Chapter 2: Awaken
Glaring light scorched her retinas, searing her eyes with intense pain that burned like fire through her nerves. The constant thrum of surrounding life deafened her. Every sense was overloaded with a gargantuan flood of information, piling up against her groggy mind with perpetual force, leaving her disorientated and hazy as she attempted to make sense of the world that had exploded into existence around her. Her previously torn clothing was now shredded and barely salvageable, great gashes in her covering giving glimpses of the clotting blood and grime that layered thickly over Clarke's skin. She tilted her head slightly, her entire body feeling like one big bruise, and found herself lying at the bottom of the valley, on a bed of boulders, coated in a blanket of dust and debris. Her head felt heavier than a bus, and even that slight movement left her feeling nauseous. Clarke lay still, hoping the effects would pass, allowing her blurred vision to steady slightly. As the cacophonous whirlwind inside her head eventually began to disperse, she rose slowly to a seated position, pins and needles prickling her muscles as blood suddenly began to rush around her body. Her left hand sported two mangled fingers, and her left shoulder was also dislocated from her attempt to stop her fall. Cuts and scrapes covered nearly her entire body, with a long gash that ripped its way down much of her torso, clotted with dirt. She felt hesitantly around her head with her right hand to find a deep laceration on the side of her skull, her hair now matted further with blood. Overall, she was a wreck. She fixed her shoulder efficiently, bringing her arm around raised at her side, and lifting it so that it slipped back into place with a grunt of pain. Though still sore, she could at least move it but everything else would require more attention. With a sigh she attempted to stand, faltering as blood spread across her tattered jacket as she accidentally split apart the gash in her midriff. A small whimper escaped her trembling lips as she stumbled, the world tilting once again. This time it wasn't the ground moving. Still, she fell.
o~O~o
When Clarke awoke again, her head was less painful but her body still stung. She attempted to rise, but that hope was in vain. She couldn't move. She was strapped down. Straining against her bonds, Clarke looked around her. No longer surrounded by the rubble of the rock fall, Clarke found herself on some sort of makeshift stretcher, covered in a thin shroud of fabric that left her shoulders and up free but effectively restrained the rest of her body.
Why now? Clarke had wandered around the forest for nearly two weeks, with no interruption from the Grounders, despite it being their territory. Yet suddenly they were holding her prisoner?
She was interrupted from any further thought on the matter by a water skin being thrust into her face.
"Drink." The voice that ordered her was rough and growling, rumbling like the muscles cars in some of the old movies Clarke and her dad used to watch.
At her lack of reaction, the skin was once again pushed closer accompanied by an impatient grunt from above, so she took a long swig from it. Swallowing with difficulty, she made a small sound of relief as the cool liquid slid down her throat. It seemed to wash away all her aches and pains, even if for a short moment, and she took another sip quickly, fearing it would be taken away. She took more time with this one, enjoying the way the water refreshed her, wetting her mouth and soothing her cracked lips that were as dry as a desert. After a while she came out of the high, realising where she was and she once more struggled against her constraints in an effort to see exactly who was holding her prisoner.
"Who are you?" Wincing at the croaky sound of her voice, Clarke stopped shifting so much and craned her neck to try and see around her.
"You are Klark kom Skai kru, sha?"
"That's not an answer." She said with a slight scowl, wrinkling her nose.
"First you must earn my answers." Her frown grew more pronounced, exasperated.
"Yes. I'm Clarke." She snapped shortly as she rolled her eyes to the heavens. "Any particular reason I'm strapped down?"
"You must earn my trust."
"This whole earning thing is getting a little boring already." This time, she wasn't even credited with an answer and she heard the man shift away from her. Taking that as a sign that their 'conversation' was over, Clarke heaved a sigh before attempting to place where they were.
Back at the ledge she had still been within sight of the forest, the dense pines clearly visible as they spread across the horizon. She remembered the thick, cloying smell of resin and needles, and the smell of dust and cold stone later on. Nothing was familiar now. Little could be seen around her, darkness having fallen long ago. Icy night air chilled her breath as it billowed in great puffs of cloud from her mouth, ghostly grey and ethereal as it clouded the stars above her. The moon was a pale and ghostly ship cresting through small wreaths of cloud that streaked the sky. A little heat came from a small fire about a meter from her, flames flickering beneath the shadow of blackened wood. Two voices spoke quietly on the other side of the fire, their figures doused in shadow while warm orange light flickered occasionally over them. One voice was guttural, the man from earlier, but the second was much clearer.
The feminine voice held a commanding authority, like she was used to being obeyed. It reminded Clarke of Lexa for a moment. Her betrayal still left her broken and angry but the wound was healing. Either way it wasn't her; this voice was colder still, like unyielding stone in a world of ice. It held no malice, but Clarke could tell there was no arguing with that voice. It was almost instinctual to fear its owner. It would have been good to know what they were talking about, but her knowledge of the Grounder language was limited and their words were muffled anyway. Her eyes heavy with exhaustion, Clarke's lids drooped uncontrollably as she struggled to remain alert.
