Metal Beast

She was kissing him.

And I no longer wanted to draw the electric blue butterflies that swarmed in a storm about her. I pulled the mask down low over my face, deciding quickly it'd be better if I left the two alone. Kissing always led to much more. Humans used each other to get what they wanted; I was no foreigner to that.

Which, I bitterly concluded, made her no different than any other of the sky people or any other of my own people.

I slipped away, ferns barely swinging as I brushed past. That not quite stirring was the only indication that I had ever been a spectator of the serpent bait and her special boys' moment. Swiftly I climbed, strictly ordering my thoughts to focus back on the task. Anya could care less which boy Octavia was pounding, despite how much it stoked my disgust.

I crossed deftly from tree to tree, slipping back to the camp and descended on a lower branch, carefully considering the array I found before me. They had a fire, and the orange-red tongues cast distorting shadows across the encampment. They had managed to retain a semblance of peace and cooperation and had begun to construct walls about their metal beast. Faces began to stand out, certain features marking those I began to recognize though names were still blurs. I always situated myself a bit too far to hear their day-to-day conversations, I only heard their screams. And they seemed to scream an unnecessary amount of time.

There's Clarke, the blond haired one they often call 'princess'. There's Jasper the skinny black haired kid who follows Octavia around like a sad dog, and the one who got speared in the chest. And there's Bellamy, who attaches himself closely to Octavia. It is while she is with him that I have seen her purest smiles, bellied by her harshest anger.

She's a rebel, a free soul who is more interested in discovering then concerning herself with the matters of the moment. Her newest shenanigan, the boy, only reflected deeper that longing of discovery. I would not even pretend to know her, but I could see at least that life in her eyes. The fierce pride of existence.

I took out my book, growling to myself to keep my focus straight. The black haired girl invaded my thoughts too often. She was just another sky child, nothing over which to entertain vast musings.

I stared down at the rough sketch of the metal beast, what they called the drop ship. I glanced up to the real thing and tried to compare my drawing to it, but it was too dark and the fire obscured the important details. With a frown I wound the leather strap back around my book and shoved it into the pouch at my side. That was all for tonight, there was nothing more I could do.

There was nothing more of interest.

I stood, branch bending slightly beneath my feet, but they would not even bother to notice.

Lifting my gaze I cast it back once more over the camp, and caught sight of a black haired girl leading a boy back form the forest. I froze, brow crumpling in confusion. Octavia was smiling, the boy looking much more solemn. As they drew closer to the camp he dropped her hand and swiftly past her by, pretending he had not just been eating her face in the forest. Octavia however did not seem to care that much, but a smirk twisted her lips as she traipsed happily to the fire. Her pale hands stretched out over the dancing flames and I just stared.

She was a conundrum. She obviously had no deep sentiments attached to the boy; he was a thing of convenience. Many of the other sky people had done the same, finding someone to be close to, to feel connected to. Except those others would sneak off and do more than just kiss. But Octavia seemed perfectly content with herself, without a hint of shame or fear.

I left, before my thoughts were consumed with her. It was not she I should be focused on but the half-done sketch of the drop ship.

Still, I could not help the relief I felt blooming in my chest.

Octavia was different.

The hard angles and obscuring bushes were the most challenging part of drawing the drop ship. Portraying the darkness of the thing while maintaining the shape and shades that were obscured by shrubbery was a bit of a challenge, but an accomplishable one.

What was most distracting was her.

Octavia had been left behind. I knew I should be following the group who had slipped away, but I was too weary to go traipsing about the forest once more and watch their pathetic attempts to do… well anything. The others would be tracking their movements, especially if they ventured unwittingly close to the village. I would occupy myself with finishing my sketch of the metal beast while the lighting was still good, and everything was relatively calm.

But she kept flitting in and out of my line of vision, energy never seeming to abate. I grit my teeth and forced myself to focus on the door of the drop ship, and what little I could distinguish inside. She had been angry, at the presumed brother, for taking away her little toy (the boy), but now that burning anger seemed completely forgotten. She was everywhere, helping anyone and everyone she could find. She had no set job, but accumulated more and more work as she cheerfully began a project then became distracted by something else.

She had so much energy, yet it was so erratic.

But she had proved my guess; the boy was nothing more than a tool to get what she wanted. Another form of rebellion perhaps. With that thought in mind I turned back to my book, sketching out a few bold lines… too hard. When I finally glanced back up Octavia had moved from her spot and I cast my gaze about in search for the little sprite.

Octavia was at the base of my tree.

She was just slightly under the low branch I had perched myself upon to get a better view over the fence. She strained to fasten new logs to the fences, tiny muscles rippling in effort. I tensed, snapping the book closed as I pressed my back against the rough bark. She was so close, and in the dappled forest light I could catch the planes of her sharp cheeks, the strands of black hair that clung to the sheen of sweat across her smooth skin. She was so close. So close if the fence was not a sharp barrier between us I could reach down my muddied fingers and press them against her cheek.

