Clarke paces back and forth, her eyes peering down at her feet and the cracks she sees slither through the stone underfoot.
"How are you not freaking out about this?" Clarke hisses, eyes only holding Lexa's for a short moment before she looks up into a burning candle overhead. "He's free, he knows more about Arkadia and its defences and even the Mountain," and Clarke kicks angrily at a fur rug she passes, Lexa's eyebrow rising slightly at her outburst. "Nia holds all the cards, Lexa, we need to do something, can't you make her do something? Anything?" and Clarke feels her nails bite into her palm.
"I expected her to make an attempt to free the prisoner," Lexa says evenly, eyes still following Clarke's movements through her room.
"So you let it happen?" and Clarke turns to face her, disbelief colouring her tone. "What's the benefit in that?"
"He is working for me."
"That's not the point, Lexa," Clarke growls. "What's the bene— What?"
"Thelonious is working for me," and Lexa sighs evenly as she continues to watch Clarke.
"Explain."
"All other prisoners are held at Arkadia or in the Mountain," and Lexa shrugs. "Did you not think about why he alone was kept at Ton DC?"
"I thought it was because Trikru wanted their own vengeance because he was the leader," Clarke answers.
"Yes," and Lexa smiles grimly. "I believe Nia thinks the same."
"How'd you get him to work for you? What's he even going to do?"
"He will provide the evidence we need to accuse Nia of working with the Mountain Men," Lexa says simply.
"How?" and Clarke worries her lip as she continues to eye Lexa in her casualness.
"He will leave a trail for us to follow so that we can find where the Mountain Men hide," Lexa shrugs.
"So again, How are you not freaking out about this, Lexa," and Clarke's eyes narrow as she steps forward. "You've done something," she says.
And she feels her heart clench as Lexa looks away subtly, as she clenches her jaw and as she eyes a space over Clarke's shoulder.
"I threatened him," Lexa says as she meets Clarke's gaze, her eyes hardening as her chin lifts.
"How?"
"I told him I would have his son killed if he did not cooperate," and Clarke feels the strain and tension in the back of her mind increase further.
"That's not happening," and Clarke takes a deep breath.
"I do not make idle threats, Clarke," Lexa says as she clasps her hands behind her back.
"No," and Clarke steps forward angrily, her finger jabbing Lexa in the shoulder. "You don't get to decide who lives and dies. Especially someone from Skaikru."
"I am the Commander," Lexa hisses as she steps closer to Clarke, and not for the first time, Clarke finds herself resenting the fact that Lexa stands slightly taller than her.
"You can't just kill someone because you want to," Clarke argues.
"Yes," and Lexa's chin lifts even further. "I can."
"No. You can't. I won't let you," Clarke says.
"You will not let me?" and Lexa's eyes roll.
"Don't you roll your eyes at me," Clarke says as she pokes Lexa once more. "I w—"
"Heda," and Clarke's head turns to the door at Anya's voice. "We are ready to leave," the voice calls from the other side of the door.
"Anya's coming?" and Clarke turns to meet Lexa's gaze once more.
"Yes," Lexa says cautiously. "Trikru will accompany you on this mission."
And so Clarke takes a step back, eyes closing as she takes a deep breath to steady her beating heart.
"This conversation isn't finished," Clarke says as her eyes open. "Wells better not have a scratch on him when I come back," and Clarke sees the small worry that lingers in Lexa's eyes.
"Thelonious will not jeopardise his son's life," Lexa says more softly now. "I am sure of it."
"I'm still mad at you," Clarke says as she begins walking to the door, hands tugging her furs closer around herself as she reaches for door knob.
The wind feels much colder now, even after only a short time, the winter season has truly begun to settle over the lands. Clarke's eyes scan the trees constantly, despite the distance they still have to travel to Ton DC to find the trail of the Mountain Men who fled. She hears Raven's quiet chatter from behind, Skaikru having volunteered to help rebuild Ton DC to show the other clans that they could provide more than just knowledge.
