Clarke left Camp Jaha no more than four hours ago, but before she could make much headway, she was brought back to the one place she did not want to be; a few feet from where she first met Lexa. The air still smelled like hot metal, burnt wood and worn down leather - perhaps Clarke was imagining it, it was a trick of the mind, but as the smells filled her nose, her heart ached even more. It bothered her much more than she cared to admit. When the Commander left her and her people to fend for themselves against the Mountain Men, Clarke was too shocked to process the heartbreak she was experiencing. Not just for her, but for the people on the inside that were expecting an army of thousands to storm the mountain, freeing them from their entrapment. It was when Lexa said that her actions were only something Clarke would have done that she expressed her confusion and hurt in anger. Suffice to say, she did end up doing exactly what the Commander said she would - she did what she had to do to save her people. Clarke murdered another 300 to save her remaining 44. This time though, the blood on her hands was not from those who were born and bred for war. It was from people who did not choose their secluded life, children who knew nothing of the torture and havoc that went on in the upper levels of Mount Weather. The blood that soaked her hands was from innocents, and the thought of that alone made Clarke's empty stomach turn. The lessons with the Commander about leadership ran through her head, but even still, she questioned her decision. Her victory rode on the back of 250 innocents. Had it been the death of the guilty 50, she would not have felt as bad, but the children's faces were engraved in her head, as were her people's. Fox's limp body sliding down the chute, Raven's feral screams, her mother's thrashing within the restraints, and the look of sheer terror from all of those on the video feed. It took her a few hours to gather up the courage, but eventually she sought out Bellamy and told him of her "plan". There was no goodbye party, no merriment, only looks of sorrow and terror. Saying goodbye to her mother was hardest. Even though Abby thought Clarke was still too young, she knew it was time to let Clarke find her own path. The doctor wished it didn't have to be so literal - the thought of losing Clarke again was difficult, but she was coping. With a brave face from all of the parties, Clarke left late one afternoon. Before she walked through the gates, she made eye contact with Octavia whose side was glued to Lincoln's ever since their battle at Mount Weather. Octavia gave Clarke an obligatory nod and the blonde returned it with a weak smile. She wasn't sure how to feel about Octavia anymore. While she trusted the girl with her life, she knew that trust was not reciprocated, especially after hearing an earful from the brunette in the tunnels.
The sky girl recalled all of this as the she stood on the memory-ridden hill. She could see where the tent had been, where Gustus had threatened to end her if she looked at Lexa wrong way, and a faint imprint from where Commander's throne was once stationed. With minimal effort, Clarke pushed the memory out of her heart while the words love is weakness echoed in her head. After staring at the spot , she allowed a single tear to trickle down her face, stinging her dry skin. Quietly, she shut down the part of her heart that felt so much and intensely so. Clarke gathered herself after a moment, and continued her odyssey once again.
Her feet led her back to where it all began - the drop ship that tossed her and the rest of the expendable children on the wrong side of radiation filled forest, and on the wrong damn mountain. In truth, it was an obvious choice. She knew it would provide her shelter, though she had reservations simply because her people would look for her there first. Were they even my people anymore? The blonde allowed herself this moment to ponder certain what-ifs. Such as, what if they had been dropped at the base of Mount Weather as originally planned? Confrontation with the Grounder's would have been much sooner, but she doubted it would have changed much. She still would have lost her people, maybe even more than the 56 that were already gone. Perhaps she would have lost fewer, had they sought sanctuary in the hallowed halls of Mount Weather, but she would have lost either way. "Tiring yourself with questions asked and answered is a waste of energy." Even in her absence, Lexa still weighed heavy on her mind and fiercely in her heart. The blonde knew that what she had done was for her people, the primal instinct to survive, and yet, she questioned her actions now. She looked into the eyes of the people from the sky and told them to fight for her friends, for their own people. She told them to fight for her. Lives lost on her side were minimal compared to the Mountain Men and Grounders, and yet she felt the weight of it all in its entirety. Somehow, she felt it all. She had not realized it, but Clarke now stood at the base of Wells' makeshift grave. Perhaps she should have let him lead the 100; he seemed to have the most diplomatic and selfless head on his shoulders. For years, he let Clarke hate him just so she would not sever her relationship with her only living blood relative. What have I done, Wells? Clarke waited, quietly mourning the fallen. A silent part of her hoped that her question would be answered, unsurprisingly, it was not. Dejectedly, the blonde began to move as the night was starting to descend on her lonely world.
