Clarke's eyes snap open. Her chest rises rapidly and her breaths come frantic, heavy and painful within her chest. It takes her mind only a moment to register the place she finds herself, the bed she lies in and the warmth of the body besides her. And then she turns to the movement in the tent.
"You can not sleep?" Ontari asks quietly, her hands tying the knots of her boots as she eyes Clarke carefully from where she sits on a stool.
"No," Clarke answers, her mind souring quickly, her memory already fading.
"I am going hunting," Ontari says as she stands, her furs already wrapping her body for the cool of the settling winter dark outside.
"I'll come," Clarke says, already halfway out of the bed, her thigh protesting the sudden exertion before she comes to a stand, her shoulders rolling, her forearm and injured shoulder slightly stiff from the encounter with the panther.
It only takes Clarke mere moments, but she dresses quickly, her furs wrapping her body and her bow slung over her back, knife strapped against her thigh. Ontari steps forward, fingers smoothing over the furs on Clarke's shoulders as she centres the clasp of the panther's pelt over her chest, Ontari's brown eyes moving over the dark black of the pelt briefly before settling on the healing cut on Clarke's forehead.
"It looks good," Ontari says, eyes tracing the skull and teeth that peak up behind Clarke's head.
"I think so," Clarke smiles warmly as she follows Ontari out of the tent, Entani's still sleeping form happy to bask in the warmth left by the two women.
Both women are greeted by the chill air of a grey sky, the first taste of winter beginning to set in. Torvun eyes them as they pass, a question in the raising of his eyes that Clarke greets with a shaking of her head. And so Clarke and Ontari wind their way between the tents, a few Azgeda warriors also moving in the early morning, some preparing a large fire for the morning meal, others on watch, the slow patrol through the small camp keeping their bodies warm.
Clarke and Ontari break from the camp site and bleed into the trees easily, the rustle of the leaves and sticks underfoot muffled by the furs of their boots. Clarke shrugs off her bow, her fingers stretching only briefly as she knocks an arrow to it, the familiar creak at her fingertips bringing a smile to her lips as Ontari mirrors her motion, the other woman grimacing slightly at the pull in her shoulder. Clarke eyes her for a moment then, her gaze worried as she peers at Ontari's shoulder, but the other woman meets her eyes with a stern look, a frown on her forehead as she moves forward, her eyes already scanning through the trees and her ears already listening for the telltale sign of prey.
Both women moves through the trees silently, a gentle brushing of a hand against a shoulder or foot against foot, all the communication either needs. It takes them only a moment before they find themselves following the trail of a deer, the slight footprints in the ground enough to guide their way in the daylight that bleeds through the canopy of leaves overhead. Ontari hears it first, her head swivelling carefully to the sound of a twig snapping and the rustling of a deer as it lazes between bushes. And so Clarke comes to a steady crouch besides Ontari, both women drawing their bows as they sight down the length of the arrow. Clarke's eyes find the dip in Ontari's arm though, her elbow not quite as high as it should be and so Clarke leans forward just enough for her arrow to take the lead, Ontari's eyes rolling in answer. And then their arrows snap forward. Clarke's races out first, the arrow whistling through the trees, Ontari's close behind. Clarke follows the arrow for just a moment as it curves through the air, as it spins and as it punches into the deer's side. Ontari's arrow finds its mark too, the arrow embedding in the deer's heart.
Ontari stands quickly, her eyes scanning around them as she stalks to where the deer lies on the ground, blood already pooling out of the two wounds. Clarke watches for a moment longer as Ontari shrugs her bow over a shoulder, the motion easy, but perhaps just a little stiff, and then she steps forward too, her own bow quickly slung over a shoulder as she joins Ontari, the other woman already beginning to tie the deer's feet.
"Does it hurt?" Clarke asks, as she pulls the arrows free roughly.
"No," Ontari answers.
"But it's stiff," Clarke continues, eyes now looking at Ontari's face carefully.
"Yes," Ontari answers after a moment of thought. "I can move it fine," she finishes.
And so Clarke shrugs, a reluctant smile on her lips as Ontari threads a branch between the deer's legs, her own desire to prove her capabilities outweighing any discomfort she feels. They lift the deer then, the weight resting upon their shoulders as they begin the long trek back through the trees, daylight beginning to settle more comfortably upon the trees around them.
"You spend time with the Commander," Ontari says from behind Clarke after a while, her voice careful in question.
"What do you mean?" Clarke says, her body tensing only briefly at Ontari's words.
