She pauses for a moment, her ears picking up the quiet rhythm of steps moving against the ground. She searches around her briefly, her eyes peering into the undergrowth that spreads out around her and then she thinks she sees the gentle swaying of a bush in the distance. And so she smiles, looks over her shoulder briefly before she stalks forward, her bow already being drawn carefully, an arrow at the ready.
And she pauses. She lets the pull of her muscles quiet her mind and she breathes in for a moment, holds it until it burns for just a bit. And then she exhales.
The arrow snaps forward, the quiet twang of the bowstring ringing out through her ears and she smiles as the arrow flies through the air, and she smiles for just a moment as it strikes its target, a satisfying thud echoing out around her.
And she stands, her bow already being slung over her shoulder, the other hunters around her standing also.
"Here," she says, throwing a length of rope to the bald Trikru warrior she had first seen when the reapers had wandered too close to Azgeda borders, and he smiles as he catches it.
"You shoot well," he says, already bending down to tie the deer's hind legs together.
And so she shrugs once, a smile sitting across her lips, "I make do."
Her fingers twist and knot the rope quickly, and then she stands, brushing a loose strand of hair from her eyes as she gazes up at the sun to gauge its movements through the sky.
"Lincoln, right?" she asks, turning back to him for a moment and she sees him nod briefly before her eyes track the other members of the hunting party, some already carrying animals on their backs.
The hunting party makes their way through the trees, just ten strong, two for each clan present. And it's funny, Clarke thinks, as she eyes the Lake clan, that the Commander thinks she can force clans to work together, to fight together, all in the name of the Coalition. Despite that though, Clarke eyes the two Lake clan people carefully, sure that their dislike for Azgeda will cause trouble in the times to come. She is grateful though, that the others keep to themselves, their eyes ever careful of their surroundings and so she turns to Torvun briefly, her ever present guard, and she watches as he holds up a hand briefly, the hunting party coming to a careful stop.
And she feels the quiet tension build in the air for a moment, she thinks she can even sense a something that lingers and so she catches Octavia moving closer to Lincoln, the warrior's eyes carefully peering out into the trees. They stand still for a short while, those not carrying an animal readying weapons quietly, taking positions more suited to defence. But the danger passes, the air seems to lessen and the tension in her shoulders relaxes and so Torvun's hand lowers carefully, a hand still clutching the sword strapped to his back, his knife already drawn.
"Something has been through here," he whispers, the words carrying over the breeze quietly, and so Clarke nods, others around her also agreeing silently.
"Let's move," she says, already shifting the animal on her shoulder, Lincoln carrying the other half giving a quiet murmur of agreement.
They continue on for a while, the sun a constant companion that brings a slight sheen of sweat to her brow and so they stop for the afternoon. She drops her end of the deer down, thankful to be free of the weight and so she reaches for her water skin, the cool of the liquid bringing a moment's reprieve to the thirst that lives within her throat.
"So…" she starts, her eyes meeting Octavia's, "how'd you end up with Trikru?" and she sees Octavia eye her for a moment in thought, her brows furrowing slightly.
"Skaikru were never my people," she says simple, "they floated my mother when I was discovered. I lived under the floor," she shrugs, just a hint of anger burning in her eyes. "I owe them nothing."
"Oh…" and it makes sense then, that Octavia would want to distance herself from Skaikru.
"Yeah," she replies.
They let the silence live between the both of them, and it's comfortable, just a quiet thing that lets their thoughts wander while they rest for a few short moments. And so Clarke turns her eyes skywards, lets her gaze trace the clouds that float through the sky, that drift aimlessly as they dance with the wind.
"Do you miss it?" Octavia asks, her eyes gazing upon Clarke thoughtfully.
"Space?"
"Yeah."
And does she?
"Yeah," she pauses for a moment, thinks back to the times she had looked up at the stars and longed for the past. "I guess a bit," and she shrugs just once. "Maybe I miss simpler times. Not having to worry about anything. At least before…" and she trails off, her thoughts turning to darker times.
"Yeah, I get you," Octavia says quietly, "but the ground's better," she continues.
"Yeah," Clarke replies, a small smile lifting her lips. "It is. At least we ha—"
And a twig snaps. Heads turn towards the sound.
A growl erupts from the undergrowth before bodies explode forward, faces bloodied and eyes reddened.