She briefly considered returning to Camp Jaha, realizing she brought nothing but a knife, a gun with half a magazine left, her jacket and a strap around her chest that the Commander personally fashioned for Clarke. However, she thought better of it when she saw the skeletal remains of the 300 Grounder's she slaughtered, or what was left of them. It seemed the bones were too clean, meaning animals had since wandered to the mass grave and consumed whatever burnt flesh had remained. In her mind, she pictured blood seeping from the bones and as they crunched under her feet. She heard low groans and high-pitched screams from the fallen. The weight of all that happened was finally bearing down on her. In this time of "peace", she had time to think and reflect. That was perhaps the most dangerous thing she had done since she came to ground. She wasn't sure of much, but Clarke knew of the liters of blood and seemingly endless anguish that stood in the way of her own reconciliation.
The blonde's feet stilled as she looked at the steel box that brought 100 kids plummeting to earth. Thankfully, the door to the drop ship remained open and she made her way inside, silently stepping over the fallen. She was not sure what she expected to find, but discovered old material still lay about, more or less unscathed by the fire. Clarke figured she could fashion tools of some sort from the remaining pieces, but, before she could do that, she needed to rest. The hammock that she used upon an infected Murphy's return was still in tact. Tentative feet carried her to its edges, her body begging for rest - she complied without much of a fight, but her sleep was intermittent. Throughout the night, Clarke tossed and turned unable to forget the last few weeks. She dreamt of her time at the Ark, in her own quiet skybox unable to think of anything other than being free. In her seclusion, she thought of the Earth, a beautiful blue marble filled with everlasting wonders. Her drawings found a way to glorify the orb that she dreamed of being on, breathing in the fresh air, allowing it to fill her lungs. That dream did in fact come true, but perhaps it wasn't meant to. How could she really have been destined to kill hundreds upon hundreds of people? The lives lost in the fire, the lives lost in Tondc, the Mountain Men she killed...
"Tell me something, Clarke. When you plunged the knife into the heart of the boy you loved, did you not wish it was mine?" Clarke woke with Lexa's words bouncing around in her head. The sky girl could practically feel the words seep through her skin, dripping into her veins. She could feel to malice leaving Lexa's lips and see the way the Commander accented each word, her face snarling with each syllable. At the time, the thought crossed her mind that perhaps she did want Lexa to die instead of Finn, but it did not settle her mind. Rather the idea of herself tied to the pole, suffering the death of 18 - that would have been mercy in comparison to the damage she had done. Despite what others thought, Clarke knew Lexa was merciful. She allowed Clarke to pass killing Finn out of mercy, not so much love. All the same, mercy was a luxury Lexa did not have with Costia and so she granted it to the sky girl. Wearily lying in the hammock, Clarke was again reminded how fragile the Commander was;that under her stoic facade was someone who felt just as much as her, if not more, but Clarke assumed that Lexa was trained at a young age to be what her people needed, learning the harsh lesson of what being in charge really meant. Clarke felt extremely privileged to be able to see the part of the Commander that lay under her assertive, strong and almost off putting demeanor. It wasn't rare for her to forget that underneath it all Lexa was hurting just as much as she was, if not more. If anything, Quint was correct when he alluded to fact that the Grounders had lost more than Sky People. Recalling that day, a smile played along the blonde's lips remembering how ruthlessly the Commander saved her from Quint, being trapped the in the cell with the Commander and finally seeing Lexa smile when she called her smart. All of this, and yet Lexa still walked away from her.
Content for a short while, Clarke lazily removed herself from her hammock, refusing to think further of the grounder and decided to focus on her survival. The sun must have been up for more than three hours and Clarke decided that she would spend the day burying the dead. She wanted to honor the Grounders that were lost by fire as per their traditions. Briefly, she considered setting up a rig so she could burn along with them, but she didn't want to die, she wanted peace and her death would not result in such. Since there was no longer flesh on the bones, the blonde figured it would be safe to bury the dead without the disturbance of animals. It was not a proper burial in the Grounder culture, but she once remembered it was considered proper by the people on earth prior to its destruction. And so, she set off to work, digging shallow graves until her hands blistered and bled and then dug some more. By the time early evening rolled around Clarke had buried 48 whole bodies and at least 72 partial bodies. The rest were ash, too fine to salvage. Unsure of what to do with the ashes, the blonde went to look for a vessel to put them in. She found what appeared to be an old coffee can, much like the one Raven put the explosives in when the 100 destroyed the bridge. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Clarke sprinkled a handful of ashes in the container and continued to do so until she felt herself as close to satisfied as she could be. With every handful, she released the words "Yu gonplei ste odon." Briefly, she thought about the way the Trigedasleng rolled off Lexa's tongue with such conviction at times and how it contrasted the times she said it with such sorrow. Clarke physically shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of the voice. She needed a distraction and this was it so the healer went back to thinking of her next step - what to do with the ashes.