"I am no fool," Ontari says. "You sneak out late at night," and Ontari sighs once, her thoughts solidifying. "And then at day break the Commander arrives."
"It's just meetings," Clarke says in answer.
"You return smelling of her," Ontari continues harshly.
"What?"
"The candles. Or the scents," and Clarke hears Ontari kick at a pebble, the stone skipping across the ground. "I am no fool," Ontari says once more. "She has candles in her tent, and you return smelling of them."
And so Clarke comes to a stop suddenly, Ontari cursing briefly as the deer between them sways into her with the sudden change in pace.
"What do you want, Ontari?" and Clarke turns to the other woman, strands of brown hair clinging to Ontari's forehead.
"Nothing," and Clarke raises an eyebrow as they both lower the deer to the ground.
"Nothing?"
"The Commander is not Azgeda," and Ontari's chin lifts, her eyes glaring at Clarke for a moment.
"So? I'm not allowed to interact with anyone outside of our clan?" and Clarke's hands come to rest on her hips as she returns Ontari's gaze.
"I do not care who you interact with," and Ontari steps forward evenly.
"Then what's with the questions?"
"Have you considered that she uses you?" and Ontari holds her gaze. "Have you considered that the Commander merely toys with you? Uses you to gain an advantage over our Kwin?"
"Oh," and perhaps Ontari's words give Clarke pause, perhaps she had thought Ontari more preoccupied with other matters.
"You think I am jealous?" and Ontari's hands come to fist on her hips too. "You think I wish for you to share my bed once more?"
"No, that's—" but Clarke's own words die in her mouth quickly. "I don't know," she finishes lamely.
Ontari's eyes soften though, her hand reaches out and squeezes Clarke's own.
"I am no fool," and a small smile spreads across Ontari's lips. "I know where we stand," and she shrugs. "I merely wish for you to be sure and careful," and Ontari's chin jerks towards the direction of Ton DC. "I do not wish for you to be a pawn in the Commander's games."
"It's not like that," Clarke says after a moment, her own stance softening.
"You are sure? I will fight her if she wrongs you."
"Yeah," and Clarke smiles and rolls her eyes for a moment.
And so Ontari rolls her eyes too before continuing, "I still do not understand what you see in a Trikru woman," and she bends to lift the deer back onto her shoulder.
The return trip to Ton DC doesn't take too long, but as they reach the outskirts of the Azgeda camp sight, the sun sits a bit higher in the sky, shadows now beginning to stretch out before them as they weave between the few tents, a large fire already burning, the crackling of wood and the smell of smoke breathing around them.
They find a number of Tents already beginning to be packed, Azgeda warriors grouping together in the chill of the morning, though Clarke finds many smiling at the welcomed cold that will soon fall over the lands.
"Other's returned before you," Entani says in greeting, already handing them both a bowl of roasted meats and vegetables and roots as both women drop the deer by their feet.
"When are we heading off?" Clarke asks as a few Azgeda move towards them, the deer's carcass soon to be carried off to be prepared.
"Soon," Entani answers, "some Azgeda will remain, Trikru wish to escort us to Arkadia," she finishes with a sigh, a grunt of disapproval falling from Ontari as she spoons a mouthful past her lips.
"It has been months, yet they still treat us like children," Ontari grumbles, annoyance colouring her tone. "We know these lands now, we can move without escort."
"That's the problem," Clarke says, Entani rolling her eyes too. "Would you let Trikru walk around Azgeda lands by themselves if they knew it well?"
Ontari looks up though, steam wafting past her face as she glares harshly at a Trikru scout that walks the edges of their camp.
"It does not mean I can not complain," she finishes.
The journey from Ton DC to Arkadia is an easy ride, the path wide enough for large numbers of people to travel, and firm enough under-hoof for horse and cart to traverse easily. Trees, much like the path between the Mountain and Ton DC, spring up on either side, the forest swallowing the path as it winds its way through the greens and browns. There's even a cool bite to the air that wakes Clarke's mind fully, that brings a smile to her lips, and to the few Azgeda that travel with her. And so she rolls her shoulders, the slight pain from her encounter with the panther barely a thought as she eyes the sun as it continues to rise slowly. She feels eyes on her though. She feels eyes watch her movements, she feels eyes gaze upon the fresh pelt on her shoulders, that cascades down her back, and she feels eyes on the back of her head where the skull rests easily. But perhaps most importantly, she feels the eyes of Trikru scouts that she is sure shadow her every move from the trees. If only because she is Wanheda, Commander of Death, Mountain Slayer and proud warrior of Azgeda.