"Reapers!" a warrior yells.
Clarke's already rolling back, and as she finds her feet she looses an arrow into the first reaper she sees, and she grimaces for just a moment as her arrow punches into its throat, a spray of fouled blood spattering across Octavia's face, the other woman's sword halfway drawn. And so a brief smile is exchanged before both women turn to face other reapers.
Torvun is by Clarke's side in a flash, his sword already drawn, a broad swing of it taking the head off a reaper as Clarke ducks under its falling body. And as she rises her feet snag on the dead reaper by her feet and so she cries out briefly before she falls face first into the dirt.
And it's a quick, desperate, frantic scramble forward away from the body and she throws her bow from her, knowing it will do her no good on the ground amongst the tangle of limbs, and so she reaches for her knife, and as she rolls onto her back she finds a reaper standing over her, lips turned up into a snarl, blood dripping from its mouth.
And her leg snaps out, and she feels the crunch as it connects with the reaper's knee and so she lunges forward, the small moment all she needs before she drives her knife into its thigh. But the reaper's fist comes down, it smashes against her face, and pain erupts through her nose, a bloodied mess smearing across her mouth. And so she pushes away, and she scrambles back on her hands, and the reaper advances on her. She rolls away as it lunges, a handful of dirt grasped in her fist before she throws it into the reaper's eyes and as she finds her feet she stands, her chest heaving as she reaches for an arrow, ready to drive it into the reaper.
There's a flash of brown and then the reaper staggers back before falling to the ground, Lincoln straddling its torso, his own knife plunged deep into the reaper's chest. And so she smiles for just a moment before she turns to find Torvun, his hand holding down a reaper as he removes his sword from another. She sees Octavia slide under the haphazard swing of her own reaper before she slashes out, her sword opening the reaper's stomach, blood and flesh spilling out messily.
She races forward then, intercepting a reaper about to lunge at Torvun's exposed back and she blocks the swing of a sword, her knife deflecting it away and so she pounces, a snarl forming across her own lips, and her elbow strikes out, a satisfying crunch all she hears before she throws the reaper over her shoulder, her knife plunged firmly into the reaper's chest.
And as she whips her head around in search of another foe she finds the others in her hunting party breathing heavily, the last of the reapers lying dead on the ground. And she meets Octavia's eyes briefly, the Trikru warrior's own sword bloodied, a fresh cut across her arm bleeding slightly.
"Is everyone ok?" she calls out quietly, her own chest rising, and she meets the nods of several others, quiet yes's finding her ears and so she smiles grimly, satisfied that none have died.
She finds Lincoln kneeling over the reaper he killed, his eyes mournful, his lips a grim line, and so she approaches quietly, her knife sliding back into place against her thigh, and she bends down, her bow quickly snatched off the ground.
"Did you know him?" she asks, her eyes taking in the reaper that lies on the ground.
"Yes," Lincoln replies, already reaching to take the cloth wrapped around the reapers neck. "He came from Ton DC, I know his brother," he continues, his fingers folding the faded green of the cloth, "his family will want to know his fight is over," he finishes sadly.
"We should go," another warrior says, her eyes peering out into the trees.
And so Clarke nods, but as she rises, as she begins to turn from the dead bodies that lie around her she finds her gaze drawn to a reaper's neck. And so she does a double take, her eyes must narrow for just a moment as she sees the wounds across the reapers neck.
"Wait," she calls out as she bends down, her fingers reaching out to turn the reaper's head away for a moment.
And she knows the marks on the neck. She recognises them and knows what they mean.
"These marks," she says, her lip between her teeth, "do other reapers have them?" she asks, her eyes turning to Torvun who stands close by, and so he bends down, already searching another reaper.
"Yes. They are on this one, too," he answers gruffly, his eyes turning thoughtful.
"Octavia," she calls out, "they're injection marks, right?"
And the other woman nods as she inspects another reaper.
"Yeah," she looks up, "so?"
"We don't know how the Mountain turns us into Reapers," Clarke begins, her mind turning quickly.
"Does it matter?" comes the reply, Octavia's lips pursing.
"I have an idea," Clarke says as she wipes away the blood dripping from her nose, "Torvun, take this one," she finishes, already lifting the reaper for Torvun to carry.