"You are angry, Clarke," and she turns to meet Ontari's gaze as she rides besides her.
"Yeah," Clarke shrugs, "it's complicated," she finishes.
"Do you wish to discuss it?" Ontari says more softly, eyes flashing to a Trikru warrior who rides close by.
"No," and Clarke smiles more gently as she meets Ontari's gaze once more. "It's ok."
And so Ontari's foot nudges Clarke's, and they share another quiet smile before their eyes turn back into the trees, the sounds of Polis long since lost to the trees and the forests.
"So, how long do you think this is all going to take?" Raven asks, her eyes squinting up into the setting sun.
"As long as it takes," Clarke answers from where she rides at the head of the small war party of Azgeda, Trikru and the few Skaikru.
"Real helpful, Clarke," Raven says.
"It's another day to Ton DC at this pace, and from there we'll pick up the trail and track them to wherever they're hiding," Clarke finishes with a smile.
"You think we'll find them?" Raven says.
"Yeah," and Clarke shrugs once. "I've got a feeling we'll find them."
Her eyes move from tree trunk to tree trunk, the air hisses through the branches overhead and her ears pick up the slight sounds of what she hunts. Her hand rises slowly, fist closed, and she turns to Ontari and Torvun who stalk quietly behind her, Entani already slinking off into the trees to the left to flank their prey.
She hears a low whistle then, and her gaze moves up into the trees as she sees a shadow slip forward with the swaying of a large branch.
"I hope she falls," Ontari whispers, her own eyes following the movement overhead.
"Shhh," and Clarke pokes Ontari in the ribs briefly as she begins moving forward once more.
They hear another low bird call again, the sound coming from their left and so Clarke pauses once more until she hears it again, this time further away, lower and more careful.
"Entani has found it," Ontari whispers, her bow slowly being drawn back as she begins moving to the left, Clarke's own bow creaking in her hands, Torvun following behind them quietly, his gaze ever constant as he eyes the trees that rise up into the skies.
Clarke slinks forward carefully, hand lifting a low branch before she comes to an even crouch, her eyes trained on the deer that grazes across a clearing. Ontari pauses by her side, her bow already being drawn and so Clarke draws her own, too, and as she sights down the arrow's shaft she lets her breaths still and her heart slow.
She waits for only a moment longer, long enough for a hoot to echo out through the clearing once more and then she releases. Clarke's arrow snaps forward, but she watches as it clips a small branch that bends in the breeze and she curses quietly as her arrow slips left and disappears into the trees.
But as her curse falls from her lips she sees another arrow flash forward from above, and she watches as the deer's head looks up at the sounds, its body tensing for only a split second before the second arrow hits home, the arrowhead piercing the deer's side causing it to wobble and collapse to the ground with a pained grunt that tapers off into a quiet wheeze for just a beat of time before silencing for good.
"You missed," Ontari says with a smirk as she rises, eyes peering up into the trees briefly before stepping forward, hand waving to Entani who also rises from the bushes opposite them.
Clarke sighs once as she watches Anya drop from the trees, bow slung over her shoulder, her eyes peering at the now dead deer as she begins to unwind rope from around her waist and bind the animal's legs.
It's late, or perhaps early, and as Clarke's eyes crack open she finds the cold has settled more fully over the lands. She sits carefully, Ontari's arm sliding off from her hip as she slips from the furs and pads her way over to the small table in the corner of the tent where her clothes lie.
It only takes her a moment to dress and slip out of the tent with a glance over her shoulder to find Ontari rolling into the warmth her body has left behind. Clarke dresses quickly, and as she exits the tent Torvun wakes easily, eyes openly to the sounds she makes and so he rises, eyes scanning around him as a thumb brushes against the handle of his knife. As their eyes meet Clarke thinks she feels a stab of regret that Torvun has grown accustomed to her sleepless nights, but as he smiles slightly at her she thinks he doesn't mind. Not fully, at least. But she thinks she senses the quiet worry behind his gaze as his eyes fall onto the shadows she thinks bruise under her own eyes.
