Ontari walks behind Echo, the assassin's eyes moving over the horizon in the early hour. Ontari feels Entani cough slightly, the cold leaving her ribs aching.
"Are you ok?" Ontari asks as she glances back at Entani who trudges along behind her, the snow Ontari's body shifts enough for Entani to walk more comfortably forward.
"I am fine," Entani says tiredly, her braids more erratic as they cling to her forehead.
"How long?" Ontari says loudly to Echo who continues to walk in front of them.
"Patience, Ontari," Echo says as she glances over her shoulder briefly before turning back to the horizon.
"You will not even untie our hands?" Ontari asks as she slips awkwardly on an icy patch of snow.
"No," Echo says simply as she pauses for a moment to glance around them. "I do not wish for you to try to escape until we arrive at our destination."
"And where is it?" Ontari snaps.
"Somewhere," Echo says before she begins moving again. "We arrive soon, do not delay."
The three women walk through the snow for a long while, and Ontari's jaw clenches angrily as she looks up into the sky to see the sun already sitting at its highest, and she knows Echo has lied about arriving soon, but for now Ontari follows along, occasionally checking over her shoulder as Entani struggles to keep pace with the swiftness with which Echo walks.
But Echo stops and lowers herself slightly as she begins trudging up a small rise in the snow.
"Wait here," Echo says simply as she slides onto her stomach before inching forward and through the snow.
Ontari watches as Echo reaches the top of the small hill, and she thinks the assassin must be assessing whatever it is that lies beyond. Entani sighs tiredly, her furs covered in a fine layer of snow that even sits in her hair.
"It is not so bad," Entani says simply. "At least we are in snow again and it is not so hot," and she shrugs. "And we are not dead yet," and Entani looks at Echo once more as she rolls her shoulders, her bound hands still behind her back.
And Ontari feels her own hands ache slightly as the rope cuts into her wrists.
A long bird call echoes out around them though and both women turn to look at Echo who brings a small horn to her lips as she meets the birdcall with her own, and as Ontari glances back at Entani, the healer meets her gaze with a raised eyebrow.
"We are expected," Echo says over her shoulder as she stands and begins walking down the opposite side of the small hill.
Entani shrugs once as Ontari grumbles her annoyance before both women begin to follow Echo's footprints through the snow, hands bound behind their backs and their legs tiring from however far they have walked.
As they crest the hill Ontari eyes the small, rocky outcrop that sits at its base, and she sees a fire burning quietly, even small tents are erected around it, and as she continues to eye it she sees warriors moving about, their gazes careful as they watch the three newcomers who make their way down the hillside and towards the makeshift camp.
"Who are these people?" Ontari calls out to Echo who walks further ahead now.
"You will find out," Echo says simply as she raises a hand in greeting as a warrior lowers the bow that Ontari only now notices was trained on them.
"Who are they?" Ontari asks more angrily now, her gaze quickly counting the unfamiliar warriors and the arcs that scar their faces, their eyes narrowed and guarded in the afternoon sunlight. "Echo," she hisses.
Echo ignores her words as she breaks through the snow, her feet finding solid, rocky ground, but Ontari stops her steps and she feels the apprehension begin to settle in as a few of the warriors move towards her.
"I am ready," Entani whispers from behind her, the healer already beginning to assess the situation they find themselves in. "We can attack the first, maybe take her knife."
"Then you run," Ontari whispers back as she sees one smirk briefly at them as the unfamiliar warriors continue to approach.
"I will not," Entani answers as she comes to stand besides Ontari. "We fight together," she says as she widens her stance awkwardly. "We d—"
"Ontari!" and they both look up at the familiar voice that calls out. "Entani!"
And Ontari follows the noise to see auburn hair bobbing in a slight breeze as Jenma approaches from the far side of the small tent.
"Jenma?" Ontari asks, her eyes narrowing as she sees the northern Azgeda warrior wave before patting one of the warriors on the shoulder. "What are you doing here?"