And so Clarke lets her thoughts drift, she lets them wander for a while, the gentle trotting of her horse soothing her thoughts as she leads the small group of warriors deeper and deeper into Trikru lands and towards Arkadia. And it's times like this, Clarke thinks, when she has time to think, that her mind wanders to the Mountain and its old haunts. And it's the moments when she has time to think, that she considers whether it was worth the pain, worth the sleepless nights, or the nights where she does sleep an unkind, restless, slumber.
But perhaps for now she can lose herself in the greens of the trees that pass her by, and the blue of the sky and the grey of the clouds that pass overhead when the leaves above thin every so often.
And so, for now, Clarke lets her gaze wander over the rough of the tree bark as her horse trots along, its pace enough to keep part of her mind thinking. She feels the firm wrapping of her father's watch around her wrist, the leather strap warm and rough against her skin. It surprises her though, to realise that she thinks of her father less, the pain not quite so raw, not so fresh anymore. But she thinks she can feel a small amount of anger at Thelonious, at his words and his excuses and his games. No matter how real they may be.
Ontari must sense Clarke's unease though, because her horse comes to trot alongside Clarke's own, both horses neighing at each other briefly, Ontari's lighter mare tossing her head back. Ontari eyes Clarke for a moment, a furrow worrying her brow before Clarke smiles at her steadily, her foot coming to nudge Ontari's own as they continue along in silence.
The band of warriors breaks through the trees not long after midday. Before her, Clarke sees what was once the Ark sprawl out in a large clearing, the hulking mass of twisted metal less broken, less wild, than months earlier. The main body of the Ark juts out of the ground, many of the higher levels inaccessible to those who call Arkadia home. To counter this, small buildings have begun to spread out, their designs simple, their materials a combination of woods and scrap metal, wires and rope and roughly welded metal plating. But as Clarke looks over Arkadia, as she eyes the larger building sites, she sees the signs of permanence, of larger buildings already being laid, scaffolding marking the extent to which a building will one day rise up into the sky many stories. But for now Arkadia seems small, seems bustling, seems growing.
Clarke weaves her horse down the main path as it leaves the cover of trees, the dirt road underfoot slowly becoming more and more paved as she nears the gates of Arkadia. Guards must see the warriors too, she sees one point, another raise a rifle, finger off the trigger as she sights through her scope to identify the warriors who approach, and she must recognise the colours, or perhaps even a face or two, as she lowers the rifle shortly, her arm raising in a friendly, cautious wave, and then a shout rings out, one of greeting, one of alerting. And then the gates open with a groan, the hard metal that bites into the ground swinging open slowly.
Clarke's horse breaks forward easily, the beast now accustomed to her riding in front, and so she turns her eyes to the guards that patrol the tops of the large walls that surround Arkadia, she eyes those that stand watch in the guard towers and she watches as the Ark's structure slowly looms overhead, her approach swallowed in the dead stations shadow. And then she arrives. She smiles at a younger child, perhaps not even a teenager, as she swings off her horse and as the reins are taken by the child, wide-eyed and eager. She greets a guard who she recognises only slightly, just a nod sent their way before she turns to face the rest of the Azgeda warriors who accompany her, many of the warriors who are perhaps more healer and building than fighter. If only to share in the knowledge they can gain from Skaikru.
"Clarke," and she turns at her name to find Bellamy striding up to her, black guard uniform shining in the sun, rifle over his shoulder. "Here for the usual?" the man asks as he comes to a careful stop before her, his own gaze briefly flicking over her shoulder at the number of Azgeda and Trikru warriors who move about each other carefully, the time in proximity only just tempering their dislike.
"Yeah," she answers, already counting the Azgeda who move to stand behind her.
"Abby's waiting already," Bellamy says as he turns towards the Ark's main body.
And so Clark and her Azgeda healers fall into line quietly, leathers and furs rustling only slightly as they step over the metal plating that paves the ground in areas, the builders and craftsmen of Azgeda already following another Skaikru as he directs them to the construction sites.
"It is still ugly," Ontari whispers from besides her as they pass a large building, the occasional Skaikru looking up from the open dining area, large tables and benches lined up next to each other and a fire pit in the centre.
"You think everything is ugly," Entani answers easily from somewhere behind them.
"That is not true," Ontari hisses in answer, retorts and insults quickly exchanged between women, and so Clarke smiles lowly, Torvun's shadow following hers as she enters the Ark, and as she follows Bellamy deeper and deeper into what was once her home.