It doesn't take them long to reach the edges of the small war camp, the Azgeda woman who keeps watch nodding to them both before slipping from the shadows and making her way back to the camp, the few hours left of sleep a welcome for her tired mind.
Clarke eyes the tree before her for only a moment as she considers which branch to take and then she jumps, hands wrapping around the rough bark, the roughness of it biting into her palm as she pulls herself up. She hooks a leg on it as she swings herself up until she comes to straddle the wide branch, legs on either side and her back resting against the thick trunk. Torvun scales it more easily, his height and strength allowing him to pull himself up without needing to jump so forcefully.
"Perhaps you should have Anya train you in how to move in the trees," he says quietly as he settles himself on his own branch.
But Clarke snorts at his words, her head turning to meet him for a moment to see mirth living in his eyes, "I think she'd prefer to push me out of one," she says quietly.
"Perhaps," Torvun shrugs, fingers scratching at his beard once. "Or perhaps she would not."
"Maybe," Clarke answers.
They fall quiet then, and Clarke finds herself peering up into the slight traces of the sky overhead, her ears still tuned to the sounds of the rustling of leaves, but she thinks attack is not so likely on an Azgeda force and so she lets her eyes trace the clouds that float by, the stars that still shine deeply and the rich depths of the nothing of space.
But she hears it. It's a prominent snapping of a stick that draws her eyes down to the ground, and she feels Torvun tensing too. She sees a lone figure begin to bleed out from behind a tree and she recognises the dirty blonde tips of Anya's hair and the way she walks slightly stooped as she stalks forward carefully.
"You do not hide yourselves well in the trees," Anya says as she comes to a stop at the base of the tree they keep watch in.
"What do you want, Anya?" Clarke says quietly, ever conscious of the wind carrying her voice.
"You are aware of the prisoner?" Anya says in answer as she comes to lean against the tree, her own gaze turned outwards and into the forest.
"I know Lexa made him agree to help," Clarke says, and she doesn't miss the quiet sigh Torvun lets loose at the revelation.
"Scouts believe they have found his trail," Anya says, "at daybreak we will leave for Ton DC and resupply before we follow it," and she peers up at Clarke briefly. "He is a priority," she finishes.
"Yeah," and Clarke shrugs an answer as she thinks of what will soon happen. "How is Ton DC?" she asks after a moment's pause.
"There are dead and injured," Anya says tightly. "The Mountain Men were able to sneak in at night and use tech to cause chaos."
"Why hasn't Lexa done anything else?" Clarke asks, her eyes tracing the braids through Anya's hair. "Other than threaten Thelonious, all she's done is let Nia make moves."
"She does not have many options," Anya says in answer. "She can not accuse Nia or make a move on her without proof, you know that. To do either without evidence of Nia's involvement with the Mountain Men would make her look weak in front of the clans," and Anya sighs once.
"But—"
"You accuse Lexa of not doing enough," Anya interrupts, "yet you refuse to consider her own plan," and Anya looks up once more. "Lexa can not remove Nia from power without evidence or she must defeat whatever challenge Nia issues. But you can do both," Anya says stiffly. "You forget that Lexa wishes for you to challenge Nia, for you to take the throne, for you to end this without further bloodshed."
"B—"
"There are no buts, Clarke," Anya interrupts once more. "Roan has been eliminated. He is either dead, rotting in a prison or he has fled and is in hiding. Who else could challenge Nia to the throne without causing chaos with Azgeda other than you?" and Anya looks pointedly at her. "So yes. For now all Lexa will do is protect Arkadia with Trikru warriors. She will keep the Mountain safe from Nia's attacks, and she will use the prisoner to gain evidence that Nia works with the Mountain Men. And she will wait. Nia will make her move, and Lexa will counter it."
