They stare at the figure in the ice.
“That’s impossible.” Sokka breathes, his words hanging in the frozen air. Until the war he had harbored hopes of becoming an engineer, always buried in books about cryo formulations and stasis modules- and his brain is telling him six different reasons why what he’s looking at shouldn’t happen.
Katara ignores him, running a gloved hand over the cliff face. Distorted by the ice, it’s impossible to tell what, exactly, they’ve found- only that the figure is humanoid, and roughly as tall as they are.
“Impossible or not, it’s right in front of us.” she steps back and holds out her hands. “Give me your rifle, Sokka.”