It wasn't until the sun began to set that Clarke realized her stomach was about to eat through itself. Traps, she thought. She definitely should have paid attention when Lincoln was teaching Octavia about how to effectively set a trap. The blonde told herself and her rumbling stomach that she would go out tomorrow to hunt at first light - her hands were much too tattered to do so at the moment. She did, however, make use of what she had learned about medicine on the ground to make a salve of sorts; looks like Lexa making Nyko, Clarke and Abby work together was useful after all. The medicine made her hands stiff before she was able to relax under its cooling sensation. Clarke rummaged around the drop ship some more, finding odd little bits, and hoping she could use some of them to set up traps. She ended up with a tarp that had a gaping hole, a few bolts, wire, an assortment of cans, a buckle, worn out string and some stuff she couldn't place out but she figured she could use. Satisfied with her discoveries, Clarke retired for the evening.
That night, her dreams were plagued not with the dead, but the living. She dreamt of Octavia chastising her for risking Bellamy's life, for letting a bomb drop on Tondc and for trusting Lexa. She dreamt of Bellamy - how he had been close to killing Clarke more than once, how he saved her from falling into a pit of spikes, how he gave her forgiveness - though, it was not his she sought - and how he risked his life standing by her when he accused Gustus of trying to take down Lexa. She dreamt of the Commander, twirling her knife in her hand and the way her mouth emphasized the "k" at the end of her name. She dreamt of Lexa and the way she looked so young, so innocent without her make up. How Lexa had kissed her, and how it had made her soul lurch out of her body as if it was coming home. That night, she not only dreamt of Lexa, but was haunted by her. Lexa haunted her as Costia haunts the Lexa. "Only, Lexa is lucky," Clarke thought. "Costia is dead."
The following morning Clarke woke up to the smells of citrus air. As she lowered the drop ship door, sunlight poured in bouncing off the water on the foliage around her. The ground was still damp and gave quite a bit when Clarke stepped out. Despite all that had happened on the ground, the young leader was sure to thank her father everyday. She had let go of her hostility towards her mother, it didn't make it hurt any less, but she could no longer afford any malice, not anymore at least.
"Hey dad." Clarke began a ritual of talking with her father in her skybox and had since continued on the ground. It seemed crazy, but it quickly turned into a place she could escape. "It's been a while," her voice began to visibly shake and she wondered if she had the power to keep going. "I couldn't take it, seeing their faces, being held up like a hero... I don't feel like much of one. I feel confused and angry and so incredibly hurt." Without much warning, a bird flew past Clarke, whizzing by as if it was late for something. While on the Ark, she read a story about a bird that was late for a date with a mad man... or maybe it was a rabbit. It was one of her favorite stories because Alice was clever enough to change with her circumstances and believe in the impossible. She was angry with herself that she couldn't change, or maybe she changed too much on the ground, who was to say. Clarke felt the anger build up and her insides began to fester with frustration. "You knew." Clarke's voice held a sense of anger with an underlying tone of sadness. The blonde took off the cracked watch and violently threw it against a near by tree. Clarke was a mix of fury and in pain. Thoughts circulated through her head but it felt like she couldn't hold on to anything. "You knew," she repeated, with much more sorrow. "You knew, and you did nothing." Clarke felt as if she was holding onto a cliff, hanging by the tips of her fingers. She knew what she wanted, she wanted peace and reconciliation, but the journey to get there was not without its challenges. It amazed her that so many would tell her on the Ark that she was "just like her mother" when in fact she felt more like her father. Her father had an objectively and wildly courageous head on his shoulders, one Clarke tried to mirror. His cunning and excellence got him floated as Clarke's got her exiled, though her actions were at least by choice. In the end, someone they loved burned both her and her father. Did she love Lexa? The question floated around in her head...perhaps. At least, she could have loved her. The uneasiness she felt towards her father's death had dissipated over the years, especially after she learned her mother was responsible. It didn't make it hurt any less, but the wounds had turned to scars and her heart was greater for it.