"We don't even know what Nia's going to do, though," Clarke counters.
Anya sighs, an exasperation colouring the sound as it reaches Clarke's ears.
"She will either attack Skaikru, and in that case the Trikru warriors there will defend. She will attack the Mountain, and in that case the clans there will defend it. Or she will issue the challenge, and in that case Lexa will defeat whichever champion Nia uses," and Anya pushes off from the tree. "Or bloodshed can be avoided by you challenging Nia to the throne," Anya finishes as she begins walking away.
They arrive at Ton DC late the next day, the sun already dipping below the horizon once more. It surprises Clarke that she finds the scent of blood still lingers in the air, the smoke of charred buildings ever present and the blackened tar underfoot a crunch that brings memories to the forefront of her mind. Indra walks up to the war party as they dismount from their horses, a gash on her forehead.
"Anya," she says with a nod.
"Indra," Anya replies, hand reaching out to grasp Indra's forearm for a moment before they begin walking through the main gates of Ton DC.
Clarke turns at Raven's name being called to find a number of unfamiliar Skaikru already milling about, large bags at their feet, tools and other equipment Clarke can't name cradled in arms.
"We came to help," a man says as he meets Clarke's inquisitive gaze as he strides up to Raven.
"How bad is it, Sinclair?" and Raven eyes the blackened face of a building.
"Some of the reconstruction got damaged, but it's mostly just surface damage, nothing serious," he says.
And so Clarke turns her attention back to the Azgeda who mill about, and she finds Jenma, the fiery haired northern Azgeda warrior kicking at a broken piece of metal that rolls on the ground and bounces against a rock.
"Their trail went north," and Clarke turns to see Octavia striding towards her, Lincoln in tow.
"Hey, O," Clarke smiles in answer, her gaze taking in a slowly healing cut on the woman's chin. "From the attack?"
"Yeah," and Octavia shrugs as she gestures around herself. "Everyone got hit."
"I'm sorry," Clarke says, and as she eyes the burning husk of a tree that must have been caught in the attack, she can't help but recoil from the memories of the missile that had struck Ton DC only months prior.
"It is what it is," Octavia says, but Clarke thinks she can sense the fire burning in the young woman's mind. "We'll find them tomorrow."
Clarke finds herself, the Skaikru and a few other Azgeda in the main building that had been used during the siege of the Mountain, the large table ever present, the map still covering it. Indra stands on one side, Anya next to her as both women trace the rivers and paths drawn into the map.
"They went north," Indra says into the silence, eyes only once meeting Clarke's before moving on to the other Azgeda before her.
"What tech did they use?" Clarke asks as she eyes a small figure that marks the direction Indra thinks the attackers went.
"Explosives, grenades, stuff like that," Octavia answers. "They hit us in the night, don't even ask how they got so close without being seen. I couldn't even tell you."
"And that's when they rescued Jaha?" Clarke asks.
"Yeah," Octavia answers and Clarke sees Indra's eyes flash at the man's mention. "In the confusion someone must have snuck through," Octavia finishes.
Clarke's eyes meet Anya's own gaze for a moment, and she doesn't miss the flash of a warning to remain silent about Jaha's reluctant help, but Ontari clears her throat briefly, gaze only sparing Octavia a second's notice before she slips her knife out from its sheath and points to a small ravine marked on the map.
"They head here," she begins. "This is the last of the neutral ground before they enter Azgeda lands."
"You're sure of it?" Clarke asks as she follows the small trail that winds through the trees before bleeding into the rocky outcrops that often separate Trikru and Azgeda lands.
"Where else would they go?" Ontari shrugs. "They can not move west or it would lead them to Polis, and they are not so foolish as to attack there. They can not double back or they will be forced to face us. Perhaps they head east, to Skaikru, but Azgeda is there and will defeat them," and Ontari lets a small smirk lift her lips as she meets Anya's quiet glare.