"It would be easier if we showed you," Jenma says simply as she gestures for Ontari and Entani to approach.
But Ontari merely lifts her chin, her eyes hardening.
"What is happening?" Ontari says as she takes in the sigh that escapes Jenma's lips.
"If I free your hands will you come?" she asks as she draws a knife.
Ontari takes a moment to think over Jenma's offer, and she feels Entani do the same, and as their eyes meet she sees Entani nod her head and so Ontari turns back to Jenma and nods once in acceptance. She watches as Jenma steps forward cautiously, gaze moving between her and Entani before the northern Azgeda warrior comes to stand behind her.
Ontari winces only briefly as she feels the ropes pull at her wrist, but then Jenma's knife slices through and she feels the blood begin to rush to her fingers unhindered and she takes the time to stretch them out, to rub at her wrists and she watches carefully as Jenma finishes removing Entani's binds before stepping from them.
"Come," Jenma says simply as she begins walking back the small distance to the camp, Echo still waiting at its edge.
And so Ontari follows, Entani close by her side. And Ontari notices that the Azgeda warriors that watch them carefully come from the north, their scars half circles, arcs that slash across temples and cheeks.
"Why are the northern Azgeda here?" Ontari asks Echo who walks besides her her now
"You will find out soon," the assassin says simply.
Ontari grunts her annoyance, and she feels Entani's gaze watch the few Azgeda who begin to move with them through the small campsite, and Ontari takes in the few tents that spread out, and she thinks that this camp a temporary, quickly abandoned site that could disappear rapidly.
Echo begins to lead them to one of the tents in the centre of the camp and she holds a hand up once before she ducks inside. Ontari eyes the thick fabric that hides whoever remains inside the tent, and she feels Jenma smile slightly besides her, the warrior clearly eager for whoever is inside to meet them.
Echo steps out quickly, her head nodding once to Jenma who returns the nod before she walks back to the campfire.
"Your answers," Echo says simply as she stands aside, hand holding open the tent flap for Ontari and Entani to enter.
And so Ontari eyes the assassin for a wary second before she ducks inside. Her eyes adjust quickly to the darker light, and she feels the heat of burning coals that warm the interior of the tent. And she takes in the furs that line the flooring and the table that sits in its centre, a map of Azgeda lands draped over it. Ontari thinks she feels her neck begin to prickle and her body begin to tense at the recognition of the royal marks that splash across a pristine white fur that hangs from the ceiling and hides, what Ontari assumes, a small sleeping space.
"Ontari," and the voice comes gravelly, rough, filled with a quiet humour. "Entani."
"Prince Roan," Ontari whispers as her head bows and as Entani gasps out in surprise before bowing her head too.
Roan pauses for a moment and Ontari is sure he studies them both in the silence that lingers. "How are your ribs?" Roan asks Entani, and Ontari is sure his eyes move over the harder leathers that strap Entani's waist.
"Fine, Prince Roan," Entani answers quickly, head still bowed.
"You may rise," Roan says from where he sits in a chair at the other end of the tent, his eyes taking in both women.
Ontari takes a moment to raise her head, but as she does she eyes Roan carefully, and she sees signs of weariness, of travel and time spent on the move.
"I do not think your ribs are fine," Roan counters though, his eyes meeting Entani's.
"They are o—"
"Do not lie to me," Roan says evenly, his gaze tracking over the way Entani holds herself carefully.
"Forgive me, Prince Roan."
"There is nothing to forgive," he says simply. "Sit," he gestures, and Ontari's eyes follow the motion to where two chairs sit besides the table.
And so both women move to the chairs and sit into them awkwardly, and Ontari briefly glances at Echo who remains at the tent's entrance, her eyes following both women and their movements.
"Tell me how it happened," Roan says to Entani, and Ontari feels her shift nervously as Roan's gaze bores into her for a moment.
"We were ambushed," Entani begins, her fingers gripping her knees tightly as the memories begin to surface, and Ontari leans closer to her in support.
