(The beginning of this fiction is highly derivative of the novel 'The Fletcher' by K. Aten. It was what gave me the idea for this fiction. If you haven't read it yet, do read it cos' it's awesome! Anyway, hope you enjoy reading this chapter. And feel free to comment.)

CHAPTER – 1

Clarke wasn't sure how she got there. Right in front of her was the entrance to the mountain which she had just kill everyone living inside it for the past century in just under a minute. Still her feet took her inside like it has a mind of its own. At first it was a just a few bodies but she knew she would be seeing her worst sin ever just few more doors down.

Soon she got to the fifth level. She knew she shouldn't be here and most definitely not where her feet was leading her to, but she still couldn't bring herself to stop. What kind of person is she, if she couldn't even looked at what she herself had done? What kind of person does something like that? She tried to take some comfort by thinking she had no other choice, that she had to save her mother, that she had to save her friends. But what she was seeing in front of her made her a monster and not a saviour her people sees her as. How is saving her mother or her friends life worth more than the children she had killed. How is she going to justify what she had done? How will she even find peace? Who will she make up to, to repay for what she had done? Who will punished her for her crimes? Does she even deserve to live? Will she be able to compensate the life she had taken even if she is given the chance to compensate?

She remain rooted at the door of the dining hall with tears in her eyes, her heart aching, her head screaming. Soon she starts moving again after what felt like hours. She soon found herself inside the Dr. Tsing's lab. The lab from which grounders came out as Reapers, the lab where the grounder's blood being drained are used as a cure, the lab where her friend's and mother's bone marrow were being extracted, the lab which made her end an entire civilization to save hers. There too lay a few burned guards. The chains and probes tainted by her peoples blood, the drill still untouched where it fell from the doctor's hand just a few meters away from where he lay dead.

A tag caught the interest of her eyes. A tag that says "Radioactive" was struck to a small confinement storage box. Inside it was a syringe with a dark red colour liquid. A file was just beside the vial and "The Cure" was written at the bottom of it. Opening the containment box, she retrieve the file and flip it open. It was a report of test conducted for the cure. The red liquid was designed to allow the mountain men to withstand the radiation, but was too radioactive itself that the test subjects died before the cure starts working. They had even used grounders as test subjects and even those didn't survive. There were pictures of the test subjects which were exactly like the ones that was laying around her. All burned beyond recognition. Looking at it now, her mind couldn't think of anything else other than how it would be fitting for her to lay amongst all these fallen, leaving behind the world of the living exactly the same way as them. She didn't even realised when she had gotten a hold of the syringe, but there it was in her hands ready to condemn her for what she did.

Tears which had stop just a few minutes before starts falling again. She was surprise there was even any left to fall considering how it hadn't stopped falling since the commander left her to die. She whispers silent apologise to her dad, her mom, her friends and all those innocent people she had killed since she had landed on the ground. With the tears blurring her vision, she didn't know how but random shadows of all those she had killed starts appearing in the room. They all stood there looking at her, their expressions all blank. After saying a final sorry to them, she injected the vial into her arm. Instantly, her inside started boiling up and soon her skin started burning. Her legs soon gave up. She tried hard not to scream, but she couldn't hold it in even if she tried. After giving out a howl from the excruciating pain she felt, her world goes dark.

...

Clarke wasn't sure she was dead or alive. That uncertainly soon change when she felt her whole body aching and her head pounding. Soon she could feel herself lying on a fur and her right side felt warmer. She isn't dead. Why is she not dead? She didn't have much time to duel on it further as she was now sure she wasn't dead and definitely not inside the mountain. Her eyes flustered open then, and she tried to take in her surroundings. She felt a tingling sensation that told her she wasn't alone. She slowly turned towards the person who was with her and saw Lincoln looking at her with concern in her eyes.

"You are awake." Lincoln said sounding almost surprised that she had woken up.

"Lincoln? How did I get here? What are you doing here?" Clarke asked while trying to sit up.

"I found you inside the mountain. I still felt your pulse when I checked and so I brought you outside. We are in my cave. The one where we first met."

Clarke narrowed her eyes. "What were you doing inside the mountain?"

"Heda banished me from all her lands. The land around the mountain is the only one around her that isn't it." Lincoln replied like it was obvious.

"Well thank you for looking after me. While I was.." Clarke thought for a while and not knowing exactly what she should tell. "Umm.. Unconscious."

