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Flung In A Coffin
Clarke was flung like a comet, in a metal coffin, towards the Earth. She was barely of age, to vote, to go to war. She was sent to her death, or that's what everyone thought. Only sightly better than being thrust out of an airlock, choking on the outer reaches of the universe. No, instead of being floated, she was being shot from a canon...she had no training, no way to call for help.
She was truly alone.
She gripped on her seatbelt, as the walls glowed, as if they going to burst into flames...they very well might have been. If she hadn't crashed, thank god for small miracles.
Her head lunged forward, bashing into a steel wall.
Blood, warm and sticky began to drip from a gash on her forehead. She laughed. Pulling frantically at her seatbelt, as if it binding her down, pulling her further into the Earth. She mashed at the buttons by the door. Hitting them, randomly. She couldn't remember the code, and it was hot in there, as if she were in the mouth of a beast before it swallowed. She yelled. Screamed...but no one could hear her.
At least that's what she believed.
She heard odd noises, and began to cough. Smoke. Why didn't she notice it before? It was everywhere.
Just before her vision was lost to the pervading darkness, she heard the noises become more frantic, as a bit of light emerged, before it was eclipsed by heavy lids.
….
Her eyes opened, and it was too bright.
She'd spent so long in that room, her cell, wishing for the shadows to be held at bay...but now, it was as if it had never existed. The sun poured over the world in it's inescapable warmth, and light. It was everywhere, and Clarke wanted it gone.
She was rocking gently, she frowned uncomfortably, to the throb in her head, and the way she being tossed around, lying uncomfortably on her belly.
She felt a gentle tug on her hair, and she looked up to see a strong young woman, riding a beast of stories. A horse, for Clarke, it might as well have been a unicorn. She stared at it, and back up to the woman. Clarke was on a bloody horse...and all she could do was gawk.
The woman smiled down at her, "Your a Skywalker?"
Clarke frowned, "A what?"
The woman's grin only grew, "From up there." She pointed to the sky.
Clarke nodded, "Yes, I suppose I am. What does that make you?"
The woman merely turned her head to the side, pretending to think. "A Grounder."
Clarke raised her eyebrows, "Those names aren't very original."
The woman laughed, like bells chiming. "I suppose not, but it does keep things simple."
Clarke felt a smile tug at her lips, "I suppose. What's your name?"
The stranger ran fingers through her hair, "Lexa, Commander of the Twelve Tribes."
Clarke paused, "How did you find me?"
"Hunting," The woman replied, "I hear a loud thump, the world shook. I expect a battle, but all I find is you."
Clarke's face screwed up, just a little, "Is that so bad?"
"No," The Commander seemed to ponder almost cheekily, "just unexpected."