When Clarke woke, it was to a very different view. They had moved again and the sun was now glaring down on her so she supposed it must be around midday. They had just jolted to a stop from the way her stretcher was attached to the back of a horse and her rude awakening. It was disconnected quickly, and she bumped to the ground with a jarring thud, grunting in indignation at the rough treatment. A face hovered into view, before the new person knelt beside Clarke. The girl next to her had high, sharp cheekbones giving her a regal appearance and tanned skin. She turned from Clarke quickly, fiddling with something out of view, though it caused her to wince in pain as something grazed her slashed stomach. When she spoke, Clarke recognised the frosty tones from the night before.
"You are awake." Clarke wasn't entirely sure how to reply to the statement but she gave a weak nod, watching as the girl stood again before looking down at her. It gave Clarke time to absorb what was before her. The girl had startling electric blue eyes, chilling in the way they studied her with clinical disinterest, peering down through thick black lashes. Under her left eye was a pale scar, more apparent against her otherwise dark skin as it slashed down one cheek towards her lips. Twisted into intricate designs, the dark strands of her hair is braided tightly similarly to Lexa's; her clothes were noticeably different from most of the other Grounders that Clarke has met however, consisting largely of pale, muted tones largely white and grey. She did have the usual intimidating sword across her back, but it was complimented by a tomahawk-style axe at her waist and vicious knives sheathed at her legs.
Despite the blazing sun, the air held a biting chill in it, suddenly intensified as a breeze swept away the thin sheet that had protected her, leaving her exposed to the elements.
Which shouldn't have been possible if she were strapped into a stretcher under said sheet. She started in realisation and looked down, the straps had been undone. Quicker than she thought possible, Clarke snatched a knife from the mysterious grounder's lower leg. Clutching it tightly, her only form of defence against two grounder warriors, Clarke whirled and ran, stumbling slightly on unused legs. There was a shout behind her but she dared not look back, setting her sights on a dense outcrop of trees, jutting out from the ground. Legs burning, she burst from the open, searching for a place to hide, well aware of the shortage of time. Tucking the knife into a boot, she began to scale a tree, now adept after her time in the wild. Trees had always been safer when she couldn't manage to start a fire. Her left hand was significantly weaker thanks to two broken fingers, though these appeared to have been straightened and in all honesty the pain was probably the better option out of that and being a Grounder prisoner. Most of Clarke's wounds from the fall were healing over, and the largest cuts had been sewn shut at some point, likely during her blacked out state. Still aching, but at least not in danger of bleeding out, Clarke ascended, the rough barks of the tree scraping against her skin. She ignored the pain, instead opting to get as high as possible.
The grounders were in the outcrop seconds after Clarke pulled her leg up onto a particularly thick branch. She froze, desperate not to make a sound, knowing she was unlikely to win against the two, especially with her little training. Her breathing was ragged and stuttering, nearly uncontrollable, though she struggled to stifle the laboured gasps. As she watched, the warriors split up, the man moving off further in while the girl started to range around the outside. She was getting steadily closer, moving deliberately and quietly. Clarke was struggling to breathe without sound, desperate for air but terrified of giving herself away. She choked quietly and went rigid, eyes widening in fear and her nostrils flaring like a rabbit knowing that it's seconds from meeting its demise. She prayed silently that the grounder had not heard, but the girls head snapped up in her direction, eyes narrowing as she searched the branches. Clarke knew she had no chance of staying hidden.
Seizing the final glowing embers of a chance of surprise, Clarke sprung from the tree, blade clasped in hand as she swung it towards her pursuer. Gravity brought her down at speed, rocketing towards the girl, but she simply took a few steps back despite the slightly shocked expression growing on her face. Clarke barely registered it, her mind set on one thing. Escape. She hit the ground awkwardly, rolling to absorb the impact, but the movements were clumsy from lack of training. Still, she snapped back to her feet, bringing her knife up again so that it was held in an ice-pick grip Octavia had once described to her. Her opponent drew her sword. It was vicious and wild in its design, the blade serrated at the top of its cutting edge, curving slightly before it was brought into a hilt wrapped in mismatched leather.
Clarke faltered but then brought her knife back up, knowing that she would be unlikely to get another chance if she failed to escape this time. She didn't have long before the other warrior returned, so she didn't bother waiting to be attacked, running full pelt at the grounder. She swung wildly but was quickly blocked with barely a movement from the other girl. She backed off, thinking desperately as visions of Octavia's training sessions swarm in her mind. She grimaced, knowing that she is at a severe disadvantage. Throwing caution to the wind, Clarke raced forwards again, watching as the sword raised in anticipation of another crazed swipe. She allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction, before baseball sliding on the damp leaves that littered the ground, slashing at the girl's legs as she passes. Hearing a sharp, pained intake of breath with grim pleasure, Clarke sprung off again, pumping her legs furiously as she heard another body crashing through the trees behind her. Then more crashing to her right. She winced, knowing she was essentially screwed but was unwilling to stop. She ran frantically away from the nearing noises behind her, until she couldn't hear anymore. Trying to catch her breath, Clarke gulped air with panicky gasps, unsure if she'd lost her captors. The feeling of cold steel at her throat told her no.
Well there you go, please R&R.