My fingers twitched at the thought and absently I wondered how soft her skin would be.

She looked up and I froze, mind going blank with a sudden panic. I was staring too much, she had felt my presence. I admonished myself with very select words, trying to press against the bark and make myself as small as possible.

I was disgusted with myself. She was a child, my enemy and I was pining after her like a fool.

Pining?

A horn split the air and all the sky peoples gaze go to the air, as if it were the source of the sound. A cold dread drops deep in my stomach. The fog. I needed to find shelter… she needed to find shelter.

She's so close. I want to order her to the dropship. Please. Just go. I crouch frozen, knowing I should go, knowing I should flee but I can't. Because she's still standing, neck craned upward as she surveys the sky with a confused twist to her brow. And I want to sketch the lines of her slim neck, the cords that stand out in such elegant curves.

There's a shout, then pointing and finally she rushes away. They are all looking at something, something I can't see from my position, but I know what it is.

The fog.

Time is precious now, and they waste it in their uncertainty. The dropship! I want to shout, but I press my mouth into a thin firm line of silence. They finally have enough sense, and I linger until she disappears into the dark interior. Then I flee, crashing through the underbrush without much care for silence. I need to get somewhere safe, and now. The yellow thick haze is behind me, circling around me, trapping me.

And I slip down into my caves, closing the gate behind me and swiftly set down the narrow passages. At the end I throw up the blanket and wood, barring myself from any stray tendrils that could somehow manage to slink down into my abode.

Still breathing hard I tumble onto my furs, trying to even my breathing. My first thought should be of my narrow escape, concern over my comrades, heck even wondering over the Sky People. Instead one word repeated over and over in my mind.

Pining.

That was it after all, wasn't it? That was what I felt for her. A longing, a desire. She intrigued me with her endless energy and radiant innocence and love for existence, no matter how twisted that made me. I was not gathering information on her people as much as on her. I could only imagine how disgusted she would be, how her lips would curl and brow furrow, that anger unleashed upon me.

I only wanted to see that brilliant smile.

Traitor.

That was what my people would say. If I feared her revulsion, I should fear theirs more. Utter disgust, a sure knife to the back.

With a groan I slid a hand across my face, swiping away the mask and throwing it against the wall. It bounced against the serpent and landed wobbling on the floor.

I had been swept away by that spirited woman. Whether it be intrigue, lust, puppy-love, it was there and it was real and I could not continue to lie to myself and deny what I already knew. I had been swept away but there was nothing I could do. I was her enemy, she was mine. She was something I would only ever be able to glimpse from far away. Today would be the closest I would ever get to her.

I may want her, but that was all I could do.

"This is it?"

Anya held my book in her hands and I could not help but grit my teeth as I nodded a firm reply. She turned the book about, as if that would enhance the picture.

"And these lines, that's how many?"

"One hundred." I provided. Beside her, peering over Anya's shoulder at the drawing, Tris frowned sharply.

"And what are these?" She asked, reaching out to indicate the lines that had been crossed out.

"Their deaths."

Anya's lips curled in cruel satisfaction. "They can barely sustain themselves."

Octavia's boy had died, the newest tick in my book. Octavia did not cry, though there were tears in her eyes. She was strong, that I had known. Even if he had been a relationship of convenience, at least she had deemed him worthy of grieving. She was not heartless, she had a heart and it was strong.

"Lincoln." I snapped my eyes back to Anya's with the sinking feeling that this had not been the first time she had called my name. "Any other reports? Do they have weapons, what are they gathering for food? Are they in contact with any others, the Mountain Men?"

She still held my book in her clutch.

"They are fashioning weapons, for hunting. They seem to be alone, and I doubt they are with the Mountain Men. They don't know anything. They've tried no contact."

Anya made a gruff noise in the back of her throat and crossed her arms.

"Maybe if some would stop attacking them I could gather more information."

"That has nothing to do with it."

I did not feel like arguing with her, not then. It was useless talking with her. It was useless talking to any of my people. They liked blood, gust, glory of battle. They destroyed the artifacts I wanted to keep.

Anya snapped the booklet closed and thrust it out.

"I want portraits." She said sharply as I took back my book. "Of any important figure. Their leaders, their best fighters, their smartest."

I nodded, mentally visualizing the faces that would be on her list. They were not many, and few within their group were competent enough to be given as a threat to Anya. They were kids after all, and I doubted any had ever killed before. They would be easy to kill.

"Go." She gave a sharp wave, and then added as I turned. "You have performed well."

It was good she did not of Octavia.

I swore then that Octavia would never come to her attention.

Lincoln fell fast guys... really fast poor guy.