Just then, an agonizing scream echoed throughout the woods that made Clarke physically jump. Her shoulders tensed as her heart rate picked up. At first the screams mirrored those of Raven's but the sound then turned much more animalistic. Her healer's mind had not stopped playing tricks and she doubted that it would anytime soon. Another scream dictated Clarke's actions - she secured her knife on her waist and tore off toward the sound. A roar exploded followed by a series of yelps that came from the source of whatever was going on. Within seconds, Clarke came to a halt. She was face to face with a jet-black animal whose length was easily the size of her body. The large beast had electric green eyes that pierced Clarke's resolve and her hand fell to her dagger as an automatic response. Clarke tried her best to keep her composure and remember back to her earth studies class in an attempt to identify the animal in front of her. She held the eyes of the creature in front of her knowing all too well whose eyes they reminded her of. The sky girl did her best to think about earth studies - animals on the ground, cat like animals, large size, fairly small ears, black coat, long tail, pronounced facial features...it clicked. Clarke was face to face with a black panther. Her old teacher's voice wormed its way into Clarke's head reminding her that "panthers" don't actually exist. Rather, they are a dark version of a leopard whose fur had mutated into that of something black. The canopy of leaves blocked the natural light over the small clearing Clarke had found herself in. For all intents and purposes, Clarke was going to call this creature a panther until otherwise told. Slowly, and ever so cautiously, Clarke raised her hands, trying to alert the animal that she meant no harm, until she would help it; the creature made no indication one way or the other towards the healer's shaky movements. As the blonde began to process the scene in front of her, she realized that the hind leg of the panther was caught in a metal snare trap. Its tail methodically twitched left and right and when Clarke went closer to the hind side of the panther's body, the animal let out a warning growl, freezing her mid step. "Your hind leg is caught in the trap. Please, let me help." Desperation laced the healer's words and as if the beast could understand her intentions and genuine emotion behind the offer to help, it visibly relaxed. Clarke took this as a sign to continue. She carefully examined the trap and after a few minutes, she concluded that the only way to free the creature was to pry the snare open with her own hands. The large cat met her blue eyes once again and, in a silent understanding, waited for the girl to open the snare. Clarke's weathered hands went straight for the teeth of the trap and pried it open. The panther pulled its leg out from the trap and its tail whipped towards it body. With the weight in the trap, the snare clamped shut nicking the palm of Clarke's left hand. The blonde let out an exasperated groan of pain and the panther's eyes landed on her, stalking her every movement. Great, thought Clarke, I save the thing's life only to die by it. With the same caution and slowness that Clarke approached it, the panther limped towards the healer. Clarke stood, rooted in her spot as the blood began to drip down her fingertips. The cat stopped less than a meter away from Clarke and looked to her hand. Unsure of what to do beside extend it. She soon felt a tongue lapping at the cleaning her hand. It was an odd sensation, but it a sense of nurture and care overwhelmed Clarke. She stared once more into the eyes of the creature whose features had softened. The two stayed like this until Clarke's hand began to coagulate; without even realizing it, the hand that was unharmed was scratching the animal behind its ears, which was cause for a deep-throated purr. The blonde began to walk towards the drop ship wanting to return the favor of healing. As she began to walk, the panther cocked its head, unsure of what to do. Clarke's hand extended out offering the cat an invitation. Without a second thought, the creature hobbled over to the healer and they padded through the forest together, back to the ship.
The healer used various objects to stitch the panther's hind leg. Much to her surprise, the creature's face remained neutral despite the wear and tear that was going on. This was not the first time Clarke had operated on an animal, but she was certainly not well versed. In that moment, she wished her mother was there; surely she had more practice in this. Satisfied with her work, Clarke moved around to face the cat. "I am Clarke." she said matter of factly. Despite her conversations with her dad, the voice that flowed out of her mouth seemed foreign and unpracticed. "I am Clarke Griffin, daughter of Abby and Jake Griffin," she tried again. It still sounded unpracticed. "Clarke. Clarke kom Skaikru." The panther's paw moved from its resting position to just above the healer's left breast. By some miracle, the blonde felt neither threatened nor afraid. Rather, she felt comfort and a sense of renewal. "Clarke," she said once more, "Clarke kom Skaikru."
