When they reach the surface, they're out on the ice again, but it's brighter this time, less lonely. It's like all the badness, all the loneliness in Sokka's nightmare had been coming from that tunnel in the first place. Aang stamps his feet and the walls of the tunnel go crashing in, the trap now crumbled and blocked off.

It will stay that way for a time.

"If you see something like that again in your dreams, don't go near it," says Aang. "And I don't mean just like that--anything strange or dark or that seems like it's drawing you in. It could be one of his traps."

He had lost his staff down there, chasing the train, but this is a dream, and it's waiting for him, sticking out of the snow. The monk walks across the ice, unperturbed by the cold as he always is, stops, with a few flowing gestures, a patch of ice melts and he waterbends it up into a cloudy wall of ice before freezing it again.

Then he grabs his staff and goes over to the wall.

"Here's what I need you to see. It's all like this."

He scratches out a picture in the ice wall with his staff.

"This is me."



He scratches out another picture.

"And this is him."



Are you paying attention, Sokka? There will be a test.