Clarke heard the footsteps over the roar of the wind and the pounding of the rain. They were the footsteps of someone who knew how to glide soundlessly through the forest when necessary, but was deliberately making their presence known. The footsteps of someone smart enough to know that sneaking up on a person outside the walls of Arkadia, and sometimes even within the walls, was liable to end with a knife held against their throat. Not as an attack, but as a defence. Bellamy had been working with Jordan, a weathered guard who had seen all kinds of stir-crazy aboard the Ark, to help the Arkadians learn the difference. Every one of them was dealing with some form of PTSD, and for the sake of peace in the camp, it was decided that no one would be issued a weapon until they could fight their instincts, and be trusted not to jump at shadows or shoot first and ask questions later. And no one wanted to run around unarmed. The system seemed to be working. They hadn't had any misplaced self-defence accidents for four days.
'Octavia,' Clarke greeted, keeping her head bowed down against the rain. She had become quite familiar with Octavia's silences. There was a very specific kind of hostility in them, with a dash of disappointment and wounded pride.
'Are you crazy, Griffin?' she shouted, the wind sending her voice echoing through the clearing. 'Get out of the rain. Bellamy's busy, he won't come chasing after you today.'
Clarke ignored her, closing her eyes and holding out her arms to feel the full power of the Earth washing over her. It was funny the way people described storms like this, as the Earth's fury or punishment. Clarke had certainly felt that way in the past, cursing the Earth for leaving them all wet and miserable, for bringing colds and leaving them on rations when they couldn't hunt or forage. Today felt different. She had wandered out of camp, with the intention of letting out all the sadness and anxiety and fear that had been threatening to drown her all week. As she and Bellamy held meetings with the 100 and worked to put together proposals for the Council, she had smiled and chatted, putting forth a friendly face for her people. The harder she tried to be positive and envision a happy future for them all, the more her darkest feelings fought back against it.
But she had knelt in this clearing a mile or so from camp, and the tears had not come. The storm had washed everything else away until all that was left was the strength in her core. Once she knew the strength was there, she felt like she could wield it. Not with a gun or a sword, but with her imagination. For the first time she really believed that she could do something good for her people again, that they could build a new place for themselves on the ground. It wouldn't be a harmonious Eden. It wouldn't be the dropship. But it would be theirs.
Octavia swore at her and grabbed at her arm to yank her up. Clarke twisted out of her grip and she dug her free hand into the mud. In a quick motion she flung the mud at Octavia, splattering her arm and shirt. Octavia gave her a look of disbelief, but Clarke only had the urge to laugh. And she gave in to it. Clarke stood up on her own, not even making a futile gesture to brush off the dirt. The rain would wash it away eventually. In the meantime, she felt like drawing. She was sure Bellamy would appreciate the look on his sister's face. She walked back to camp at a leisurely pace, and for once her thoughts were only on the here and now, on the ground beneath her feet.