"They used tech and it injured and killed us," Ontari adds nervously, the reason for Prince Roan's question not quite so clear for her to understand.
"And that is how you were injured?" Roan asks carefully.
"Yes, Prince Roan," Entani answers.
"Did it hurt?" he asks, his head tilting to the side slowly as he takes in both women.
"No," Entani answers quickly, her chin raising.
"Do not lie to me, Entani," he says simply. "But I will assume it did."
Roan falls silent for a moment longer then, and Ontari takes the time to study him briefly, and as her gaze shifts over his body she thinks over what she knows of his doings since the fall of the Mountain, since he had left and returned to Azgeda lands.
"Prince Roan?" Ontari asks carefully. And she sees him nod his head once for her to continue. "If I may, where have you been?" and she averts her gaze quickly as his eyes snap to her face. "I do not mean to offend, it is not my place to question," she stammers.
"Rest easy, Ontari," Roan says, and she thinks she hears a gentle mirth living in the timbre of his words. "I am not my mother. You may ask questions," and she feels Entani shift uncomfortably in the chair for a second. "There are many things you do not know," Roan begins, his fingers beginning to drum against the arm of the chair. "Your wounds," and Roan's gaze shifts back to Entani. "Show me," and Ontari's eyes widen slightly as she glances to Entani.
And the healer's own gaze turns guarded for a moment, her eyes shifting from Roan and then down to her feet.
"Lift your furs, Entani," Roan says simply.
And so Entani's fingers begin to unwrap the stiff leathers that brace her torso, and Ontari watches nervously as she sees Entani wince at the motions, and Ontari thinks of reaching out, of trying to help, of offering to help, but she knows Entani would merely ignore her. Entani's fingers still for only a moment as she thumbs the hem of her furs, and she meets Ontari's gaze, and Ontari thinks she sees Entani steady her thoughts just once. And then she lifts.
Ontari watches as Entani lifts the furs to expose her ribs, and as they pull up Ontari eyes the gruesome scar that runs horizontally across the left side of her torso. The scar runs deep, but narrow, the flesh still red, slight bruising around the sides, and Ontari knows it must still hurt, despite the best efforts of the Skaikru healers.
"The Mountain Men did this to her?" Roan asks Ontari, and she nods mutely as she turns her gaze from Entani's wound.
Roan falls silent once more, and she watches as Entani lowers her furs and begins to strap the firmer leathers around her torso, the braces enough to keep her body steady.
"How is Clarke?" Roan asks after Entani finishes, and Ontari looks up in surprise.
"You do not know?" and Ontari feels surprise flit through her mind as to why Roan asks of Clarke, of what she has done, of where she may be held.
"That is not what I asked," Roan counters. And Ontari thinks Roan must now be searching for evidence to accuse Clarke of whatever Nia thinks she has done, and Ontari thinks she feels Entani stiffen besides her, and she knows Clarke's fate now lies in their hands.
"Clarke was well last we spoke," Ontari says carefully.
"You do not know what she has done?" Roan questions.
"She would only act in what she believed to be the best interests of Azgeda, Prince Roan," Ontari answers, her chin lifting slightly as she holds his gaze, but as she sees his lips turn up slightly she knows she feels worry and fear linger in her heart as thoughts of Clarke's fate begin to settle.
"You are sure?" Roan says.
"Yes, Prince Roan," and Ontari looks away for a moment, and she thinks over what she had discussed with Entani, of the things they had agreed to do before Echo had poisoned them. "Prince Roan," she begins, her tongue wetting her lips briefly, and she knows Entani senses what she will ask because the healer straightens her back and raises her chin, too. "We are wiling to accept responsibility for Clarke's future actions. If it is possible we would take her west, we would watch her, ensure she does no other things to anger Kwin Nia," and Ontari feels her heart begin to beat more fiercely in her chest as she sees Roan smile just a slight bit more widely.
"You would do that for Clarke?"
"Yes," Both women answer.
