She came into a state of groggy consciousness. Her head pounded and she felt pain coursing thickly through her veins like fire. She tried to wiggle her fingers and toes, but cried out as it felt like white-hot daggers were being repeatedly stabbed into her right calf and arm. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, which were beginning to roll around frantically within their sockets. She didn't recognize her surroundings, which were made up of stone and dirt, not the familiar cold metal of the escape pod or Ark.

She tried to recall what had happened, but all she could remember was a flash of fire, blinding pain, and a gentle swaying under a blanket of green. She wanted to know where she was, but her body refused to move and with a tired sigh, she fell back into a troubled sleep.

She saw her father's death in her mind's eye, heard his screams and the whoosh of air pulling him into the vastness of space. She beat her fists against the thick glass doors and screamed, pouring her anguish and anger into it She felt arms encircle her shoulders in what would have been a comforting gesture, but when she turned around, she saw her mother smiling as she pushed Clarke out the opening doors and into black darkness of space after her father.

Clarke howled as she felt the air sucked from her lungs, and she swung her limbs desperately, trying to regain some semblance of control as she fell through space. She saw the ground approaching, and it was almost beautiful. The blues and greens were ethereal and the swirling clouds added a certain mystique. She wanted to paint it, to swirl a paintbrush over a blank canvas, but as she reached towards the earth, she felt something pulling her back into the darkness.

She felt a strange sadness at seeing it disappear as her body fell backwards uncontrollably. She woke up covered in sweat, her body burning up. She looked down and saw that she was covered in what looked like animal furs. She raised her left arm, which was the least painful part of her body at the moment, and ran her fingers through the softness of the topmost fur.

It was brown and very thick, and Clarke wondered what animal had yielded such a pelt. She had read many books with animals from the Old World, but her brain was in no condition to figure out which this was. She turned her head away from the furs and towards her right arm, which lay on top of the brown fur. It was twisted at an awkward angle, and Clarke could see the crooked parts of broken bones poking upwards through her skin. It made her stomach churn, and she felt bile rise up in her throat.

She had seen far worse injuries than this before, but there was something strangely more disturbing seeing it on herself. She swallowed back the bile that had risen up within her, trying desperately to refrain from vomiting on the floor of the cave. She attempted to sit up, using her abdominal muscles to help pull herself up along with the limited help of her left arm.

When she finally reached a half sitting position, she used her left arm to peel back the large brown fur, revealing both of her legs. The bile she had fought to keep down rose back up her throat and with a haste she didn't know she possessed, she leaned over the raised bedframe and vomited. Her body trembled and she felt the sweat cooling against her heated skin. It felt nice, Clarke thought vaguely.

She looked back down at her leg, the faint pleasure she had obtained from decreasing her body temperature lost as she looked down at it. Her hip had been dislocated, causing her right leg to be awkwardly twisted. Letting her gaze roam downwards, she noticed that her shin bone had been snapped, leaving the two pieces drifting in opposite directions, stretching her pale skin.

She was surprised not to see angry red streaks marring her skin, which she knew accompanied infection. Not that her skin wasn't covered in other markings of red. Fresh and dried blood painted itself across her body, surrounding a good deal of small and large cuts that stretched up her legs. She did a quick check and ascertained that only a few of them were in need of stitching. She could feel the cuts that were on her face, and felt the crackling of dried blood as the opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

She needed medical attention; that much she knew, but how she would find it here was a mystery to her. She did not know where she was, who had brought her here, or how to survive on her own, all of which lead her to the conclusion that without help, she would die within the next few days from her wounds and from dehydration.

She let out an anguished sob, the tears streaming down her face, as she collapsed back into soft bundle of furs. She let the tears come, doing nothing to stop their fall, until she eventually drifted back into unconsciousness.

When she awoke again, there were beams of light streaking through the entrance to the cave from behind a thin fur covering that stretched along the circular opening. It was slightly chilly, and Clarke snuggled down underneath the furs. She let her eyes roam her surroundings, taking in details that she had missed before underneath the night's darkness. The walls were made of dirt and stone, but what she had not seen were the paintings that adorned them.

She ached to add her own to the walls, or to simply trace her fingers along the ones already present, but she could not bare to move. It was a medium sized cave, with room enough for the bed she lay on, a small table and a group of baskets, sitting against the far wall. The door that was partially covered by the fur hanging across it let in light and fresh air, which allowed her to see the fact that the cave was well cared for.

The floor was as smooth as it could be, and many of the extra leaves and stones that she assumed would line a cave floor had been removed. She briefly wondered who had bothered to place her here, and if that person would reveal themselves. She was broken from her thoughts by a shuffling outside of the cave, and the moving of the fur flap from the cave opening.

