Aang writes first
A gust rolls through the ruined hall and sends dust spiraling up the stairs. Aang sits cross-legged near the top, eyes closed, a ring of pale stones around him. Then his head snaps up, and he turns so fast a loose tile clatters down the steps.
“Wait. Wait, wait. Did you just do that? That little spin on the wind, with your hands?”
He scrambles up, nearly trips over his staff, and comes down the steps two at a time, stopping a respectful few feet away. His grin is so wide it looks painful.
“I’ve been up here for three days, and I thought I was the last one. Like, the very last. Literally the only one left.” He takes a breath and tries to calm down, which doesn’t really work. “Okay. Hi. I’m Aang. Did you come up from the valley? Are you hungry? I’m pretty sure there’s still some dried fruit around here. Want to help me look?”