They walk back quickly, eyes ever careful. And so she's thankful when the sound of the war camp reaches her ears. And she lets out a relived sigh as she recognises the Azgeda warriors she nears. She stops for only a moment as she drops off the deer that was hunted before beginning to make her way to Ton DC, Torvun following close behind, the reaper still carried over his shoulder.
"This reaper is important," he says, his tone inquisitive.
"Yeah," she pauses for a moment in thought, "I need a second opinion, but if it's what I think it is then we have a way of dealing with the reapers," she finishes and she smiles when she hears the quiet grunt of Torvun's acknowledgement.
It's strange, she thinks, to now be standing with Azgeda and Skaikru behind her back. But for now she merely sighs and listens as Abby once more details what they think the marks mean for the reapers.
"—So if we can get a reaper that's still alive—"
"You do us no good, Skaikru!" a Trikru warrior interrupts quickly, his eyes aflame, his lips turned into a snarl, "we should not waste our time on curing these reapers when we should aim to kill them."
"You don't seem to understand," Abby says, her gaze hardening, "we can save the reapers—"
And once more the Trikru warrior scoffs, his eyes rolling, "It is a waste of time," he snarls out.
And so Clarke sighs again, her mind quickly racing with thoughts. And she is sure this warrior's hatred must stem from something deep. But for now she has no patience for idiocy, and so she sighs just once more, her eyes meeting Ontari's for just a moment before she steps forward, her hand coming to rest against the knife on her thigh.
"Are you stupid?" she snaps out, cutting him off, her eyes hardening and her chin lifting.
And a silence settles around the war table then. And she feels the eyes of the Commander snap to her, and maybe, as she meets the Commander's gaze she sees a thoughtful gaze lingering within the green for just a moment.
"Are you stupid?" she asks once more, her gaze turning back to the warrior's.
"You question me, Azgeda? Or is it Skaikru? You can not even decide who to belong to," he snarls out, his fists coming to rest against the table.
"Watch your tongue Trikru worm," Ontari hisses from besides Clarke, her eyes narrowing as she stares down the warrior.
"I would kill you where you sta—"
"Enough, Quint," Clarke's eyes snap to the Commander, her hand raised, her eyes glaring at the warriors around the table. "Speak, Clarke," she says, her eyes falling to Clarke's.
And so she leans forward, her eyes holding Quint's.
"I'm going to spell this out for you — assuming you can spell," and she smirks at the quiet chuckles she hears, "if we cure the reapers we reduce their numbers," and she looks around the table, meeting the gazes of those present before her eyes settle upon Abby for just a moment, a small smile lifting her mother's lips, "and we increase ours. And we save our people. It would be stupid to ignore this," she finishes, eye brow raising as she holds Quint's gaze.
And Quint glares at her, and she is sure she feels the hatred roll off him, she is sure she even feels Torvun stepping just a bit closer to her.
"It is settled," the Commander breaks the silence, "if the reapers can be cured then so be it."
The rest of the war meeting goes by as smoothly as can be expected. Discussion quickly devolving into arguments and shouting matches over who would be willing to risk capturing reapers. And throughout the exchange she feels Quint's angry stare burn into her, and so she ignores him for the moment.
She turns to the Commander then, the woman's hand coming up once more.
"Kane," she says, her eyes meeting his gaze, "what is the progress with the acid fog?" she asks.
"It's going well," he says, "our guy has to be careful, but we think we know what to look for. So when he disables it he'll radio us an all clear."
"Good," the Commander replies, "then it is settled. Until the acid fog is destroyed we capture reapers. We heal them, if possible, and we continue to train."
The Commander's gaze turns to those present around the war table, and she holds their gaze for a short moment before she nods just once, satisfied that an agreement has been met.
"We will once again meet tomorrow. Leave us," she calls out, and so the many warriors present bow their heads for just a moment before turning to leave, "Clarke, remain."
And she is sure a sigh leaves her lips once more as she catches Ontari's eyes roll briefly before the other woman ducks out of the tent, Torvun close behind her.
"You should not antagonise Quint," she begins as she walks back to her throne.
"If he wasn't such an idiot maybe I wouldn't have to," Clarke replies cooly, her eyes following the Commander's movements as she sits in her throne.
"Perhaps," comes the answer, an eyebrow raising just slightly, and maybe she sees just a sliver of mirth live in the Commander's expression. "You will continue to speak for Skaikru in these clan meetings," she says after a short while.