"So what's the plan, Clarke?" Octavia says quickly.
"We hunt them," Clarke shrugs in answer. "They've become desperate to attack so deep into Trikru lands, or they've become too bold," and she looks up at the people that stand around the table. "This is the most daring they've been since the Mountain fell," and Clarke worries her lip, thoughts turning to how to explain the Mountain's actions. "The only reason their tracks are still visible is because they're so deep into Trikru lands. They haven't had the time to hide them without being caught," and as she sees a few of the Azgeda warriors that stand around her nod she feels herself content with the explanation for what she thinks is Nia's trickery. "And we're here," and Clarke gestures to the Azgeda, "because we can't let them be more bold than they've already become. We need to end this now before more blood is spilt," and Clarke doesn't miss the subtle rolling of Anya's eyes as the last of her words echo out around them.
"So we find them, we kill them?" Octavia asks, her gaze turning to Indra who remains quiet for the moment.
"Yeah, but we've got to be careful," Clarke answers. "There can't be more than fifty of them, but we don't know how many weapons they have with them."
"Why hasn't the Commander sent more?" Raven asks as she eyes the Azgeda and Trikru warriors.
"It's an Azgeda and Trikru matter," Clarke says in answer. "No other clans have been attacked yet, so it's our responsibility," and she sees Anya nod slightly, her avoidance of the plans in motion appreciated.
"You can't call for help?" Raven asks.
"We do not ask for help, sky girl," Ontari snaps.
"Yeah, firstly, it's Raven. And secondly, I'm pretty sure I'm older than you, ice girl," Raven retorts. "What are you, sixteen?"
"Ok," Clarke says, hand gripping Ontari's wrist quickly as the other woman begins to move forward. "We're all on the same side at the moment," and she pins Raven with a stern look. "Let's all just get along until this issue's dealt with."
It must be close to daybreak and Clarke's eyes follow the glint of her knife in the candle light, the flickering of the flame enough to give sight to her task. Her ears listen to the sounds of the whetstone as she runs it against her knife's edge that tapers into a harsh point. Clarke looks up from the blade at the sounds of Ontari waking with a quiet grumble.
"You think we will find them today?" Ontari asks tiredly as their eyes meet and as Clarke brings the whetstone down the edge of her blade once more.
"I have a feeling," Clarke says, her gaze falling to the furs that bundle around Ontari's waist as she sits in the small bed they share.
"Entani is still on watch?" Ontari asks as she looks over her shoulder, gaze falling to the empty space besides her.
"Yeah," and Clarke shrugs, in the candle light, "she said her watch ends at daybreak," she finishes.
And so Ontari stifles a yawn as she slips from the furs, her skin prickling to the cold that creeps through their tent, and Clarke's eyes trace the goosebumps that sprinkle over her skin slightly, the light scars that litter her body, that slice through muscle and flesh and skin.
"I am enjoying the cold," Ontari says as she pads her way over to the table, hands already rifling through their bundled furs and leathers. "I hope we are returned to Azgeda soon," Ontari says with a sigh.
"Yeah," and Clarke shrugs once more, "it'll be nice," and Clarke stands, her sleep shorts and chest binding all she wears as she comes to a rest besides Ontari. "How's your shoulder?"
"It is fine," Ontari answers easily, but Clarke thinks Ontari too stubborn still. "I am doing the exercises," she says quickly, already anticipating Clarke's reprimand.
"And it doesn't hurt?" Clarke questions as she takes a fresh chest binding from Ontari.
"Perhaps a little," and Ontari shrugs as she begins to strip, the flickering of a candle light curving across her body.
"How'd this happen?" Clarke asks as she eyes a fresh cut across Ontari's back, the wound long, but she thinks not deep.