Her mouth opened in surprise, although no sound came out of her parched throat. A man entered the small room. He was large and muscled, and quite attractive Clarke noticed. His head was shaved and shiny, with only a small strip of closely sheered hair forming a line down the center of his scalp. He was covered in thick clothing, a combination of cloth, buckles, and fur.

His eyes were deep and mysterious, but looked relatively kind Clarke thought with relief. The man noticed her state of consciousness with a confused and relieved look. He started to speak quickly in a language that Clarke did not understand, but she was too busy realizing that an educated life form was still present on Earth, to even attempt to understand what the man was saying.

She watched warily as he stepped closer to her, repeating what he had said before in the same language. She shook her head with fresh tears streaming down her face. She didn't understand him, and with that realization, she knew that it was unlikely he would understand her. And with that, her hope of survival diminished greatly.

The man looked confused and he reached towards her. She tried to scoot away but ended up placing weight on her fractured right arm, causing her to howl in pain. His expression turned to one of worry and sympathy. "Please," she begged, "Please help me." The last part came out as more a whimper, and the man jerked away from her, recoiling as if he had been stung.

She coughed, her dry mouth inhibiting her from speaking again. Luckily the man seemed to understand her predicament, and with a slow movement he reached down to grab the flask at his waist. Clarke watched with apprehension and greed clear in her blue eyes as the man unplugged the wooden cork from the top of the flask and then brought the animal skin towards her mouth.

She opened her mouth and felt a stream of warm water flow into her. At that point, she didn't care if the water was warm, or tasted slightly sulfuric, she was just immensely thankful for the liquid entering her dehydrated body. She blinked her eyes in gratitude at the man, who had now moved his other hand to cup Clarke's head to better allow her to drink the water he was providing.

He nodded his head at her before pulling the flask away. Clarke looked regretful at its absence but the medical part of her brain knew that too much water added to her body would cause her cells to explode, which would induce an early death. "Thank you," she rasped to the man, who again nodded his head. Her stomach growled loudly, causing her cheeks to blush and an embarrassed look to fill her eyes.

The man chuckled lightly before pulling a small sack out from within his pack. Clarke looked curiously at it, but when she saw the dried meat that was pulled out of it, she could barely hold in the saliva that pooled in her mouth. The man spent the next hour slowly feeding Clarke at a pace that would allow her stomach to expand and accept the food without causing her to throw up everything she had just consumed.

When she had finished the dried meat, which she associated with the word 'jerky,' she felt full and content. She wanted to stay awake, to know who this man was and why he had helped her, but to her discontent she fell back into the darkness of her mind into a deep sleep.

Her dreams haunted her. They were similar to the nightmares that had awoken her last night, with her mother and father, and the perilous fall to Earth followed by a flash of light and blinding pain. She awoke screaming, her flailing hands shoving the furs off of her sweating body. She felt sick, and the familiar taste of bile rose in her throat. She barely had time to lean over the bed before she had thrown up everything she had managed to eat the day before.

She noticed that the vomit from the day before had been removed, and she felt a pang of embarrassment and gratitude for the man who had done that. The cave was full of light, and that made her unsure of how long she had been sleeping for. Had it been several hours, or a day? She shook her head, feeling the tight stretch of her healing wounds moving. She knew that she needed to have her wounds stitched soon, or they would become infected.

She looked down at her bare arm and with a surprised grunt she realized that the bones had been set back into their original position. She quickly checked her right leg, noticing that her hip had been relocated, and her shin had been fixed and splinted. She felt a pang of regret as she looked at the torn linen by her arm, realizing that she had torn off her sling during her nightmare.

She guessed that she had in fact been asleep for a day, or two even, due to the pain that must have been caused by the setting of both bones. Her mouth was once again dry, and her stomach rolled uncomfortably from the lack of food and the left over bile that pooled there. She looked across the cave to the small table and saw that there were several small packages and a flask lying there.

She groaned knowing she would have to walk in order to reach the nutrients her body so badly craved. She swung her left leg over the side of the bed with a hiss of pain and with tender slowness, tried to move her right leg to follow its partner. The pain was immense, and Clarke's head swam with stars. She fought through the pain and several minutes later both of her feet were brushing the ground. She used her left arm to push her body upward along with the help of her left leg.

When she had managed to support most of her weight on her left leg, she moved her hand to press up against the cave wall. If she had estimated correctly, it would take several hops to reach the table, where thankfully a stool sat close by. Keeping her hand on the wall, she took a tentative hop, moving about half a foot forward.

The movement caused jolts of pain to shoot up her leg, and she almost collapsed back onto the bed. However, she remained standing and forced herself to take another hop towards the table. This pattern continued for close to ten minutes until Clarke practically fell onto of the stool. Her chest heaved and her head swam. The pain was immense, but the joy of having successfully achieved her goal was greater.

