RAVEN POV

Harlee and I slipped past the curtain blocking the entrance of the dropship. The voices we had heard outside were coming from Clarke, Wells, and whomever they were speaking with on the radio. I walked over to them while Harlee found a place hidden from the camera but still gave her an unobstructed view. As I came up, I glanced and saw that the monitor showed the entire Council, but it was Jaha speaking.

I leaned over and whispered in Clarke's ear, "We're back. Harlee's behind and to your right. I'll be with her if you need anything."

Clarke nodded and looked over her shoulder at Harlee. Harlee just smiled and saluted but stayed quiet. I noticed that Clarke's shoulders minutely relaxed the moment she saw Harlee but didn't say anything. I squeezed Wells' shoulder as I passed by him, and he nodded his head but stayed focused on the conversation.

Sighing in relief as I slid down the wall next to Harlee, I glanced over to see her pulling out various pieces of wood, a medium-sized cloth, and a small, sharp knife. I curiously watched as she picked a piece of wood and started cutting into it and removing small shavings.

Furrowing my brow in confusion, I whispered, "What are you doing?"

Harlee smirked, her eyes never leaving the piece of wood, and whispered back, "It's called whittling. Lincoln taught me a bit the day the acid fog came. I was restless from being stuck in an enclosed space. To keep both of us sane, he gave me the knife and a piece of wood and said, 'find shape within.' I had no clue what he meant but started to cut into the wood. Hours later, I had either the longest toothpick or smallest skewer. Lincoln took it, examined it, smiled, and cleaned his nails with it."

I choked trying to keep from laughing too loudly as Harlee's smirk grew, "Then he gave me another piece of wood and said, 'this time, look first then cut.'"

"What did he mean by that," I asked, curious now.

"You may not know this, but every tree tells a story about its life," Harlee said, glancing up to check on Clarke for a minute before she returned to the wood. "If you cut it down and examine it, there are rings in various sizes. Counting the rings gives you its age. But each ring is different in size, shape, whatever. They tell you if the tree lived through drought, disease, flooding, and other natural phenomena. The surface of the tree tells a story as well. What has made it home, if it's survived fire or lightning. If strong winds have caused it to break or been impaled by another object. Sometimes you can even find manmade objects in them because it grew around them."

"That's incredible," I replied, having never heard about trees like that. "I just thought you chopped them down to make fires and buildings."

Harlee nodded, "True, but there's more to it than that. Each tree, each piece that breaks or falls from it, is meant for something. Be it providing shade, shelter, food, fuel, reproduction, a tool, a utensil, decoration, or whatever. Some of its obvious. Some not so much. It is up to nature or creature to find out what that is. Whittling or carving is about finding what a piece of wood is supposed to be. Each cut, shave, gouge reveals a bit of the truth at a time. But you have to look beyond the surface to see it."

"Why does that sound like a metaphor for something," I replied dryly.

Harlee chuckled, "Maybe it is. Think of a piece of wood as a person. On the surface, the wood or person appears like one thing. But the more you cut or get to know the wood or person; you learn more about it or them. The further you go, the more you learn and understand. Until finally, you see the wood or person as they truly are. The key to finding out, though, is patience."

I frowned slightly, "Okay, I think you've turned philosopher, Harlee. A piece of wood is just a piece of wood."

"Is it," she asked, glancing at me. "Is the person I see sitting next to me the real Raven, or is there more to you?"

"What you see is what you get, Harlee," I replied. "I have nothing to hide."

"That remains to be seen," Harlee said with a smirk. "But for most of us, what a person sees isn't necessarily the full truth. We put on these masks to hide behind for many reasons. And sometimes we're forced to wear masks for others. But like the surface of this piece of wood, the mask hides who a person truly is. And to truly get to know a person, you have to cut or shave away the mask or masks to get to them. Take Clarke, for example. Ignore what you've learned about her since you've been here and give me an assessment of who you think she is. Base it on her life on the Ark. Who her parents are. Where she lived. And so on. Just surface-level stuff."

I looked over at the blonde and regarded her for a long moment, "Okay. Well, I know she grew up in Alpha Station. Her dad, Jake, was the Head Environmental Engineer, and her mom, Abby, is the Chief Medical Officer and was on the Council."

"Okay," Harlee said. "Tell me about Alpha Station."

