Clarke was running. It seemed like all she did nowadays was run.

In the beginning it was from her own people. Bellamy had given her a few days head start, but before long search parties came looking.

Then, as she wound deeper into the forest, it became the predators. Snakes as thick as her body, spiders the size of her hand. All the animal species she had ever learnt about on The Ark seemed much bigger and scarier than in the history books.

And now it was from the Grounders. She didn't recognize any of these people; they certainly weren't anyone she had ever met from the Twelve Clans. They had a similarly vicious attack, however, and as Clarke continued to sprint, weapons bit into the trees on her right and left.

Clarke was now running across a patch of damp, dense earth, littered with the ruins of fallen trees. Before she could stop herself, she tripped across a large trunk in her path, and fell down into the leaves. Above her the grounders towered, getting closer, slowing their pace in anticipation now their prey was caught.

Just as the closest one raised her knife, she jolted, falling forward just as Clarke rolled out of her way. Soon the rest of the group began falling, one by one, arrows spearing into their backs with pinpoint accuracy.

Before Clarke could move to escape, one of these new Grounders came forward, holding a thick, blunt club in one hand.

Then everything went dark.