"I would do anything for you Clarke. Nothing I did will ever be able to repay what you've done for me or my people." Lincoln said it with such sincerity that Clarke couldn't help but fell the guild start bubbling up again. She gave him a slid nod of appreciation and tried to think of anything other than what is starting to grow in her mind. She was saved from her dilemma when Lincoln gave her some dry meat and tea. She wasn't feeling like putting anything into her stomach, but she couldn't say no. And so she accepted it and started chewing it quietly.

"I would escort you to Skaikru camp tomorrow. I didn't have a horse so I couldn't carry you far while you were unconscious." Lincoln offered.

Clarke remain silent for a while pondering how she will continue. "You don't have to do that. I'm not returning to Camp Jaha."

Lincoln looked at her with understanding in his eyes then. Clarke has no idea how the grounders are quick to understand feelings without much verbal indications.

"But you can go to Camp Jaha. Lexa won't be able to get to you there and I'm sure Octavia will want you there. I'm sure you wouldn't want to be apart from her too. Please think about it. I'll fell much happier with you there to help my people. They don't know much about surviving on the ground and you could help them. I know I'm asking a lot and if not for me do it for Octavia." Clarke plead. She doesn't know why she cared, but she did even when she had no desire to live herself.

To Clarke's surprise, Lincoln replied immediately. "I'll do anything you asked of me Clarke kom Skaikru. I would gladly look after your people while you are away."

Hearing those words made her feel a different kind of guild considering what she had done to herself inside the mountain and still she isn't sure if she'll ever return. But she swallowed the guilt and gave a hoarse thank you.

...

It had been about a week since Clarke and Lincoln went their separate ways. Since then she had been wondering around without any direction and destination in mind and avoiding getting near any village or grounders. She had no idea how she was able to still stand, let alone walk. She had only had fruits and berries that she came across during her journey. Journey to where? She still had no idea. With the nightmares plaguing her nights and her inability to build fire, how she is still breathing is beyond her. Well that is about to change very soon because she is pretty sure someone or something is stalking her. That in itself is new to her, as she is sure the soft rustling and crumbling of dried leaves she heard isn't her imagination. Just as she decided to run, her stalker ran out of its hiding and sprung at her. Clarke froze at the sight of the Black Panther. Again how she manages to jump out of its way is something she decided to ponder latter. That is if she is even alive after this. The low growl the beast gave out kept her on guard. Clarke quickly unshed the dagger Lexa gave her, which unfortunately is the only weapon she had. She prepare herself just as the panther gave out a roar that sounded like a saw on wood and dove at her from above. Her dagger struck true, but the great cat still had some fight in him. Clarke felt claws rake down her right thigh as the weight of the beast brought her to the ground and felt an unbearable pain as she felt one of her ribs broke. She knew it was trying to claw her belly as big cats were known to do with their prey, so she stayed hunched beneath it. As quickly as she could, she drew her dagger from its chest where it was stuck and slit the black cat's throat, but unfortunately not before taking another claw hit to her left shoulder. Clarke winced at the pain of the injuries and the weight that was above her, but as soon as the adrenaline stops pumping, she lose consciousness.

...

One year later….

Clarke's mind had always been a muddled mess. Torrel used to call her a deep thinker. It must be true because her father had call her exactly the same. They rarely went to the nearest village or beyond. It was too risky for her considering everyone is looking for her. Thanks to the generous bounty placed on her head. It was quite unnerving and sad listening to Torrel telling her about how everyone was now calling her Wanheda, The Commander of Dead. That people believes killing her would gave them the power of Wanheda. Because of that she had to colour her hair red and she almost never saw anyone and was forced to entertain herself more often than not. The trees and birds became her friends and playmates. Perhaps that was why Torrel started training her as soon as she can move around without wincing anymore.

Torrel kom Louwoda Klironkru was a well-known arrow maker for leagues around, not to mention the best archer. He only retired from the army when his leg got injured and couldn't walk without a walking stick anymore. He was at his late 60's but he still would have been a valuable asset to the king if not for his injury. He regularly went to the nearest village to sell his arrows. Even the king still sent his runners once a moon to make a purchase.

Torrel is the best teacher Clarke could ever asked for. Yet Clarke grieved as she sat on her favourite log. Feet dangling over the stream below, her head remained a tumultuous roil of fear and anger. She often wished that the water could take the burden of her thoughts away, but it was a wish that remained unfulfilled.