"I see," and Roan gestures behind them. "Leave us, Echo," and Ontari glances over her shoulder to see Echo bow her head once before she ducks out of the tent. "There are many things you do not know," Roan begins after a moment.
Ontari feels her eyebrows quirk together in confusion though, and she finds herself not quite sure where Roan takes this conversation.
"How do you think the Mountain Men evaded capture and discovery for so long?" Roan asks.
"I do not know," Ontari answers truthfully, "perhaps they used their tech to hide their tracks?"
"Do you know of which villages were attacked?" Roan asks.
"Trikru villages were attacked," and Ontari thinks for a moment longer. "The Mountain Men stole from Azgeda too, but we have not had many deaths I do not think," and Ontari glances once to Entani to see her nod in agreement.
"Does that not strike you as bizarre?" Roan asks.
"It shows that Azgeda are more capable than Trikru," Ontari answers confidently.
"Perhaps," Roan smirks. "Or perhaps it indicates a different reason," and he leans forward. "Do you know what Clarke was ordered to do during the siege of the Mountain?" he asks. "Do you know how she secured my freedom from the Commander?"
"I do not know what she was ordered to do," Ontari says cautiously. "But Clarke said she threatened the Commander, she said she demanded your release or Azgeda would leave."
"Clarke was ordered to secure the Mountain solely for Azgeda," Roan says simply, and Ontari's eyes widen and she hears Entani take a shallow breath. "She did not."
And Ontari's eyes close, and she knows she curses quietly as she tries to think of how to explain Clarke's actions, of how best to defend her.
"Clarke secured the Mountain for all clans, Prince Roan," she begins. "Perhaps she misunderstood her orders?"
"She did not," Roan says. "Do you know why Clarke was ordered to take the Mountain for Azgeda?"
"No," and Ontari bites her lip for a moment.
"Our Kwin wished to use the Mountain to gain power over all other clans," and Roan's eyes narrow slightly as he takes them in once more.
Ontari looks away for a moment in thought, and she thinks over why Clarke would have not done what she had been instructed to do, and she thinks of the wars that may have been waged, the deaths and the battles that would have taken place if Clarke were to have done so.
"Azgeda would have succeeded in any war if we had the Mountain's power," she says.
"Perhaps," Roan answers. "But how many of our people would have died?" Roan asks.
"Many," Entani says, her eyes moving over to the map on the tabletop. "Thousands," Entani finishes.
"We would have been victorious," Ontari quickly adds.
"I do not believe so," Roan counters. "Our Kwin wished to wage war over all other clans. She wished to use the Mountain's power to her advantage."
"But Clarke did not take the Mountain for Azgeda?" Ontari asks.
"And that is why she is now held captive?" Entani adds as she glances between Roan and Ontari.
And Ontari thinks it understandable, she thinks Clarke must have misunderstood Nia's wishes, but she knows Clarke would have thought it foolish to wage war on all clans.
"It must have been a misunderstanding, Prince Roan," she says. "Clarke simply assumed that Kwin Nia wanted Azgeda to have a part in the Mountain's control, and not to control it completely."
"I disagree with what Kwin Nia wishes for Azgeda," Roan says, his eyes moving slowly from woman to woman before him. "I do not think war with all other clans will be good for our people."
Ontari licks her lips nervously at Roan's words though, and she feels herself beginning to sweat slightly, the direction this conversation begins to move leaving her feeling trapped and uncertain of how she should act and react.
"Clarke also disagreed with taking the Mountain so that Azgeda could throw the Coalition into open war," Roan continues, his gaze holding Entani's for a moment.
"It was a misunderstanding," Ontari echoes, "Clarke would not purposely disobey orders."
And Ontari glances quickly to Entani who remains quiet now, her eyes focused on the map on the table.
"It was not a misunderstanding, Ontari," and the healer turns back to her. "Clarke refused to follow her orders," Entani finishes.
"No," Ontari stammers. "She is loyal, Prince Roan, I swear it."