It doesn't take them long until they come to a familiar set of doors, an access panel glowing and recessed into the wall, and so Bellamy thumbs it, a low beep echoing around the group, the Azgeda with Clarke still somewhat awed at the tech still functioning on the Ark. But then the doors slide open to reveal the med bay. Clarke looks around it quickly, the med bay much smaller than that in the Mountain, but nonetheless still large, many beds lining the walls, a few people in them for cuts, small illnesses and broken bones. She steps into the larger room and scans left to find Jackson in the middle of setting a child's broken arm, and then she turns right to find Abby, her mother, scrolling through a tablet, another medical trainee standing close by, the young teen blonde haired and shy in her stature.
Abby must hear their entrance though as she looks up with a smile as she finds Clarke walking towards her. Ontari and Entani follow too, Torvun hanging back somewhat as he scans around the room, the other Azgeda healers quickly moving to Jackson as he demonstrates how Skaikru handle broken bones with the help of x-rays.
"Hi," Abby says as Clarke comes to a stop in front of her.
"Hi," and Clarke sees her mother's eyes glance to Ontari once before she smiles at Entani, the other healer not an uncommon sight by Clarke's side in these weekly journeys. "Can you check Ontari's arm?" Clarke says suddenly, Ontari's quietness not lost on her.
"Is it still sore?" Abby asks as she eyes Ontari, the other woman kicking Clarke's heel roughly in protest.
"She's not really doing the stretches," Clarke says after Ontari merely grumbles something under her breath.
And so Abby pins Ontari with a stern look before uttering a simple follow me as she turns, the three Azgeda women following, a smug smile on Entani's lips.
Abby leads them to a more private part of the med bay where curtains hide many beds and so Abby pauses as she nears one, her eyebrow raising as she finds Clarke and Entani close behind her, as well as Ontari.
"You've all got bad shoulders?" Abby says in jest, just a glance sent to Ontari.
"We are all healers," Entani shrugs.
"They may watch," Ontari adds carefully, her gaze turning to the younger girl who remains quietly by Abby's side.
And so Abby merely sighs once as she ushers them all behind the curtain before closing the fabric with a swish, her free hand already guiding Ontari to sit on the bed as Entani and Clarke crowd around the bed.
"You need to step back," Abby warns quickly as she looks up.
And so Entani and Clarke take a measured pace backwards as they watch as Ontari shrugs off her fur coat, the white and speckled grey-blue falling to her waist to expose her undershirt of cloth and leathers. They come next too, now leaving Ontari in her chest binding, and Clarke's eyes focus on the scar that runs through Ontari's shoulder.
The scar runs deep, that much Clarke can tell. And though it doesn't quite shock her anymore, the red flesh that wrinkles out around the bullet's entrance brings a burning to her stomach, and she knows the exit wound will look worse, will be larger.
"It does not hurt," Ontari says after a moment, Abby's hands already taking a gentle hold on her arm as she lifts it carefully.
"But it's stiff?" Abby questions.
"Yes," Ontari answers.
"And you don't do the stretches and exercises?" Abby continues.
"I use it enough," Ontari says. "I do not need to wa—"
"What you need to do is what I tell you to do," Abby snaps quickly, Entani's eyebrows raising at Ontari's open mouthed expression. "If you don't start taking care of yourself then you won't regain full use of your arm again," Abby says. "You're a warrior, correct?"
"Yes," Ontari says quietly.
"If you ever want to be a good warrior again then you'll do as I say. What good are you if you can't lift a sword?"
Ontari quiets then, Abby content that her message has at least sunk in somewhat, and so she continues her examinations of Ontari's arm, the Azgeda warrior remaining quiet, eyes perhaps somewhat sullen as she follows Abby's careful instructions.
Ontari's examination passes quickly, Abby making note of certain things that she thinks important, and so Clarke lets her mind drift to the conversation she knows she will be faced with in a short while.
"All done," Abby says then, already helping Ontari's arm back into her furs before stepping back as Ontari slides off the edge of the bed.
"Can I speak with you alone?" Clarke adds in the silence as she worries her lip.
"Yeah, of course," and Abby smiles gently at Ontari and Entani, both women casting Clarke a worried look before they both slide out from between the curtains, the silhouettes of other Azgeda healers still milling about.
"Charlotte, go help Jackson," Abby says then, the younger girl nodding for a moment before she, too, slips through the curtains.