Clarke tried to understand her sadness, to understand why the fates worked as they did. It had been only a year since Clarke was bleeding out on the forest floor with a dead Panther on top of her. She had woken up in Torrel's hut with bandages all over and a broken rib.

Her thoughts turned dark as she once again felt the pain of loss and guild. The mountain, her friends, her mom, Lexa… As soon as the name came up, all she felt was hurt, anger and then regret and a pinch of loss. One year wasn't enough to forget and heal. She was certain that no matter where she ended up in life, not a day would go by without the memory of what she had done. The guild she felt was immense and deep.

Clarke was not naive and fragile anymore, but she still need her protector. He was the one who taught her to hunt and fletch arrows identical to his own. Because that was what they done together for the past one year. Clarke could feel a tear run down her cheek as she worried the word 'together' like a sore tooth. The fates were known to be unkind. It was not that the day itself was bad to cause her such sorrow. It was a typical one as she throw stones into the water one by one. Her chores were finished and dinner had been started earlier, leaving her with a bit of free time. There were some clouds in the sky and a slight breeze that ruffled the wisps of hair sticking out of her braid. She could feel the heat of the sun across her shoulders and every so often the cooling of a cloud as it raced across the sky. That was what her life felt like.

After the cloud of the mountain's fall, she had eventually felt the sun again. But if there was one thing she learned in life, it was that no sky stayed clear forever. Torrel had become sick and the local healer was not sure what was wrong with him, so was Clarke. Her mentor and protector was dying. He had been tired for at least a month. He frequently became light headed and his appetite was nearly gone. The worse of it was the coughing. Sometimes she would lay awake at night listening to him struggle and in her heart she knew their time together was running out.

According to the healer, Torrel was going to die soon. Clarke wondered if he would say a prayer for himself or if he would leave it off as a lost cause. Torrel was not really one to follow the Gods, but he was a spiritual man. He truly believed in the afterlife and that he would be born into another life. Then again all grounders believes so. There were many things that Clarke wished for as she sat on that log over the stream, but none of them would come true. There were no Gods to answer his prayers, there was no magical medicine that would heal him. So many times over the years, she had wished for her dad back or for never having to kill all those innocent people she had killed. Little did she know that her greatest wish would not be for something she had lost, but rather to keep the small amount that remain.

Days went by since they last saw the healer for Torrel and his weakness did nothing but worsen. Between the coughing and shaking hands, he was no longer able to perform his craft.

Late afternoon found them working quietly together. Torrel was plucking the quarry birds Clarke had brought down earlier, preparing them for roasting. Clarke found it heart-wrenching that the man who held so much skill in setting the delicate feathers to shaft could now barely pull them from a dead carcass. Even though she was turned with her back to him, she could sense his eyes.

"Clarke…"

"Yes, Torrel?"

"I would like to talk to you once you get these roasting." He set the second plucked bird onto a tray.

Clarke mentally cringed, knowing that she did not want to have any more serious conversations.

"Sure, just let me finish these up."

She took the birds from the tray, stuffed them with wild onions and herbs, and then placed them on the spit over the fire. When she was finished, she cleaned her hands then sat down at the table.

"What is on your mind?"

He looked at his hands, probably to collect his thoughts before he met her eyes. When he remained silent she decided to give him a nudge.

"Torrel?"

He gave a little shake, seeming to come up out of his own thoughts. "Clarke, I have got something to tell you, and it is not going to be pleasant."

Clarke mentally sighed. "I do not want to talk more about your sickness. I do not even want to think about it. You should not waste your time worrying. We will get it figured out."

"No it's not that. I mean, yes, my time is numbered. But this is about something else."

She could feel a bit of fear creep up the back of her neck. "Well then, what is it?"

"War is brewing, Clarke. The Coalition is breaking. Azgeda and four other clans have defected from it and had allied themselves. Soon every clan will be at war including Louwoda Klironkru."

Immediately, her heart seized and her breath caught in her throat. "I'll not be save here anymore isn't it?"

He shook his head slowly at her but did not answer.

"How long? How long before I will have to leave?"