"Yeah, I figured it wasn't a one time thing," Clarke replies, her eyebrow raising for a moment as Gustus glares at her from the corner of the tent.
"You should not antagonise Gustus, too," the Commander says again, her head tilting for a moment in thought as her eyes move across Clarke's face.
"Is there a reason why you wanted to me to stay…?" Clarke asks then, her eyes turning back to the Commander's, their eyes meeting for a long moment.
"You may leave now, Clarke," and the Commander raises a hand once more and so Clarke nods her head, a small confusion lingering within her mind, an uncertainty as to the reason why the conversation had just taken place sitting within her thoughts.
But she ducks out of the entrance, a deep breath being taken as she feels the sun touch her face briefly. And perhaps she feels an anger, perhaps she feels a frustration that lives within her at the stupidity of Quint, and the arguments she has to sit through during the clan meetings. But she shakes it off, already moving from the Commander's tent.
She finds Torvun waiting for her not far from where she stands and so she nods briefly in greeting as their eyes meet.
"What did the Commander want?" he asks as they make their way back to the war camp.
"I don't know," she shrugs, "just to make sure I'm still following orders i guess," she finishes lamely.
And so Torvun grunts roughly besides her, his gaze as always peering out around them as they move past the number of warriors moving about the war camp.
"Where'd Ontari go?" she asks.
"Training grounds with Entani," Torvun says.
She watches as Abby inspects the dead reaper on the bed, and she grimaces for a moment as Abby removes the layers of clothing, crusted with dried blood and sweat and dirt. Jackson meets her eyes briefly, a small smile passed between the both of them before Abby draws blood from the reaper, a syringe carefully held between her fingers.
"Will you be able to figure out what drug caused this" She asks.
"Maybe. If we can catch live reapers then it could be easier," and she pauses for a moment, "but I'm sure it's a drug, these needle marks have to come from the Mountain. And it explains the bloodshot eyes," Abby continues and her gaze hardens as she looks at the reaper before her. "It's disgusting," she says.
"Yeah," Clarke replies, "it is."
She makes her way back to the war camp, her thoughts happy to wander where they wish and so she looks up in surprise as a shadow falls across her path. And she smiles briefly as she finds the two guards, Bellamy and Finn following close behind another woman, her hair dark, a muddy red jacket worn over a dirtied grey shirt.
"Clarke, right?" the woman says then, her eyes moving from Torvun and then back to her.
"Yeah," she replies.
"Raven," the woman replies, a smile spreading across her lips, "Abby talks about you a lot," she continues as she holds out a hand for Clarke to shake.
"She does?" she says as their hands meet for a moment.
"Yeah, well. Not so much now, but she stills does, but before…" Raven trails off, "you know," she finishes with a shrug.
"Yeah," Clarke shrugs too, unsure of what to say, and maybe it's just a bit sad she realises, that conversation flows less easily between Skaikru and herself now.
"Nice meeting you, Clarke," Raven says, "you should visit Arkadia sometime, after all this is done," she finishes with a careful smile.
Her thoughts catch up to her slowly, the gentle pressure of the furs against her back a grounding presence that soothes her mind. And so she lies still for a quiet moment, her thoughts drifting where they please until she feels sleep slip too far from her. And so her eyes open slowly, the dark of the tent and the gentle flickering of a torch outside all that her eyes see.
She rolls over gently then, lifting Ontari's arm from where it rests around her waist so as not to disturb the sleeping woman. She lets her breaths come even and slow as she stares up at the tent roof. And it's a quiet sigh that leaves her lips. And so she sits up carefully, pulling the furs from her and so she creeps from the bed, the cool of the night prickling her skin, a gentle shiver running through her body.
She turns briefly, just in time to see Ontari roll into the warmth left by her body, her arm reaching out and coming to rest around Entani's own body. And so she smiles at the image as she pulls on her clothing, the leathers and furs a familiar weight that steadies her mind. And she smiles at the comfortable pressure of the knife she straps to her thigh before she ducks out of the tent.
The moon greets her as it sits high in the dark of the night's sky. And she looks around briefly, the occasional Azgeda warrior moving through their camp catching her eye, the lights from the flames of the other clans burning in the distance. And her eyes trace the camp as it spreads out to the hill, and she follows the trail of torches that wind their way up to the Commander's tent, and maybe for a moment she thinks she sees a lonely figure moving to the tent, the long coat and the red of the sash glowing quietly in the haze of the night, the light of the torches casting a gentle shadow around the figure.
