encompass the city around them. "They... hunger."

Charumati considered Nirav's words. He was right. Not fearing the Monks, not even a little, was folly.

She inclined her head in acquiescence. "Very well," she agreed. "Let me rephrase." She paused. Nirav's grasp of the common tongue was still insufficient to convey more complex ideas such as the nuances of the Monks' role in society.

"Benders, they have the most to fear." By this point, she was certain the word had been used around Nirav enough that he'd know what she meant. "The Monks, for many, many, many years, have protected those who cannot bend. They... they hunger, yes. They are dangerous, yes. Perhaps a little fear is healthy. But they do not wish to harm us... as long as we are respectful on their land."

Charumati squeezed Nirav's hands gently. Her tone was kind. The Monks were unnerving even for people who had been around them their entire lives. "Their actions are more important. They protect the hurt, the weak. They give food and shelter to those who have had it taken. They find jobs for those who have none. Orphans — children, with no parents — come here to receive education. They may be dangerous, and perhaps it is good to fear them a little. But they help people like us."

Despite the soothing, gentle tone of his mentor, Nirav's uneasiness did not abate. If anything, it grew slightly as Charumati tried to normalise something that was as far from the meaning of the word as you could get. The man shook his head.

"Why?" Nirav asked quietly. "Why harm some and not others? What drives spirit to do this? And when it stop? If it reaches end, who is next? Those who not fall into line? Those who know more? Those who do not fit, like me? My kin have words for this: Always... err... what is word... Always check the other hand when offered one freely. It goes twice for spirits. People reasons usually easy. Those from Beyond have strange needs. Dangerous needs."

The young hunter took the older woman's hands in his own for a moment and held them up to her eyes.

"Maybe soon, these are the hands that should be afraid."

Charumati arched an eyebrow. She shook her head in rejection of Nirav's comments. "It is... complicated," she said softly. How would she explain centuries of belief to a person whose only experience with the Spirits was one of death and destruction? Sure, the Face Stealer was perhaps the most controversial of patron spirits, but their ambiguous nature was no different, she felt, than the dual nature of a relatively benign protector spirit like Hei Bai, who famously rampaged when they believed the forest under their protection was being destroyed.

How could she explain her doubts that Koh even listened to the Monks? That she doubted any genuine spirit world connection? Sure. The Monks were creepy, even for those who had spent their lives around them. But creepy didn't necessarily mean that Koh was a visible part of the Monks' lives. Any non-bender could be a Monk, if they had the inclination. That doesn't suddenly give them the spiritual fortitude to connect with the Spirit World on a constant basis.

But these were complex discussions, and Charumati doubted her ability to convey them in simplistic language.

"It is very complicated," she said again, and squeezed his hand. "But can you trust me that I will not let them harm you?"