Torrel's mouth turned down and he was close to tears. The way his shoulders hunched told her clearly he felt regret and guilt in equal measures. "You will have time to bury me, Clarke, nothing more. It's too risky and unpredictable after that. Please Clarke, go to your Skaikru camp or Polis. You'll be safest there. I know you don't want to go to either of those place but please at least consider it before discarding it completely."

Suddenly, everything hit home. His illness and the knowledge that she would lose her home when he died, it was all just too much. With a cry of frustration she grabbed her cloak, bow, and quiver, and bolted out the door.

"Clarke, wait!"

His voice followed her for about ten footsteps before fading away. She ran through the trees until her breath grew ragged. After crossing the stream, she kept going until she came to her favourite place. Pushing her speed, Clarke ran up the angled trunk of a giant black oak. Scrambling as fast as possible until she got midway up, she settled into a comfortable nook.

She had discovered the place after by accident when she got lost when she wasn't familiar with the forest, and it had become her private retreat over the years for whenever she needed to cry. The newest tears were not just tears of sadness, though they were laced with a good amount of anger. She did not understand why he failed to tell her of the impending war sooner. Maybe she would have been better prepared. Her thoughts stopped before she could traipse any further down a false trail. Would she have been better prepared if so? Searching within herself, she finally faced the truth. No, she would not feel any better than she did now because she had never and would never have any interest in leaving her new home or losing Torrel.

Clarke sat in the tree so long her backside started going numb. She could hear the rustling of animals in her vicinity along with something else. Quietly she sat forward so she could look around a little more easily. She could hear grounders, probably patrolling the forest road nearby. She could also hear a woman's voice. Curious, Clarke scrambled down the tree and quietly made her way toward the noise. She approached the road on her belly, their lack of attention and the fact that it was near dusk kept her well-hidden. She focused all her will on hearing their conversation.

There were six soldiers, a typical patrol. All carried swords at their hips and two had bows. The woman was exceptionally beautiful but dressed strangely in skirt and short-sleeved top. She wore a traveling cloak but Clarke could just make out the pommel of a sword sticking out over her right shoulder. There was also a bow and quiver strapped to her horse. Clarke had never seen anyone like the woman but something about the called to her. Clarke guess the woman to be about 3 to 4 years older than her. She had marks and clothes unlike any other clan markings Clarke had seen before. Clarke continued to watch as she listened to the conversation. The woman dismounted from her horse and spoke with frustration heavily tinging her words.

"I told you, my name is Lena kom Floukru. I'm returning from Polis carrying news to our queen."

The patrol leader laughed, joined by his comrades. "Floukru, huh? I heard that your clan is going to stay neutral." He took a step toward the woman. "You must relinquish your sword and come with us for punishment for being a coward and a traitor."

The woman, Lena, stepped back. "I will not give up my sword! I told you that I have an urgent message for our queen. Let me pass and you will never see me again."

One of the men with a bow spoke up. "Patrol Leader, you want me to put an arrow in her?"

The leader laughed. "No… no, there are much better things we can use. Isn't that right, traitor?"

As soon as he said those words, Clarke's heart started pounding in her chest. Lena turned to get back to her horse and was tackled from behind by two of the soldiers. She was able to pull a knife and graze the leader's ribs, but another backhanded her across her right cheek. Clarke was torn. She wanted to help but she knew that there was nothing she could do against the soldiers. A third soldier kicked the knife from the woman's grip. While the men had her pinned to the ground. The leader walked up and removed her sword from its sheath. The wound at his side lightly seeped blood.

"What a fine blade you have. It's a shame it has the bad luck of being used by a traitor. As a matter of fact, I'd say a better sheath would be the dirt of the forest. It can keep company with the skunks and wild pigs." He gave a great heave and threw the sword into the trees. Clarke kept low, as they were facing her direction, but she could hear it stick into something behind her.

Lena had a look of rage on her face as she struggled. "That sword is worth twenty of you, pig!"

The patrol leader laughed. "You hear that boys? She thinks I'm a pig." He turned his menacing stare to the immobilized woman.

"Well traitor, since you think I'm a pig, perhaps you'd like a little taste of my meat. A pretty thing like you shouldn't go hungry now." The men laughed at his crude humor. He turned to one of the bowmen. "Kill the horse!"

The bow wielder looked confused. "Sir?"

Angrily, the leader pointed at the Amazon's mount. "I said kill the damn horse! That's an order."

The man put a bolt through the horse's skull, dropping the animal to the ground. Lena gave a grievous cry. "No!"