Abby motions Clarke further into the med bay then, her office the direction they walk. Clarke looks over her shoulder at the many people that surround Jackson, the other doctor in the middle of explaining blood types.
"The girl," and Clarke's voice trails off in thought for a moment.
"Charlotte," Abby answers.
"She's your new me?" and Clarke smiles for a moment, the blonde girl quietly standing besides a large Azgeda man, his beard and hair braided and wild.
"Yeah," Abby smiles quietly. "She has night terrors so I thought giving her something to do would help," and Abby goes quiet for a moment, her gaze trained on Charlotte and the blonde of her hair. "She could never replace you, Clarke," and Abby squeezes her hand. "You know that, right?"
"I'm not angry," and Clarke trails off in thought, perhaps now, when faced with the moment, unsure and uncertain of how to proceed. But they come to Abby's office, the door sliding shut behind them with a thud and so Clarke settles for merely taking a seat in the free chair as Abby sits in her own.
The silence must stretch on for too long though, because Abby clears her throat awkwardly before voicing something, anything, in the silence.
"Ontari has a lot of scars," and Abby's eyes turn to the door, the opaque glass hiding much of the movement outside. "And not just the facial ones," she finishes, thoughts of the many scars, large and small, that slice through Ontari's flesh.
"Yeah," and Clarke shrugs. "I do, too," and she motions to her forehead, the cut now just a scab. Abby's eyes follow Clarke's motions for a moment as she waves over body. "The ground's a harsh place to live, we all have our scars," and as Clarke trails off once more, thoughts turn to the panther she had fought, and how close to death she has come in the last few years she has lived on the ground. "Azgeda is a harsh place," she finishes.
"What's it like?"
"Azgeda?" and Abby nods. "It's beautiful when the sun rises and sets, when the snow fields turn orange," and Clarke thinks a smile lifts the corners of her lips. "It's cold, north, where Canada used to be I think," and she shrugs. "Ronto is the closest village to where I landed. It's small, out of the way, on the border of Trikru and Azgeda so the people are a little more friendly than further north."
"Ontari is from there, too?"
"Yeah," and Clarke thinks she knows where to her mother's thoughts run. "She's nice, despite how she acts."
"You care for her," and it comes less question, more statement, less probing and more longing.
"I do," and Clarke shrugs once more. "She saved me. Entani, too. Both of them," and Clarke bites her lip once. "They taught me how to survive in the snow fields of Azgeda, in the winter winds and the cold nights. They trained me to hunt and fight. Without them I'd be dead. Or different," she finishes, thoughts turning to the Mountain and how Thelonious had held a gun to them both.
"I'd love to visit one day," and Abby's voice goes quiet for a moment. "I wish you'd stay here, but I know it's not possible," and Abby smiles warmly, watery and tiredly. "I can see you've found a place," she finishes.
And so mother and daughter fall into quiet conversation, they tell stories of things they have done, of places they have seen, despite Abby's lack of exploration further than just the closest forest, and they discuss life for a while. But Clarke knows time for procrastination has passed when they once more fall into an awkward silence.
"About dad," and Clarke thinks the words come out sudden, come out abrupt, her fingers scratching at the watch on her wrist, the motion subconscious, the watch's presence not quite at the forefront of her thoughts anymore. "You turned him in, didn't you," and Clarke meets Abby's eyes.
And so Abby quiets, and Clarke thinks she sees surprise, she thinks she sees confusion, anger, regret and hurt and loss. But perhaps most of all, she sees truth. And she sees Abby's lip tremble, she sees Abby's tears well once more in her eyes and she thinks she even sees Abby's fingers grip tightly in her lap.
"Yes," and Abby's voice comes quiet, it comes tearful, full of pain.
And Clarke finds herself unsure of how to react to this answer, perhaps she had thought denial, refutation, lies or even avoidance would come. But truth? So abruptly? She thinks herself unprepared for that.
"Why?"
"I'm not making excuses," Abby starts quietly, "I wish I could take it back. But I thought— maybe I was a fool, maybe I was selfish, stupid. But I thought if Thelonious knew then he could talk your father out of it," and Abby finishes mournfully, her words trailing off.
And Clarke isn't quite so sure what she feels in this moment. She thinks years ago she may have been angry, she may have been heartbroken. But after all she's done, she finds herself unwilling to feel much. Or perhaps she is merely unable to after…
"I don't think I can ever forgive you for it," Clarke says, and she sees acceptance in her mother's eyes. "If I was younger, if I had found out earlier, years ago even, maybe I'd be furious, maybe I'd be angry. But I'm tired of it. I'm sick of it," and she shrugs, her gaze steady as she looks into her mother's gaze. "I need some time alone," Clarke finishes as she stands.