"Alpha was where the largest living quarters are located," I told her, thinking over what I knew. "Those that live there are deemed important and necessary to the continuation of the Ark. Therefore, they get better food rations, clothing, air circulation, and so on. It's even thought that those that live there can get away with breaking some of the laws."

"Okay, and what did the other stations think of the people that lived there," Harlee asked.

"That they had it easier," I quickly replied. "It was like the Old World equivalent to the rich and powerful. The other stations think that they don't struggle or have problems. Or if they have problems, it's something trivial. We thought them snobby. Privileged."

Harlee nodded, still working on the wood as she glanced between Clarke and me, "So, do you think that Clarke was sought after? Did everyone want to be her friend? Say to gain privilege by association."

I snorted, "The opposite. Clarke would have been avoided because her mother's on the Council. No one dared harm Clarke in the off-chance of getting floated or put in the Skybox."

"So, based on what you've told me, what's your surface assessment of Clarke, Raven," Harlee asked.

"That Clarke had an easy life," I replied. "No problems or worries. She was happy. A Golden Child."

"Kinda makes you want to hate her out of spite, huh," Harlee said, nudging me with her shoulder. "She had it good while you toiled away on Mecha, right?"

"Well, yeah," I huffed and then paused. "Wait. That was a trick question, wasn't it?"

Harlee smirked, "Maybe. Now, take what you've learned about her since coming down here. Does Clarke fit that first assessment of her?"

"No," I replied with a huff. "Clarke doesn't act like she's above us or makes ludicrous demands. She works almost as hard as I do. And she's always checking up on people. Like that kid, Jasper."

Harlee smiled and nodded, "You've shaved past the surface and have gotten closer to knowing the real Clarke. Congratulations."

"Whatever," I replied, rolling my eyes, and shoving her lightly. "What has any of this got to do with whittling wood?"

"Nothing," Harlee said. "It's a metaphor. The surface of this piece of wood and the way a person presents is a mask. If you really want to know what something is or who someone is, you have to be patient and shave a bit away at a time. Sometimes you'll find a piece of garbage beneath a pretty exterior, and other times, you'll find something beautiful underneath an ugly exterior. But you won't find out if you don't work at it."

"A diamond in the rough and don't judge a book by its cover," I huffed and shook my head. "I get it."

Harlee paused and looked at me with her head, cocked, "Do you?"

I nodded, "Yeah. Finn's really an obsessive douche. Clarke and Wells are nothing like the Council. And I've barely scratched the surface on who you are."

"Maybe you—"

"YOU HAD NO RIGHT. NO AUTHORITY TO BANISH BELLAMY BLAKE," Jaha's voice bellowed over the crappy speakers of the radio, making our heads snap in that direction.

"Bellamy Blake is wanted for the attempted assassination of the Chancellor," Marcus Kane spoke up.

I glanced at Harlee, but she was watching and listening to what was now going on intently.

"I understand, Kane," Wells said. "But at the time he was banished, we did not know that. He was banished for the sake of this camp. Bellamy is the reason why a quarter of our wristbands were taken off, including forcibly removing mine. He is indirectly involved in the death of Atom. Possibly involved in the presumed death of our youngest, Charlotte. He attempted to murder two other kids. We had already banished him for those crimes when the two recovered enough to give their testimonies. That is when we found out about his shooting my father. Bellamy Blake tried to kill the two kids because they figured it out."

"Chancellor, Council members," Clarke spoke up. "Bellamy Blake is a persuasive individual. Most, if not all, here, don't like you for many reasons. Least of which was the Chancellor's speech during our descent when you called us saviors of humanity and expendable in the same breath. Bellamy used that hate to turn many to his side. In removing the bands and advocating for leaving everyone up there to die. Even after all that he's done to the detriment of the camp, he still has loyal followers. If we had kept him here, they could have caused more damage and hurt more kids. Wells and I had to do what was right for the good of everyone here. We couldn't follow the Exodus Charter and execute him because that would have caused a riot. And we couldn't incarcerate him because of a lack of any place to hold him. The only logical choice we had was to banish Bellamy Blake."

"Damn, that's good," I whispered. "They're subtly using the Council's past actions with shit that's happened here. Forcing them to see the comparisons and using Jaha's own words against him. Did he really call you expendable?"

"Yeah, he did," Harlee whispered back. "The whole saving humanity bit was to make themselves feel better, but the truth is they sent everyone here to die. Clarke and Wells are also bringing and using the fact that there were no supplies. None. And they're making it known that even though they're kids of Council members, they're vastly outnumbered. To survive, they have to make concessions to appease the masses."