Clarke did not want to see what was to come, but she did not know how to stop it. If she ran to get Torrel it would be too late to help her because their steading was so far away. The next half candle mark was the worst she had ever before seen. One by one the men systematically beat the woman, punching her in the back and stomach. They kicked and slapped at her, great back-handed blows that left her dazed. She tried to fight but there were just too many. They forced her over the carcass of her dead horse and ripped off her clothing. She thrashed, failing her legs, but after a hard blow to the head from the pommel of a sword, she gave up, dazed and half-conscious, and sobbed. Clarke's own tears fell in time with hers. She could feel the rage building, because even sheltered as she had learned to, she knew what was coming.

Clarke fell into a daze as her hands moved in a familiar motion and she quietly strung her black oak bow. Then all her mentor's training came to the fore and with speed and precision she loosed her arrows upon them. She shot the man that was closest to her first, then both the bowmen. In the confusion her first three arrows had caused, she put down the rest. The patrol leader and both men holding Lena all fell to her green and blue fletched arrows. Clarke did not think about the fact that she had just killed six men, taking their lives for all eternity. She ran over to the woman and dropped to her knees. She looked dismayed at the unmoving body covered in bruises and turned her over. She gave out a pained cry and flinched away from her.

"I am here to help, my name is Clarke." In her head, a mantra was repeating, 'please do not die…please stay alive…' Clarke could see she was bleeding from the head. She needed to get her somewhere safe. "Please, Lena, can you stand? I cannot carry you."

Her answer came out as a pained hiss. "Yessssss."

With her help, she was able to stand. Lena motioned toward the packs on her horse. "I've got some supplies in there and a sleeping shift I can use to bind the wound on my head."

Clarke nodded and began working at getting the saddlebags off her dead mount. Lena seemed disoriented but appeared to recover a bit when she noticed the dead soldiers. Lena stood a little straighter once her head was bound and the skirt re-wrapped. Taking a shaky breath, she asked, "What did you say your name was again?"

Clarke did not hear her at first, her attention was riveted on the men on the road. Men she had killed with her arrows. One was lying in a pool of blood with his eyes still open. When Lena grabbed her by the arm, Clarke startled. "I am sorry, what?"

She looked at her curiously then back at the men. "I asked what your name is."

"It is…it is…Clarke." She suddenly realised she had given her real name. Frightened that the woman would recognised her she slowly step back cautiously.

Lena just smiled sadly at her. Clarke then glanced at her beautiful arrows, each quivered in dead flesh. The realization truly hit her. She had killed the king's forest patrol and she would be in trouble. She was Wanheda and no one would believe her word about the dead soldiers' attack on another woman unprovoked. Lena turned toward the woods, and Clarke knew what she wanted.

"I heard your sword stick perhaps twenty feet behind me. I can help you search before we lose all the daylight."

She turned back to her with a grateful smile on her face. "Thank you." Then she glanced back at the dead men.

"Clarke, are your arrows known in the area?"

That confused her. "What?"

She persisted. "I said, are your arrows known in the area? Would anyone know who killed these men?"

Suddenly her stomach dropped and the blood rushed from her face. She had just enough time to spin around before she got sick, bringing up mostly bile. With a shaking hand, Clarke wiped her mouth and looked at her with tears in her eyes.

"Yes! Torrel is the fletcher for King and I am his apprentice. My arrows are almost identical to his. They will know it was Torrel's for sure!"

Lena took her by both shoulders and gave a shake. "Hey, calm down, no they won't! They'll see my horse, because we can't do anything about that. They'll assume the men confronted a traveller and all of them were killed by that person. They will be looking for a stranger to the area, not one of their own."

Clarke protested weakly. "But my arrows…"

"We'll remove them, as well as any identifying tack from my mount. I don't want them to know a Floukru was here."

Clarke's stomach flipped at the idea of going anywhere near the dead men. After removing and cleaning her arrows, she grabbed her saddlebags from the ground. This left Lena with her own bow and quiver of arrows. Clarke could tell Lena was in pain but there was nothing she could do until they got back to the homestead. They kept some herbs and bandages there for emergencies. Clarke could only hope that Torrel would understand what she had to do. They found Lena's sword stuck in a fallen tree not far from the road.