She finds Torvun in his usual spot by the entrance, his eyes closed, his breaths coming even and soft, his beard moving carefully with each exhale. But his eyes open smoothly as she begins to move from the entrance, and she sees them scan briefly before his eyes settle on her figure.
"I'm just going to relieve myself," she says as she passes him, a quick pat on his shoulder all she gives before she moves off, "you can come search for me if I'm not back soon," she says, a quiet smile lingering across her lips as she hears the grumble of reluctant acceptance.
She moves through the tents, her feet quiet footfalls and her eyes ever careful as she passes figures. And she sighs deeply, her mind still just a moment too caught up in thought and so she shakes her head, already moving into the trees.
It's not often that she finds herself with a moment of quiet and so she takes her time wandering back to the camp. She comes to a stop by a large tree, the bark a gnarled, weathers thing covered in the green moss common to the area, and so she sits down, her back resting against the tree and her eyes turned upwards.
She lets her eyes trace the light that dapples through the leaves and branches, that gives light to the darkness that surrounds her and she lets her thoughts wander freely.
She finds herself thinking of the Ark in this moment. She finds herself running a finger over the watch she still wears around her wrist and she thinks a small smile lifts the corner of her lips as she sees the gentle shining of stars.
And maybe she's not so saddened by the events that have occurred, maybe she isn't angered by the way her life has unfolded. And maybe she's happy that she has found a place, despite the turmoil of it.
Her thoughts continue to drift from moment to moment, but it starts with a gentle prickling of her neck, just enough for her ears to turn to the sounds of the forest. She thinks she feels a quiet fall around her, the gentle singing of the trees stilling and the quiet of the wind lessening.
And she knows.
Her fingers move to the knife on her thigh, her eyes searching out around her. And so she rises to her feet, her body a low crouch as she scans around her. And she thinks she hears the quiet rustling, the careful pausing of sounds that approaches.
And she knows she is hunted.
She breaks cover then, sure her hunter has found her. And so she ducks under a low hanging branch, her feet carrying her through the trees back to the war camp. And she hears it. She knows the gentle creak and the careful whistling and so she dives to the ground, the steady thwack of an arrow embedding into a tree all the confirmation she needs to know that a warrior hunts her.
"You can't hide forever, Azgeda scum!" and her eyes roll as she recognises Quint's voice.
But she ignores the taunt, already moving through the underbrush. She thinks she hears the snapping of twigs then, and she smiles for a moment in realisation that Quint's anger carries him forward.
"I guess you aren't even good with a bow and arrow," she taunts, already moving from where she rested.
And she hears the curse and the change in direction as he follows her voice. And so she scans around her before settling on a direction. Her feet take her forward, her breaths coming even and measured, her eyes carefully scanning. And she smiles for a moment when her eyes fall on what she needs.
She watches as he comes crashing through the undergrowth, his breaths a frantic, furious thing that lifts his chest and gives away his position. And so she rolls her eyes as she follows his movements from where she sits.
And she knows she needs to time it right, too soon or too late and she'll miss. And perhaps it's in this moment that she is thankful she wears furs, if only because they deaden the sounds she makes as she inches forward on the branch. And so she smiles as Quint nears the tree she hides in, his eyes following her tracks that she has left behind.
She readies her knife, her eyes trained on the bow and arrow Quint holds in his hands.
And so she takes one steadying breath as he nears where her trail ends. And it's just one more moment, one more quiet breath. And then she drops.
She drops hard and fast, her knife already poised to strike.
But his gaze hardens for a moment as he reads her trail, as he realises it disappears at the base of a tree and so he dives out of the way, a curse leaving his mouth as her knife slices into his shoulder.
Clarke hits the ground with a roll, her hand throwing dirt up into his face as she lunges forward then. Quint back peddles, his foot coming up before him with a sickening thump as it hits Clarke square in the stomach.
And she drops with a grunt, her hand coming to clutch at her ribs.
And she hears the creak, and so she rolls, ignoring the burning in her ribs as the arrow whizzes over head. And she comes to a low crouch as she faces him, her knife held out in front of her.
"Fight me like a warrior and not a coward," she hisses as she eyes the bow in his hands.