Roan sighs heavily, and Ontari feels Entani's head cock to the side as they both watch Roan recline in the chair he sits in.
"You do not understand," Entani says as she looks at Ontari. "Clarke did not follow Kwin Nia's orders," and Entani looks back to Roan. "And Prince Roan does not follow Kwin Nia's orders, too."
And Ontari's eyes widen as she looks from Entani to Roan.
"I don't understand," Ontari says quietly.
"Prince Roan and Clarke work together," Entani says. "They wish to overthrow Kwin Nia."
"No," and Ontari shakes her head forcefully.
Clarke's eyes crack open, and as she rolls over the stone she feels the aches in her body. Her ankle hurts, too, the chain that keeps her from wandering too far already biting into her skin. She feels the matted furs that rub against her cheek, the dried blood beginning to clump the furs together. And she knows she will need to have new furs made, the ones she wears far too dirtied to be salvaged.
Clarke brings a hand to her face then, and she winces as her fingers brush against her split lip, and she thinks her face must be bloodied, bruised by now. She grimaces as she brings her hand away, the nails of two of her fingers already torn savagely, the nail-bed bloodied and fleshy.
But her door opens and Clarke turns to look at who now enters. She can't help but recoil slightly as Nia steps into the room, Teril and Torvun and two other guards flanking her.
"Do you wish to talk?" Nia says evenly, her eyes skirting over Clarke's body as she struggles to her knees in front of Nia.
Clarke winces at the dryness and roughness she feels scratch through her throat as she swallows painfully and as she glares into Nia's face.
"No?" Nia smiles. "I did not think so," and she shrugs just once. "It would have been too easy for you to break so quickly. But which one of my guards will beat you this time?"
And Clarke merely glares at her harshly, her gaze icy and defiant.
"Torvun," Nia says though, and Clarke's eyes snap to Torvun to see him glance briefly at Nia before meeting Clarke's eyes, and Clarke thinks she sees a tension in Torvun's shoulders, she thinks she sees an uncertainty and a pause and a reluctance that lingers in his eyes, and she knows he doesn't wish to follow orders, doesn't wish to strike her.
But Nia must sense it too, because she turns to face Torvun, her eyes hardening.
"You disappoint me," Nia says to Torvun, and Clarke's eyes widen as the two other guards step forward quickly, one gripping Torvun's wrist as he bends it back, the second kicking his legs out from under him savagely.
Clarke grimaces as Torvun is forced to the ground, the man letting out a grunt of pain as a guard's knee presses against the side of his neck, the other holding his arm out behind him.
"First you turn Roan against me," and Nia sneers. "Then you turn Ontari. And now poor Torvun," and Nia sweeps her hand towards Torvun who remains quiet against the ground. "Their suffering is caused by you, Clarke," Nia says as she turns and exits the cold room, the two other guards lifting Torvun to his knees as they begin pulling him out behind her.
But Teril remains standing in front of her, his eyes hard and guarded, the usual mirth hidden now as he looks down at Clarke from where he stands in the open doorway. And Clarke knows what comes next, what she will soon experience.
"I do not enjoy this," Teril says simply as he closes the door behind him, the rusting metal scraping loudly as it shuts.
"Then don't do it," Clarke mutters as she glares up at him.
"We all have a part to play," Teril answers with a shrug. "it will be quick," he finishes as he raises a hand in preparation to strike her.
And true to his word, Clarke only feels the first five strikes before consciousness slips from her mind.
Clarke wakes with a start, and she grimaces and groans as she feels the fresh stinging in her finger tips, and she knows more nails must be gone now. And as wakefulness begins to take hold she feels the ache in her jaw, and the bruising around her throat. But she jolts as she feels a cool dampness brush against her cheek. Her eyes open cautiously to find Nia's servant kneeling before her on the stone, a small healer's pack in her lap, a damp cloth in her hands.
The woman smiles apologetically as she sees Clarke wince, but she continues to bring the cloth against Clarke's wounds with a gentle pressure.