She allowed herself several moments of rest before she awkwardly used her left hand to pry open the closed pouches. Inside of them she found fresh berries and more of the jerky she had eaten the other day. She tore into them, trying to follow the slow pattern the man had shown her yesterday, but failing miserably. After finishing, her stomach bulged and the felt as if she might vomit, but she held it in, desperate to keep a hold of the only food she could readily obtain.

There was a longer pouch with a cork that sloshed when Clarke picked it up and she assumed that this was water. She took this at a slower pace, the risk that accompanied consuming it at a faster rate was much greater than that of the food. She took several gulps, but decided to save the rest for later, unsure of when that 'later' might be.

She looked across the small room at the bed lying there. She wrinkled her nose at the sweaty blankets now coated in a thick layer of her body's grime. Even in her tired state, she did not wish to return there, so she lowered her head to the table and the minute it touched she fell back into sleep.

She had just barely closed her eyes when the fur flap covering the cave's entrance swished open and a procession of people entered the tent, many of them yelling furiously. Clarke jumped awake, her tense body falling off the stool and onto the ground. She screamed at the pain, feeling her arm breaking again. Her screams effectively silenced the newly arrived group of people, and in the daze of her pain she barely realized when her body had been lifted into the air by a strong pair of arms.

Her blue eyes fluttered open, tears leaking out freely. She saw the man's familiar face and she reached out her left arm to stroke the sharp angles of it. He looked very surprised, but Clarke didn't have time to analyze his reaction because moments later her body curled up with tremors of pain and she threw up blood.

She felt herself being carried back to the bed where she was put down carefully. She curled up into a ball, trying to protect her stomach. She felt fingers pushing away the sweaty blonde locks of hair that were plastered to her face, and the coolness of their skin eased the heat of her body. Her mind was lost in a haze of pain and for a moment she forgot where she was.

She saw her father's face floating above her and she now knew that it was he who was pushing away the hair from her face. She leaned into his hand, desperate to hold onto the memory of his gentle touch. His fingers stopped and pulled away. She felt panic rise within her; he was leaving her again, she couldn't let that happen. She used her left hand to grab at his retreating hand, holding on to it like it was a lifeline.

"Don't leave, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed brokenly. She felt him stop, but she still didn't loosen her hold on his hand. She was glad she didn't because soon she felt him being pulled away from her again. This time it was because of another person, and in her clouded mind she saw her mother's face. She felt anger and panic rise within her and she stumbled off of the bed, rising to her feet, placing all of her weight on her left leg.

Her right hand was clutched against her stomach, which was covered in fresh blood. The bones of her arm poked through her skin and the sight made her nauseated. But she pushed away the pain desperate to protect the man she believed to be her father. She growled at the woman with her mother's face, feeling warm blood dribble from her mouth. "No," she spat out, "You can't have him."

Her mother's face snorted, and the tug pulling her father away increased. "Stupid girl," she heard come from her mother's mouth, although the sound of her voice was different to Clarke's ear.

Still Clarke fought. "I won't let you kill your family again," she growled out, accusation clear in her voice. The woman faltered in front of her, and Clarke lost sight of her mother's face. Instead the tanned face of another woman stood before her. Clarke's brow furrowed in confusion and relief before she felt a blinding pain on her temple and she crumpled to the floor in a heap.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Clarke came to in the darkness of the night. There were candles lit, although the room she was in was different than the cave that had been her home for the past week. The walls were tiled in white, with a band of yellow and blue tiles lining the middle. The floor was cement, and unlike the cave, it was covered in dirt, sticks, and dead leaves.

She was lying in a bed, similar to the one in the cave, with a full set of furs covering her. She pulled back the furs to look at her body, and once again noted that her injuries had been healed. Her arm had been reset and sown shut. With nervously trembling fingers, she pulled up her shirt to look at her stomach, which she had previously neglected to examine.

There were fresh looking stitches lining many of the wounds there, although the blood that had coated her previously had been washed off. In fact, the entirety of her body seemed to have been cleaned of dried blood and its natural grime and sweat.

She reached up a hand to her hair and felt that despite the rest of her body's cleanliness, her hair was still matted and oily. She guessed that she had simply been cleaned with wet cloths instead of receiving a bath, not that she was complaining. She lay back in bed, knowing it was better to rest and prevent the tearing of her stitches, no matter how curious or scared she was of her predicament.

She let her eyes roam the ceiling of the building, imagining the night sky instead of the cracked cement ceiling. She had never seen the stars before and therefore her imaginations were limited to the descriptions provided by the books from the Old World and her dreams.

Preoccupied by the images in her mind, Clarke failed to see the person sitting in the shadows of the room, who gazed at her with a pair of burning, green eyes.