"Teril," Ontari sighs as she tries to peer over her shoulder and at her back. "It does not hurt."
"You didn't even get it looked at, did you?" Clarke says lightly, her feet taking her to stand behind Ontari who brings small shorts up her legs.
"I cleaned it," Ontari says with a grunt, Clarke prodding her sternly in the lower back.
And so Clarke sighs before turning to her healer's pack that rests on the far edge of the small table.
"Sit down, Ontari," she says, hand taking Ontari by the upper arm as she moves her to the chair she had been sitting in moments ago.
Ontari submits with a quiet groan of annoyance, hands sweeping her hair over her shoulder, fingers carding through her brown locks as she anticipates Clarke's inspection.
"You're either the luckiest person ever, or your immune system is amazing," Clarke says as she inspects the wound, the flesh along the edges of the cut only slightly reddened and inflamed.
"I do not know what an emoon sistam is," Ontari grunts out, and Clarke is sure the woman rolls her eyes at the laugh she finds escaping her lips at Ontari's poorly pronounced words.
"It's the only thing keeping you from dying," Clarke sighs, fingers already popping open a jar of paste, the grey-blue paste an odd smelling thing that brings memories of wounded warriors and long nights to the forefront of her mind. "You don't need stitches, but don't move for a bit," Clarke says, fingers dipping into it as she prepares to smear it across Ontari's wound.
The women fall into a comfortable silence, Clarke's fingers gently applying the paste across the wound that slices down Ontari's back, and as Clarke's fingers brush against the deep bullet scar that mars Ontari's shoulder, she finds herself thinking of the years Ontari must have suffered, the youth she must have lived to have familiarised her with such a harsh life.
"Do you ever worry about it?" Clarke finds herself asking, her thoughts not quite sure how best to voice what she sees etched into Ontari's flesh.
"Death?" and Clarke knows Ontari can sense her gaze upon the scar.
"Yeah," and Clarke's brows quirk slightly as she begins to smear the last of the paste against the wound.
"No," Ontari shrugs slightly, fingers now braiding her hair. "I do not," and she pauses for a moment in thought, and Clarke thinks she can imagine the quirking of Ontari's lips. "We are warriors, Clarke," and she looks over her shoulder at Clarke. "Do you worry about not being able to save a wounded warrior when you are trying to save their life, or do you focus on doing what you can?"
"Yeah," and Clarke knows what Ontari says makes sense, and as her voice tapers off slightly, she finds herself unsure if she should voice what she plans, the things she has put into motion, the things she waits for to happen. "It'd be nice if the Coalition was stable though, wouldn't it?" and she sees Ontari's head tilt to the side. "It would, wouldn't it? Not having to worry about when the next war or battle is going to happen?"
"I do not worry about things I can not change," Ontari sighs more quietly. "I am a warrior. I fight when I am told to," and Clarke thinks Ontari's words easy and simple to understand, despite the macabre nature of the discussion.
"But if things were safer? Less violent?" Clarke finds herself pushing.
"I have not thought much of life other than what I have lived," Ontari answers. "We survive knowing that our fight may end one day," and Ontari shivers slightly as Clarke begins laying a cool cloth against the wound on her back. "If it is to end today, tomorrow, or many seasons from now, it will end when it ends."
Clarke's ears pick up the slightest of noises, the breathing of the forest and the chirping of a bird. She hears the quiet breath that escapes her lips and the slight rustle of a branch that shifts in the wind. The Trikru scout raises a hand slowly, his eyes trained out in front of him. Clarke feels the shifting in the forest though, the land slowly beginning to turn into rock and soon to be ice and snow underfoot.
The shadows now stretch out before her, the sun only just starting its descent in the sky, but as she waits, as she peers out past where she hides, she thinks she feels it. The scout's fingers spread slowly, his index finger crooking before he lowers his hand in a steep arc.
Enemy.