"It's pointless," Clarke whimpers as she begins to sit carefully. "You'll just have to do this again tomorrow," she finishes as she glances at her finger tips.
And Clarke sees the woman's eyebrows quirk together, she sees her look away for a brief moment as she wars with thoughts that drift through her mind.
"I do not mind," the woman says eventually, and Clarke feels her lips pull up at the corners, the motion shallow as to avoid irritating her already swollen and broken lip.
"You talk," Clarke says.
"I do," the woman smiles gingerly.
"How long was I unconscious for?" Clarke asks painfully.
"Almost a day," the woman says quietly.
Clarke nods lowly as the woman shrugs just once before gesturing for Clarke to extend her fingers.
"This will sting," the woman says as she eyes Clarke's raw nail-beds.
"It's ok," and Clarke clenches her jaw as the woman begins to apply a small paste, and she feels it burn and water her eyes. "Thank you," Clarke whimpers as the woman releases her hand.
"You are welcome," the woman answers.
"Why?" Clarke finds herself asking though, her gaze falling to the healer's pack once more.
"Nia will not want you to die of infection so soon," the woman says, her gaze looking away. "It will last quite some time," she finishes.
"Oh," and Clarke doesn't even think she knows what it is she feels in this moment.
She knows the pain that has come is merely the start, the first few days just an opening, just a tease for what she knows her next few weeks will be.
"What is it like?" the woman asks, her eyes gentle in the flickering of a flame.
"What?" Clarke asks as she watches the woman bring paste to her other fingers now.
"The Coalition," the woman says. "Skaikru, no Mountain," and Clarke thinks she sees a longing in the hazel eyes that hold her attention.
"You don't know?" Clarke asks.
"No," the woman replies.
"But you were there in Polis," Clarke counters quietly.
"I do not have the luxury of travelling where I wish," the woman answers sadly.
"Oh," and Clarke feels a small pang of guilt and sadness, and as she eyes the scar that splits the woman's cheek, Clarke finds herself feeling sorry for her, just a little. "It's good," Clarke begins. "The Mountain is being used to heal and provide for all the clans now," and she sees the woman smile slightly. "There's warriors from all clans there, some clans have more than others, but we all try to get along."
"That is good to hear," the woman says. "What of Skaikru?" she asks, "you were with Skaikru, weren't you?"
"Yeah," and Clarke worries her lip for a moment, and as she finds the woman holding her gaze eagerly Clarke can't help but to think that this perhaps a ploy of Nia's.
"You think I am a spy, don't you," the woman says. "Do not deny it, I can see it in your eyes," and she squeezes Clarke's hand briefly. "It is ok. I do not blame you, Clarke," and the woman looks away briefly. "I would not trust me either."
"Sorry," Clarke whispers.
The woman smiles once more before turning to a cut Clarke only now noticed on her forearm. The woman starts suturing her wound then, and Clarke watches as her scarred fingers move swiftly, nimbly in their motions as she brings needle and thread through Clarke's flesh.
The woman looks into Clarke's eyes once more, and Clarke thinks she can sense the woman war with a question for a long moment.
"You can ask it," Clarke urges quietly, her lips cracking as she smiles slightly.
And so the woman takes a steadying breath, her fingers twitching.
"The Commander," the woman begins. "How is sh—"
A loud clanging echoes through the room and the woman rises quickly as she takes hold of her healer's pack and swings it over her shoulder.
"I must go," she says with a quick nod before she paces to the door that already begins to swing open to reveal a guard who eyes her carefully.
Clarke feels the ice water drench her and she she feels her naked body shiver and freeze and tremble, she curls herself into a ball and she tries to hold back the chattering of her teeth and the pain that lingers against her flesh. The guard empties the rest of the bucket over her before throwing it to the ground, the clanging enough to pierce Clarke's ears with each bounce over the harsh stone flooring.
The man steps from the room though, the door screeching open as he nods once to Nia's servant who steps inside quietly, her eyes downcast as she cradles a pack to her body as the doors close behind her.
