[The concept of time is eluding Sokka. How long has it been since Fran forced him in fall to pieces? Five minutes? Fifty minutes? Five hours? He's got no idea, but it's nearly night now, and Sokka can't get the picture of Fran or those inky black figures out of his head long enough to crawl out of his safe place to go home.]
[Hunched down and
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How are you?
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Did you meet someone on your way?
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