Without warning, the panther leapt up and landed somewhat gracefully considering the bum leg. Clarke began to berate the animal for not taking it easy relaying that the stitches would fall out and she didn't have anymore thin wire to hold the tendons together. She then stopped; realizing the creature could not understand her, but perhaps it could, judging by the seemingly apologetic look Clarke was receiving. The cat's form had tensed, sensing a nearby threat. Clarke remained still, rationalizing that the beast had much better healing and new its way around the forest much more than she. Together they waited, ready to pounce, but an intruder never came. After a few minutes of stillness, both the cat and sky girl visibly relaxed. A roar echoed through the tent only this time it wasn't coming from the cat, it came from the girl. In her single mindedness on the black cat in front of her, Clarke forgot about her original intention of going out. Before she could form a plan of action, the panther tore off, seemingly unbothered by its gimp leg. Clarke went to follow the panther, but by that point it had stuck into the fast approaching night. Oddly saddened by the sudden disappearance, the blonde when to go clean up the dropship and look for hunting supplies. She began collecting things she thought would be useful, a container, some rope, a few nails...in all honesty, she had no idea what she was doing. As she was making her way into the fresh air, she stumbled over something. When she looked down, she realized there was a sizeable rabbit lying at her feet. She definitely did not put that there. When she looked around she saw nothing. Absolutely nothing until her eyes locked with a green pair seated a few meters away. The panther had returned, its tail swishing back and forth with pride. Yet there remained a question in its eyes, a sense of unsureness - it was as if it was asking if the kill pleased Clarke. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but it again dawned on her that the panther couldn't understand her, though, she was beginning to doubt that more and more as the darkness came. The sky girl's stomach let out a hearty grumble and the panther took that as a sign that the kill was sufficient. The grumbling stomach and Clarke's hurried efforts aided her in getting a fire going.
Once the fire had started, Clarke could see a clear outline of not only the panther, but also an unmoving animal. Upon further investigation, she realized it was the torso of a deer. It was then she honestly allowed herself to wonder what the heck was going on. She was absolutely miffed by today's events. A large cat, that could easily chosen the sky girl as dinner, had decided to kill for her, let her heal it, returned the favor by licking her injured hand until it stopped bleeding and the most shocking - didn't kill her. Clarke sat by the fire as she watched shadows dance across the panther's face as it meticulously ate away at the raw meat. Methodically, she turned the now skinned rabbit until the outside turned a deep brown. Rabbit was not her first choice, not that she could be picky. Her favorite was moose, but she only had it once. After almost getting killed by the man-eating gorilla, the Commander had a special meal made for her and Clarke to "celebrate their victory of life". Lexa had two plates set across from each other with flickering candles splayed about the ground. According to sky customs, that was very much a date and Clarke wondered if Lexa knew that. During the time, a small part of her hoped that Lexa knew, that maybe she talked to Octavia or Raven and this was her quiet way of asking Clarke to be hers. With some hesitancy, Clarke bit into the rabbit, savoring the flavor. It was a bit burnt on the outside, but the juicy inside made up for the charcoal taste.
Clarke let the fire die naturally and watched the panther in awe of its being. After a few quiet minutes of observing, the cat moved towards Clarke, its head held high and constantly moving. It pawed around the fire a few times mimicking a perimeter check before settling down next to the blonde. Its head now rested on the blonde's lap and absentmindedly, Clarke began to pet the creature, enjoying the physical contact, even if it was with a killing machine.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when she awoke, Clarke's head was on the torso of a black cat with a heavy limb over her. Startled, Clarke's eyes darted around in a panic before the events of yesterday came flooding back. That's right, she thought, this thing is my friend… Sensing the human's conscious state, the panther lifted its paw, effectively freeing the sky girl. With a small smile, Clarke got up and began to stretch, as did the panther. Clarke was about to say good morning when she realized it had been awhile since she had something substantial to drink. Hm, I wonder if the cat can sense that too. Eyeing the human, the cat watched as Clarke made her way to the dropship to find a container of sorts. Victorious in her search, the blonde had come out with two cans, a tarp, and some wire as well. She exited the camp with the creature following behind her as if it was its duty. "You don't have to look after me you know - not that I don't mind, but I imagine you have your own stuff to do." The panther just stopped and looked at the blonde, its eyes conveying nothing short of concern. Clarke shrugged and started walking again and the panther followed once more. The blonde's left hand swung with every step and soon the beast by her side was close enough to get an occasional pat from the human it so dutifully stood by. The forwardness made the healer smile and she could have sworn she saw the panther relax under her touch and its eyes soften - surely she was imagining it. She attributed it to dehydration, which was soon to be rectified. She smelled it before she saw it - the smell of fresh water was never one to elude Clarke Griffin. She nearly broke into a full sprint in an effort to get to the source of bliss and freshness. The panther, of course, followed suit.