The trek back to her steading took nearly a candle mark and they arrived in full dark. Clarke knew Torrel would be worried and she could tell that Lena was fading fast from her trauma and injuries. She tried to keep her talking while they made their way through the trees. Lena spent the time telling Clarke of her clan and asking about her life as a fletcher. She even asked for one of her arrows and then told her it was the finest she'd ever seen. This was a great compliment since the Floukru were well known for their archery. But even the talking could only do so much to keep Lena's mind off her pain. By the time they arrived, Clarke was still carrying the saddlebags but also had an arm around her new companion, helping her walk. She shouted when they got near the cabin.

"Torrel!"

He was out the door in flash, breathing heavy. The tall man immediately got under Lena's other arm and helped her inside. Once they settled Lena into her bed, she sagged into herself and her eyes fluttered shut. Torrel turned to her.

"Clarke, what happened?"

Clarke shook her head, rushing around to find the pain killing herbs and some clean wraps. She knew she had to get her cleaned up before she could tell the story.

"In a bit Torrel. Can you boil some water for me?"

Seeing Lena's immediate need for attention, he relented. "I already put some on, love. I was going to have a bit of chava while I waited for you to return."

Torrel brought the hot water to her room before making a hasty retreat. He was never good with injuries and healing. That had always been her responsibility. Clarke cleaned her as best as she could. She was able to make a compress for the light gash on her head, and give her some tea that would help prevent pain and fever and help her sleep.

When she left the room and saw Torrel pacing. Clarke immediately ran to him. He held her tight and whispered reassurances while she sobbed into his chest. "Shh, it is okay. She is going to be all right."

He rubbed her back and let her cry herself out. Once she calmed down and was able to wipe her tears, he held her away from him by her shoulders. Clarke could see he was inspecting her for any sign of injury.

"I am fine. It was Lena who was hurt."

A very dark and angry look came over his face. It was one Clarke had never seen before.

"Who did this, Clarke? Why did they attack that woman?"

She led him to one of the chairs by the hearth and sat. "I was in my oak when I heard voices coming from the forest road. I could tell it was the king's patrol and I could hear a woman's voice. I was curious so I crept up to the road to see what was going on." She took a shaky breath and continued. "Lena told the warriors that she was from Floukru and she was taking a message from her Polis to their Queen…" Over the next several candle marks, she recalled what had happened for Torrel.

"And then they beat her to the ground. After that… that…" She could not continue, the images were still too fresh and the memory brought her tears back in a flood.

Torrel was patient though and his voice was soft. "What happened then? Did the men just leave her there?"

Clarke shook her head at him and met his worried blue eyes with her own. "No, they were taking turns beating her and they would have killed her. Something inside me snapped and I—"

"Clarke? What did you do?"

She could feel the anguish come over her and she cried out. "I killed them all! Not one of them had a chance against my bow and now they are all dead. What have I done?" She covered her face in shame and guilt. She was in hiding because she had killed so many and still she ended up doing just the thing that led her there.

Then he said something Clarke never would have expected. "Did you leave your arrows or…or did you take them with you?"

Clarke thought he would be angry with her, or at least disappointed. She looked up in surprise and confusion.

"What?"

He grabbed both of her hands. "Clarke, did you bring all your arrows back with you, or leave any there for the next patrol to find?"

"N…no. Lena made me retrieve them all from the dead men. She said people would know who killed the men by the arrows. We also removed any identifying tack from her mare so they would not know a Floukru was in the area. They would assume the men were killed by a traveller or a bandit."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Your friend, she is absolutely correct. That does not mean the danger is passed. If you are found, you will be a suspect in the death of those men if we are found out. And more importantly they will simple capture you or kill you nevertheless."

"I am so sorry, Torrel. This would never have happened if I had not run off. And I would have never taken someone else's life. I'm truly a monster."

He looked at her sternly. "No! If you had not run off and if you had not killed those vile beasts, that young woman in there would be dead! You did a service to yourself and others by doing what you did." He paused and his blue eyes looked very intense in the candlelight. "You did the right thing, Clarke."

His face seemed to soften more. "Despite the danger this brings, I am very proud of you. Now you should get some sleep. There is nothing more you can do for her tonight and morning will come soon enough."

Clarke nodded her head, grateful for his wisdom and understanding. She grabbed a spare blanket and laid it out by the hearth, knowing she would be plenty warm for the night. Torrel was still sitting in his chair when she drifted off. The nightmares chased her until dawn.

...