"Here," she says quietly as she hands Clarke a large pelt, the fur rough and coarse before placing fresher clothes on the ground for Clarke to wear.
"Thank you," Clarke whispers as she wraps it around herself, the fur enough to warm and dry her body for the time being.
It doesn't take her long to dry herself and to finish dressing herself with the awkward help of the woman who averts her gaze as best as possible. But as they finish Clarke sits in silence as the woman applies paste to her fingertips and to the cuts and bruises that litter her body. An occasional wince falls from Clarke's lips only for the woman to apologise quietly before continuing with her task. Clarke studies her some more though, and as she thinks over the things she knows and the things she has seen, a realisation slowly dawns over her. And she knows the woman is not to speak, and Clarke thinks that each time she has seen her was when she was in direct service to Nia, or in accompaniment of a guard.
"You're a prisoner, aren't you?" she asks quietly, and she sees the woman's fingers pause, her eyes glancing up into Clarke's for a moment.
"Yes," the woman says simply.
"What clan are you from?" Clarke finds herself asking.
"Trikru," the woman replies.
"We can work together," Clarke begins quietly, her eyes just once moving to the door before snapping back to the woman's. "We can try to escape together. I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to, and I'm betting you don't either," she finishes.
But the woman holds her gaze for a long moment, her fingers slowing in their motions.
"I have tried to escape five times," the woman says simply. "The first time I was given this," and she gestures to the scar on her cheek. "The second they broke all my fingers," and she holds up her hands, and Clarke thinks she can see the way her fingers twitch ever so slightly, the nerves damaged and ruined. "The third," and the woman lifts the hem of her shirt to expose her stomach, a scar running diagonally down to her hip. "The fourth," and she cocks her head to the side to reveal a small scar that etches against the underside of her jaw. "The fifth," and she pulls her hair to the side to reveal a patch of burnt and scarred skin on the side of her head. "There is no escape other than death, Clarke," she finishes.
"But you have me," Clarke whispers. "With two of us we could escape," and Clarke lets her eyes turn beseeching and pleading. "I know these lands well enough that if we get out of the village we've got a chance," and Clarke glances just once more to the door. "And it's clear they don't think you'll try again or else you wouldn't be allowed to walk around," and Clarke jerks her chin to the door. "Tell me I'm wrong."
And the woman looks away for a moment, her jaw clenching and her thoughts turning rapidly.
"You are not wrong," the woman says in answer.
"The guard, the one with Nia, bald, big beard," and Clarke gestures awkwardly to the door. "Is he still here?"
"Two scars on his forehead?" the woman asks as she swipes two fingers across her forehead.
"Yes," and Clarke smiles.
"He is held captive, too," the woman says. "Nia was furious that he did not beat you," and the woman looks away for a moment.
"He'll help us escape if you can get him free, too," Clarke says quietly. "We can get out of this, and you can go home to Trikru. Do you have family? A village?"
"Ton DC," the woman says quietly.
And Clarke smiles, "was Indra the village chief when you were there?" Clarke asks.
"Yes," the woman says, her lips beginning to smile just a little more openly now. "I will return tomorrow," the woman says as she glances behind her. "Stay strong, Clarke," she says as she begins to stand.
"Hey," Clarke whispers to her as the woman begins moving to the door. "What's your name?"
And the woman looks away for just a moment before she meets Clarke's eyes with a smile.
"Co—"
The door slams open, the sound causing the woman to jolt in surprise and drop the healer's pack in her arms.
"You speak to her?" the guard says, his eyes glancing from Clarke and then to the woman.
"We weren't talking," Clarke says quickly.
But she knows the man doesn't believe her when he smiles, when he races forward and strikes the woman across the face and kicks her legs out from under her before gripping her around the throat and pulling her to him, her knees dragging against the stone.
"You know the rules," he hisses as he begins to drag the woman out of the dungeon by her throat, one hand fisting in her hair tightly.