She got to the open area; the blonde physically dropped the objects she held and found her hands burrowed in the sandy bank. The panther simply observed and relaxed under the warm rays of the sun and the lightness it saw its savior. Clarke knew of the dangers the water could hold, she did not forget the first time Octavia jumped into the frigid lake and got attacked by some unknown. Carefully, Clarke waded into the waters with her protector right by her side. Truthfully, it was a bit weird having a cat a shadow, but she appreciated the cats indefinite company. "Thank you," her words bounced through the slow moving current and to the panther. The animal moved closer, nuzzling its head into Clarke's hand. The understanding was perplexing to the sky girl, but she took it as it was - she could honestly admit that he did not want this beast to leave. Could she even call it a beast anymore? This animal had shown her more compassion than more than half of the people she had met in her life.
Soon enough, the very animal that had been keeping a watchful eye on her was submerged in the water dipping and swerving every which way. The blonde was unsure if the exercise was good for the cat's muscles given the wires currently keeping them together, but she had yet to see any red in the water - perhaps the exercise was good. It seemed as if the cat was first checking the area to make sure no violent creatures were lurking, but soon a more playful side of the panther came out with more sporadic dips and dives in the water. The lightness of its actions brought a genuine grin to the healer's face seeing the protector's features so relaxed and cheerful. It was hard not to forget why she had gone to the water originally so before she allowed herself time to relax and bathe, Clarke set out to work finding wood dry enough to start a fire.
Thirty minutes later, the sky girl had fashioned herself a water purification system. One can was propped up over a fire, where the water began evaporating, thereby purifying the water from the lake in the can. The evaporated water would rise and gather on the angled tarp eventually landing in the can situated in the sand pure and drinkable. By that point, the panther had grown tired of the water and was resting on a flat rock near the bed of the river. Clarke smiled and walked over to join the large cat, resting her head on its midsection. The sky girl allowed the sun to kiss her skin and wash over her and soon she was dozing off. Occasionally, the cat's ears would twitch, alarming Clarke in her semiconscious state, but not enough to physically get up.
Clarke was unsure how much time had passed, but enough to allow clouds to roll over and block the sun cooling the rock considerably. It wasn't until she felt tiny pelts of water drop on her that she sat up straight realizing they needed to move before it began to storm. Funny, she thought, they. Less than 24 hours and Clarke was already thinking of this cat and herself as a unit - and in truth, they were. Hastily, the blonde gathered the fresh water as the sky darkened even more. Judging by the clouds, they didn't have time to make it back to the drop ship unless they wanted to get drenched. It suddenly dawned her that the bunker Lincoln used to hide away in wasn't too far off. She was wary to go there as it was not hers to retreat to, but the sky was making the decision for her as the rain began to fall in heavier doses. Screw it, the blonde thought as she tore off towards the bunker dropping the tarp in the process. The panther followed picking up the tarp in its mouth careful not to poke more holes in it. It took about five minutes for Clarke to get her bearings and another two to find the hideaway. The rain was now falling steadily in thick drops as it pelted against her skin. In hindsight, it would have been smart to cover herself with the tarp, but the afterthought was exactly that, an afterthought. From what she could tell, the place had been cleaned out some - she figured this was from Lincoln and Octavia's plan to head north to a neighboring clan.