"I understand," Abby says, and Clarke thinks she sees those same thoughts living in her mother's eyes too. She thinks she sees a tiredness, the years of pain and loss and regret having etched a permanence across Abby's flesh.
It's quiet. It's almost too quiet. Or perhaps it's not quite quiet enough. If only because that constant humming seems to echo out through the walls. Something that's not quite audible, something not quite so loud that it could find its way into a person's waking thoughts. But it's there. And so Clarke breathes in deeply, the old roughness of her bed something that brings a smile, both bittersweet and lost, upon her lips.
She had been surprised when she had entered her old quarters to find her old belongings still in place, or perhaps not quite everything. Some things lie broken, haphazard and dusty. But enough remains that she finds a comfort in lying on her old bed. In her old quarters, in an old time. But she can't quite force herself to look upon the pictures that remain, the ones of a happy family, of a whole family. And so she closes her eyes, breathes in deeply and lets her mind wander, lets her thoughts drift, and perhaps it's a dangerous exercise to welcome those thoughts, to welcome those demo—
A chime rings out quietly, shrilly, through the room.
And so Clarke rises, her hand rubbing roughly at her eyes in the dark of the room. She pads her way over the rough of the metal flooring and then she comes to a stop at the doors, her finger already reaching for the release.
"Ontari," and it comes out surprised, it comes out cautious.
"You disappeared," is all Ontari says as she pushes past Clarke carefully. And so Clarke smiles as she follows Ontari's motions, the other woman coming to stand in the centre of the small quarters. "This is where you once lived?" and Ontari looks over her shoulder at Clarke.
"Yeah," and it's a shrug, a bashful thing.
There's a pause, Ontari's gaze trailing over every surface for a long moment.
"It is ok," and it comes careful, quiet. "Not as ugly as outside."
Clarke sits on the edge of her bed then, her hand patting the rough mattress, and so Ontari sits besides her, their shoulders brushing for a moment as both women find themselves in a quiet moment.
"You really should do the exercises," Clarke says. "It will help."
"I will do them," and Ontari smiles quietly, bashfully, her shoulder lifting in a halfhearted, stiff, shrug.
"Good," and Clarke finds her fingers winding their way through Ontari's hand.
"You are ok, Clarke," and perhaps at Ontari's words, Clarke can't quite tell if they are question, if they are statement. But perhaps having a friend with her in this moment is enough. At least for now.
"Yeah," and Clarke thinks she smiles at Ontari's lack of probing, her lack of needing to know what bothers, what pains her.
"Entani is with the others, Torvun is outside," Ontari continues after a moment. "The others wish to return soon, before nightfall sets in," and she squeezes Clarke's hand once.
"Yeah, we ca—"
And her words are cut out by the piercing bellow of a horn as it echoes out through the metal of the walls.
"The northern Azgeda are here?" and Ontari's words come surprised, shocked, her eyebrows raising as her head turns to the direction of the sound.
It's a quick rush out of her old quarters, Torvun waiting outside, his fist gripping the knife strapped to his hip as he glances left and right as they pass corridor after corridor. They find a number of Skaikru watching as they pass, questions in their gazes, ears searching for the sound of the horn. It doesn't take them long until they meet with other Azgeda, Trikru present and tense at the unwelcome arrival of more Azgeda.
And so Clarke breaks out into the late afternoon sun, Skaikru guards already at the walls, rifles held awkwardly in hands as they face out, the sounds of horses, the sounds of warriors cascading over Arkadia walls.
"What's happening?" Clarke asks the nearest Azgeda, the older woman shrugging once.
"I do not know," and the woman squints into the sky for a moment in thought. "We were packing and then Azgeda arrived."
And so Clarke worries her lip for a moment before jogging towards where the gates remain shut, Bellamy nervously peering through an opening as he barks out questions to the Azgeda that stand outside.
"Move, Bellamy," is all Clarke says before she pushes past him, Torvun stepping closer as Bellamy takes a step backwards, Clarke already peering through the small window in the gates.
And perhaps Clarke would laugh. Perhaps she would cry, perhaps she would flee or break down in another life. But as her eyes land on the leader she feels a clenching in her stomach, she feels the prickling on the back of her neck and she feels the tremble in her fingers as she begins pulling open the gates, the muscle in her back straining.
And then the gates lie open.
"Hello, Clarke," Nia says.