I looked at her in shock, "How'd you get that out of what they just said?"

Harlee rolled her eyes, "I've been listening to them the entire time. Even while we were talking."

"Well, have they gotten to the Grounders yet," I asked with a huff.

Harlee shook her head, "Not yet. The Council's been nitpicking everything that's happened since the landing. Criticizing and chastising them. Clarke and Wells have been handling it pretty well. I'm impressed."

"Very well," Jaha's voice interrupted us. "We concede that your punishment is suitable for Bellamy Blake's crimes."

"Thank you, Chancellor," Wells replied.

"Now to the next order of business," Jaha stated. "During a rather…brief conversation with an unknown individual, it was reported that there are Grounders among you. I find that highly improbable—"

"It is true, Chancellor," Clarke interrupted. "When I led a group in search of Mount Weather, we found a river that wasn't indicated on the map left us. Jasper Jordan crossed the river and found a sign with Mount Weather on it. Soon after, a spear was thrown across and hit him center mass. It did not kill him, and when we heard him scream, we ran back only to find him gone. The group and I returned to camp to regroup. When we located Jasper, we found him in the middle of a clearing full of traps, strung up as live bait. We have since learned that the river marks a boundary, and it's forbidden to go to Mount Weather."

"How," Kane asked.

"Octavia Blake, Sir," Wells spoke up. "Recently, she befriended a scout that was assigned to watch our camp. The Grounders have been watching us since the second day. The scout passed on information in regards to Jasper's attack. There are people in Mount Weather. People who have kidnapped, killed and experimented on the Grounders. The river acts as a boundary, and some scouts monitor it with orders to attack any who cross it."

"When you say, 'experimented,' Wells," Clarke's mother, Abby, spoke up. "What do you mean?"

"From what Octavia told us," Wells replied. "Some of those kidnapped by the Mountain Men. That's what the Grounders call them. Some of them come back but are changed. They've become mindless beasts unable to recognize friends or family. The Grounders call them Reapers. These Reapers are the ones who are kidnapping their own people and killing any that fight back. Wounding them doesn't stop them so, the Grounders have to kill them."

"The Mountain Men are also the ones who deploy this acid fog," Clarke interjected. "It burns and blisters from the inside out. It killed three of us."

"That is appalling," one of the Council members said.

"It is," Clarke replied, and I could hear the sadness in her voice.

"Why does Clarke sound sad," I asked Harlee.

"One of the ones caught in the fog, Atom, survived it, but there was no way to save him," Harlee explained. "Clarke mercy killed him."

"Oh my god," I breathed out in shock. "Is she okay? That couldn't have been easy."

"I don't know," Harlee replied. "I haven't talked to her about it, but killing is never easy. It shouldn't be anyway. Maybe I'll talk to her about it later."

"You should do that," I said, looking at her. "For someone who grew up alone in a cell, you have a surprising knack for understanding a lot of shit."

Harlee shrugged, "It comes from figuring my own shit out. Philosopher and Sage, remember?"

"And apparently, psychiatrist," I sarcastically replied.

Harlee smirked, "I'll be sure to add that to my resume."

"That's gonna bite me in the ass, isn't it," I huffed.

Harlee glanced at my ass before she looked at me, her smirk growing, "Tempting."

"Float me, I set myself up for that one, didn't I," I whined.

Harlee chuckled and leaned against me, "You did, but I won't hold it against you."

"Yeah, right," I said, leaning into her and enjoying the contact. "Should we listen back in?"

"They're getting ready to call a break," Harlee said, looking at me intently. "We've been here for over an hour."

"What," I exclaimed, a little too loudly if Clarke's glare meant anything. "How can you tell?"

"The shadows have moved," Harlee replied, gesturing to the curtain. "I can't fault you for not noticing. I know I'm distracting."

"Yeah, to the point of irritation," I said, shoving her away from me.

Harlee laughed, and then as quick as could be, she kissed me chastely before getting to her feet. She quickly made her way over to Clarke and Wells, leaving me stunned. I sat there for a long minute before glancing down to where Harlee had been. In the middle of a bunch of wood shavings sat a shape that strongly resembled a bird. I looked back to Harlee with the realization that our talk had done more than pass the time. Somehow, I had carved away at Harlee's surface, and as I went over our conversation, I had learned more about her. Not enough to pin her down, but enough that I was just as intrigued by her now as I was the moment we met.