Clarke painstakingly combed through the objects in the dimly lit room finding some extra supplies that were much more intact than her own. An extra dagger caught her eye with a curved handle. The striking resemblance to Lexa's was uncanny. The panther padded over to the object and picked it up in its teeth. It lay down and its green eyes met Clarke's confused blue orbs. "Thank you," the blonde spoke, albeit confused by the interaction. She held the cat's eyes for a while before a long slender object caught her eye - a pencil. Upon further investigation, there were many pencils, all placed in glass jar. She was so tempted to take them and draw, to see if her unpracticed hands could remember the strokes, but paused, her hand suspended in mid air. After all, they were not hers to take; they were Lincoln's. Clarke was aware of Grounder culture in that taking what was not yours was severely frowned upon and often seen as a challenge to the owner. While Lincoln was not here, she still felt the need to abide by said customs. She stared at the pencils, contemplating the repercussions of her potential actions. The panther moved to the jar and picked up a single pencil, proceeding to give it to the unpracticed artist. Clarke was again miffed by the interaction, but took the pencil without much further thought. She then found a blank piece of paper, gripping the pencil until her knuckles turned white. The panther saw this interaction and nudged Clarke's elbow creating the first stroke. It was short and hard, but it was enough to get the blonde going; it was as if she never stopped, sure her strokes weren't as confident, but the end product was a lean black cat laying on a flat rock, bathing in the sun. Clarke wanted more, she had forgotten how therapeutic and cathartic drawing had been for her. She could still hear the rain plodding down above her and decided that tonight was going to be about her - she was going to draw, grounder culture be damned.
It was a frenzy of art, pencil slashing, papers crumpling and frustrated groans, but the result was magnificent. Clarke had constructed eleven drawings of the past and one; a single drawing of what she hoped would be the future. Of the eleven past drawings, the majority of them were faces and people. One of was Octavia and Lincoln as the girl trembled over the unconscious reaper. Messy strands of hair fell in Octavia's face as she was suspended, her thumb on the presumably fallen warriors cheek. Another drawing was of Monty and his face of concentration when he was trying to make contact with the Ark. Clarke remembered quite vividly the way his brow furrowed in deep concentration and the way his eyes blinked in disbelief as he held his hands up in victory when he completed the circuit. Little did they all know, the monsters in the mountain were already at work jamming their signal to the Ark. The third drawing was of Jasper and the way his body slumped against a tree, a spear thrown cleanly through his body. It was not the happiest of scenes, but it was the first time the 100 realized how much true danger they were in. The fourth was of Wick and Raven - even though Raven had said that she was cool with Clarke, it still hurt the blonde tremendously knowing that Finn not only fell for Clarke, but she had in turn fell for him effectively moving in on Raven's relationship. It brought the healer a lot of happiness knowing that Raven had found someone to love - if not love, like much too completely. The fifth drawing in the series was of her mother. This one, perhaps, took the longest as she had a difficult time capturing the doctor's face when she first found Clarke on the ground. The moment stopped Clarke's heart and made her ache - too many times had she thought she saw her mother die and too many times had she felt lost without her. Through her drawing, Clarke could finally admit that she needed her mother and though Abby doted on her as if she was still her baby girl, the artist enjoyed the affection. At the end of the day, she would always need her mother. Did that make her weak? Perhaps, but it was a good thing she did not share the opinions of Lexa - feelings were not a weakness to the blonde. Feelings were her strength. The next few drawings were of the masses that had fallen. She drew Bellamy with the culling of the Ark his tears as they fell from his eyes like starlight. She drew the Grounders she had filleted alive with Anya's awestruck face as she looked at her deceased people. She drew Lexa with the weight of the fallen on her shoulders due to the bomb dropped on Tondc. She drew a shell of herself with the faces of children she mercilessly killed in the mountain filling her head and heart with despair.
Her last three pieces were of those she loved and lost. She drew her father as he handed her mother his watch as a farewell gift. He had an ashen, yet resigned looked about him and the blonde guessed that her father knew that his own wife sold him out. All the same, he still held a look of love and understanding, which baffled Clarke. The next drawing was that of her Finn as he was laid on the pyre. Though she could not see his face, she drew his hair and forehead peeking out from the sheets as it was slowly engulfed in flames. The twelfth and final drawing was of Polis, or at least how she imagined it. She drew water, some broken down building and a Commander, surrounded by children so adamantly adoring her. She spent the longest time looking at her final sketch, as did the panther by her side. Both of them were overcome with a sense of wonderment for different reasons and both of them fell asleep with the images heavy in their minds.