Clarke turns behind her to eye the Azgeda who gather out behind where she hides, their faces a deathly black, the usual whites replaced with the black that signals a hunt. Her own hand flicks up slowly to the left, and as she barely finishes the movement Jenma nods once to her before breaking off from the main group, a number of Azgeda warriors falling behind her as they disappear into the trees.
Clarke brings her hand behind her head, fingers grasping at the skull that rests against her neck, and as she slips it over her head and as it settles against her face, she lets a smile linger in her eyes and against her lips. Ontari eases into position besides her, Entani's gaze turned behind them and Torvun ever present by her side.
There's a slight snap that comes next and the warriors still. Clarke's eyes turn back to the scout and she sees his hand held behind his back for them to see, his fingers quirking and lifting quickly as he balances on the branch he is perched in.
Anya meets her eyes only once before she nods and begins to fade into the trees, the other Trikru with her, Octavia and Lincoln included, morphing into the undergrowth and retreating further back into the forest, their task to cut off any attempt at escaping back through Trikru lands.
"Remember," Clarke breaths out, and she knows the Azgeda who all huddle within breathing distance can hear her. "We capture one or two if we can, we kill them if we can't. And if it looks like they're going to run, send them back into Trikru lands. We don't want to try tracking them through the mountains," and she sees a few Azgeda familiar with the terrain in this area nod, their own experiences of hunting in the rocks a dangerous, futile task.
And so she creeps forward as the Trikru scout turns and slips from the tree quietly, his eyes meeting Clarke's for only a moment as he nods before he, too, slips back to where Anya and the rest of the Trikru wait.
Clarke waits for another long moment, and she thinks it must be an age, her fingers slowly beginning to cramp around the bow in her hands. But as she flexes her fingers and rolls her shoulders she hears it. She hears the careful steps of a nervous person and the very slight clinking of metal against metal. The Azgeda with her hear it too and they silence, some lower themselves to the ground and others slowly tighten their grip around spear shafts and sword hilts.
Clarke thinks she senses it before she sees it, but she sees a figure bleed out from behind a rocky outcrop of waning trees and broken branches. She eyes the man for only a moment before recognition dawns on her. His skin appears more weathered now, the hair on his head scraggy, unkempt, his beard more wild than she has ever seen. But she knows him to be healthy, his arms thick and corded and his chest barrelled and familiar to the harshness of the ground. He holds a rifle too, his gaze constantly tracking back and forth as he slips from tree trunk to tree trunk, from rock to boulder.
And so she turns quietly to face the Azgeda behind her, their nods all she needs before she turns back to eye Pike as he pauses, a hand slowly coming up to signal whoever it is that he scouts for.
Clarke breaths in once, her fingers finding an arrow that she knocks to her bow with a practiced ease and then she begins to rise slowly, the arrow being drawn as she sights down the shaft. Fingers brush against the white feathers and she feels the beating of her heart begin to slow. She feels the other archers begin drawing their own bows, she feels them begin to rise slowly and she feels the disciplined eagerness in their motions.
And so she smiles just once.
But she hears it. She hears a quiet click, something not quiet from the creaking of bows and the clinking of metal sword against armoured torso. And she knows. The moment must only last a second, a breath, a tick in time. But she knows the click for what it must be and so Clarke's head turns to her left, she eyes the warrior whose own face turns confused for only a moment before recognition dawns on a weathered face, followed by horror, panic, acceptance, anger and fury.
And in the time it takes for Clarke to register the cause of the sound, the warrior screams out a warning, the warrior drops her body onto the ground and the warrior absorbs the impact of the mine as it explodes and rips her to pieces.
And as Clarke feels the air smash from her lungs, as she feels her feet lift off the ground and as she sees shrapnel rip into the Azgeda warriors around her, the last thing she sees before consciousness is beaten from her mind is Torvun's torso shielding her from the blast, Ontari's bloodied face that contorts in pain and Entani's body as it flies through the air.