Clarke wasn't sure when she became an expert on the various footsteps that marched around the camp. It had started out as a simple observation, but interest had turned it into a study of behavior. Too many days spend isolated in the med tent, or trying to distract herself from…other things, perhaps. Either way, it was a growing skill, and she almost prided herself on being able to now recognize the people most important to her just by the first step inside her door.

Octavia walked with quite possibly the lightest steps Clarke had ever seen, and yet always seemed to be sure of where she was going. No step was retracted, nor unsure. She walked on her toes, with grace like a dancer, never seeming to touch the ground, with her arms out to her sides as though she would either fall or fly away at any moment. She knew how the girl envied the birds, had seen her gaze follow them in flight. She imagined she would be the same, had she been confined for so much of her life. At first, the steps had been touched with hesitance, fear, and uncertainty. It wasn't until later, after many fights, both internal and external, that the extra confidence was added to the footfalls. She envied those steps, if she was being honest with herself.

If Octavia was about to fly away, Finn was already in flight. The name spacewalker was fitting in many ways, and his stride showed it. His steps were light, airy, and suspended him off the ground longer than strictly seemed possible. Sometimes she wondered if he had manipulated reality and created his own little bubble, where gravity was just slightly lessened, so he could feel the weightlessness he so obviously craved. Each step was random, seemingly blown by the wind, and Finn was happy to go wherever that force takes him.

Jasper walked like an ocean. There was really no other way to describe it. When he had first departed from the Ark, his steps had been clumsy and uncoordinated, but now, after all he had been through, he just sort of…flowed. He didn't stride forward so much as glide, bending and swaying as though the crowds around him were nothing but shells caught in the foam. She liked walking with Jasper, hiding herself in that peace that he fought for with every stride, like a wave breaking the surface.

Lincoln was a tree. A solid, steady, unwavering tree. Each stride was slow and measured, and none was without a purpose. He was uncomfortable out in the open, preferring the shelter of the pines that had raised him. When he was underneath those comforting folds, it was as though he became the roots and soil himself. His step never faltered, never swayed, and helped keep Octavia grounded. They were good for each other, really. Octavia reminded him that there was more to life than branches and dirt, while he kept her from flying away.

Murphy was a fox. Sly and sneaky, he snuck around the camp as though he didn't belong (which, really, he didn't). He never took the front of the line at mealtimes now, staying towards the middle instead. Too pushy, and he would get noticed. Too lenient, and he would sleep hungry that night. His footfalls made no sound, and trying to follow him was essentially asking him to get you lost. Clarke had tried before, and it was only her multiple herb gathering expeditions that had allowed her to get back to camp in one piece.

Raven, before her accident, walked like the explosives she loved to create. Each step booming and earth-shattering, the impact driving everyone in range to turn and look at the impressions left by both her boots and her personality. Clarke could have cried when those wonderful footsteps went away, when the explosion from before became something softer and sadder, like someone who just knew their luck was almost up. Raven was strong, though, Clarke was sure of that. The explosive, confident walk would never be back, but she looked forward to the earthquakes she was sure those crutches would create.

And then there was Bellamy. The man who walked with the purpose of the soldier, and yet the hesitation of a child. His footfalls, when heard, were shuffled and unsteady, as though afraid of being scolded for getting too close, and yet each step seemed to land exactly where he wanted to go. His steps were measured, and fairly light, and yet each seemed as though the weight of the world rested on them. The only time she had seen this stride change was when he was around his sister. The young girl, with her infectious nature, seemed to make the weight disappear, and both Blakes would stand there, looking for all intents and purposes like a pair of sparrows just waiting for an excuse to take flight. At night, when he went to his tent, the footfalls slumped toward his bed, barely carrying him there in time for him to collapse on whatever would serve as a pillow that night. Some days he didn't even make it to his tent, instead crashing in the med bay, where she would make darn sure that he got a full night's rest, even if she had to fend off the entire camp with a stick to do so.

Each person in camp walked a different way, and she was sure she could spend days, maybe even weeks studying the intricacies of it all. She wondered, often, what she was like when she walked. Did she march, like the soldier she was forced to become, or pace, like the doctor she was always meant to be? Were her feet heavy on the ground, or always seeming to float away?

Finally, one day, she decided to take a chance. She knew Bellamy saw many of the things that she did, and made the same observations. If anyone would understand her fascination with the subject, it would be him.

He paused, seemingly confused by the question. She prepared to walk away, and pretend that she hadn't just embarrassed herself beyond measure, when he looked her in the eyes, took a breath, and said,

"A princess. You walk like a princess."

So…yeah…this happened. It started as a small character study from who knows when (I seriously don't know, I can't find the time stamp), and I found it randomly and decided 'hey, I should finish this!'. It's messy, and not really my best work, but I mainly wanted to experiment with a different style of writing. I've never been good at dialogue, but I normally try to force myself to do it. This time, I just let myself write whatever, and went from there. I'm pretty proud, overall, of how it turned out.

P.S. In case you hadn't noticed, this pretty much falls outside of the established timeline at the moment. Raven's injury has happened, and you can read Finn's however you want, but everything else? Yeah, no. So don't think of this as canon-compliant, because it's really not.