When Clarke awoke the following morning she found her body was again trapped in between a warm body and a large paw. Only this time, the cat was not awake. Unsure of what to do, Clarke thought starting with simple head movements would do the trick, it was a miracle this panther kept her alive as long as it did - she didn't need to go ruin it by scaring it awake. With a throaty growl, the panther's green eyes flashed open dangerously scanning the area only to realize its keeper was just trying to set herself free. Clarke was astonished at the emotion this single creature could display and was that sorrow she was seeing? As she untangled herself from the grips of a supposedly menacing creature, it occurred to the blonde that the rain had stopped. Dusting herself off, she looked around the room, suddenly remembering the artistic escapade she went on the previous night. Painstakingly, she collected her drawings and folded them into the tarp in an attempt to preserve them. Eyes from the stars met eyes from the ground and Clarke felt something twinge inside of her. Betrayal flashed through her heart and worry through her mind - still, she refused to acknowledge that this animal sitting in front of her had the eyes of a commander. Not just a commander, Clarke reminded herself, the Commander. "What do I call you?" The panther's head titled thirty degrees to the right. "Well, I introduced myself, it is only fair that I know your name as well." The large cat leaned toward the healer and let out a soft, but strained, tone rivaling that of a newborn. From what Clarke gathered, the sound seemed to be broken into two syllables that rose and fell with each tone. "Hania?" the healer spoke. What seemed to be a satisfied grin crossed the cat's features. "Hania it is," Clarke paused, "would you look at that dad, I can speak cat!" A goofy grin grew on Clarke's face as she finished packing up. It was absolutely beyond her what was happening, but she was alive. As much as it pained her, the healer was thankful to be alive.
Clarke and Hania successfully made their way out of the bunker and back to the drop ship where the two of them were relaxing by the fire. For the first time since the mountain, the blonde's mind was not plaguing her with vile thoughts, instead her hand lazily drew Hania's face as the cat herself finished the remains of breakfast. She was trying to capture the well defined nose when a tail gently thwaked her head pushing it forward slightly. Clarke looked to see green eyes staring at her and she tensed. Usually when the beast was on alert, that meant it thought there was danger lurking, but Hania's muscles were relaxed and her ears were still. It clicked that Hania was playing with the sky girl, so Clarke picked up a near by stick and tossed it with the same gentleness as the cat did aiming for the nose of the animal. The twig bounced off Hania's nose and a paw trapped it on the ground, securing the "weapon" so it could no longer be of use - or so Clarke thought. A paw swiftly came up bringing the twig with it along with some dirt, all in the direction of the sky girl. Soon enough the panther and the blonde were rolling around with smiles plastered onto their faces, or what Clarke considered to be a smile for Hania.
Clarke lay on the ground chuckling to herself when suddenly noticed Hania was nowhere in sight. A bit concerned, she sat up only to see a black blur coming at her. She laughed and braced herself for another light tackle but it never came. Instead, she heard a whiz of an arrow fly past her ear and the crunch of a knife spinning the arrow off target. Hania landed unharmed and immediately stood over Clarke, protecting her from the obvious threat. The blonde was at a loss, it had been quiet the last few days that she did not think to keep the dagger on her - she was truly and utterly defenseless. Save for the killing machine looming over her, of course. That's when Clarke heard it, a rustle in the bushes from her right side, behind her head. There was no way someone could have shot the arrow from above given the trajectory of flight, the knife on the other hand was straight in the ground which concerned the healer and panther alike.
"Damnit," if she hadn't been so on edge there would have been no way she could have heard it - or was she still imagining things? Listening intently, the blonde strained herself as she heard what she thought was another arrow being knocked. Hania released a bone chilling growl that made even Clarke shudder. Another arrow came flying from the same direction and Hania ducked, her underside pressed firmly against Clarke. A flash of what seemed like embarrassment graced the creature's features, but was gone as quickly as it came. When Clarke looked around, she saw the arrow lodged in the decaying wood from when the delinquents build a wall around the drop ship with the naive notion that it would keep the Grounders it. No one from the Ark could shoot like that, so it had to have come from a Grounder, but the voice...the voice, imagined or not, was young. It clicked. No one on the Ark could shoot like that, but a young female Blake sure could. "Octavia?" the blonde chanced… There was nothing. No rustling, now arrowing knocking, nothing. Clarke put a hand on Hania's chest, pleading for trust as she got up from under that cat. "Damnit Octavia," Clarke said with more conviction this time, "I know its you. You're the only one who can shoot like that who says the word -"
"Okay, okay. Jeesh," came the voice. A brunnette gracefully hurdled over the foliage that concealed her, "You got me sky princess. Now what's with the cat?" A gruff snort came from behind causing all three females to turn around, "I was wondering the same thing."