Sokka stops before they quite lose sight of the shore, letting the oars hang in their locks and his hands fall to his lap; losing the car would not be a good thing, not when he's aware they're well out of the circle of safety around that Kansas place.

Even if that hadn't been proven by -- finding her.

He doesn't lift his gaze from the coffin or break the silence; they're surrounded by the gentle lapping of the water on the boat and the splashes of the plesiosaurs, but no other sounds of life. Still more than they would have seen at the South Pole, and the sun is too warm.

But at least it's water.

"...I don't know the prayers," he says after a minute, voice bleak. "I don't even know which spirits live here."