The wound is fatal, Lexa knows.
She will not see another sunrise.
She may not even see another sunfall.
She knows this.
They all do, her warriors who kneel around her with bowed heads.
They will sit by her side until it is over. But they will not accompany her on her journey.
They cannot.
It is for her alone.
The pain is almost dull now.
If Clarke were here she'd explain it. Why the sharp pangs have given way to this fog, this gentle throbbing.
If Clarke were here, Lexa thinks with a small smile, she'd be fussing.
It's for the best that the Sky Princess did not accompany them on this trip. She wouldn't understand.
She'd be fighting, she'd be desperate, she probably wouldn't shut up with her orders and her commands and her scolding as her gentle hands tried to put Lexa back together.
It's for the best because Clarke doesn't understand that there comes a time to stop fighting. A time to accept the darkness, the stillness.
Clarke is made of light, of motion.
She would never be able to watch as Lexa lay and wait for her final night, her eternal sleep.
She would never be able to listen and hear the whisper of Lexa's soul as it left her body, as it sought out it's next home.
Still, Lexa thinks as shadows cross her vision, she would have liked to hear that voice one more time. Even if it was chiding, even if it was angry.
Even if it was full with tears.
And she would have liked to see the face of the Girl Who Fell from the Sky once more. That smile, those knowing, haunting eyes. And feel the warmth of Clarke's touch upon her skin.
Still, Lexa thinks, the murmuring of her warriors's prayers quieter and quieter, she would have liked to have Clarke here, would have liked Clarke's presence at her side as she crossed into the dark.
Still, Lexa thinks, Clarke should be here.
Somehow she draws in another breath against the suffocating fog that envelopes her, and parts her lips to whisper hoarsely, "Tell Clarke I was wrong."
She'll understand, Lexa knows.
She will.