And he snarls just once.
"I will enjoy killing you, Azgeda," and he drops the bow, his own knife being drawn, a wicked smile spreading across his lips.
You idiot.
Her mind turns back to the times she had fought with Ontari, of the times spent being beaten and bruised and pitted against warriors twice her size. And maybe she'll smile later in thanks at the times Ontari forced her against larger opponents. But for now she eyes the knife that dances between Quint's fingers.
And as she eyes him carefully she knows he is angry, she knows he is quick to anger, quick to confront. And so she smirks briefly.
"Did Azgeda kill one of your family?" she asks, a careful lilt finding its way into her voice.
And she sees his eyes harden, she sees his jaw clench.
"Or did you fight Azgeda? Did you lose?" she lets a laugh find its way into her eyes.
And he snarls, lunges forward and strikes out with his knife.
And so Clarke reacts, she slips back, just enough that the knife slides through air and so she brings her own knife past her body, a clanging of metal on metal echoing out around her before she drops to her knees and spins under his arm.
And she comes up behind him, but he turns quickly, his knife lashing out in the hopes of catching her unawares, and the movement halts her advance.
Quint lunges again, his eyes fixated on her neck and so she ducks, the knife slicing against the furs of her shoulder and she brings her elbow up, striking the underside of his arm before she lashes out with her foot, a satisfying crunch all she hears before he cries out sharply. And she rolls, but as she passes under his arm he drops it, and it collides with her cheek splitting it open with a painful crunch.
She spins with the blow though, her knife slashing out behind her as she finds her feet, her chest heaving as she comes face to face with Quint.
And so they begin circling each other, her gaze careful as she eyes his feet, the ground they stand upon and the sticks and leaves and rocks that litter the forest ground and the trees around them.
"You think you are Azgeda," he spits, "yet you do not belong. You aren't even Skaikru," and his knife dances in the moonlight. "All you are is a half clan bitch," he snarls.
"At least this half clan bitch can read," she says.
And then he lunges forward, his mouth opening to the sound of a guttural roar. And she smiles.
She backs up until she feels the press of the tree behind her.
And she waits.
She waits for just a moment. For just long enough that Quint commits himself to the charge.
And then she drops.
She feels the press of his body crash over her and she hears the sickening crunch as he smashed into the tree.
But she curses as his knee smashes with her face, as she feels the impact against her cheek and as her head hits the ground painfully.
But she rolls out from under him, rushing to her feet and she jumps forward. She lands on his back, and she grips his chin in her free hand. And so she grimaces as she drives her knife hand into his throat, the blood spraying out from the wound. And it's just a final tug, just a final slice of her knife before he drops to the ground, his breaths coming in broken, wet, wheezing gasps, blood frothing and gurgling from the jagged, wretched wound across his throat.
And then he stills.
She picks herself up from his back, her face stinging, her eye already beginning to swell. And so she brings her fingers up, a small wince escaping her lips as she feels the wound that sits painfully across her cheek.
"I told you not to antagonise Quint."
Her head snaps around, her knife coming out before her as she searches for the voice.
She finds the Commander standing not far from where she is, her gaze trained on Quint's lifeless body, the pale moonlight casting her in a gentle glow that shines against the dark of her clothes.
"He attacked me," Clarke says, her chin raising in challenge despite the pain.
"I know," the Commander says, "I saw."
"Some help would have been welcomed," Clarke replies, annoyance colouring her tone.
"I did not wish to distract," comes the reply, a gentle lifting of a shoulder all the answer she is given.
"Him or me?" and her eyebrow raises for a moment.
"It does not matter now," the Commander replies, her hand coming to rest against the knife on her hip as she eyes Clarke and her own knife, blood dripping from it freely.
"Were you following me?" she asks, her eyes narrowing, "or were you just out for a late night stroll?"
"I was following Quint," she replies, "I did not think he would leave you alone."
"I'm flattered you care," Clarke snarks back.
But the Commander ignores her remark, her eyes just briefly running over the wounds on Clarke's face before they fall to Quint's body once more.
"Where's your guard?" Clarke asks, her eyes peering out behind the Commander.
"Behind you," and maybe Clarke sees the faint twitching of a lip flash across the Commander's face as she turns around quickly to find Gustus standing close by. "We should return, Clarke. I am sure Torvun searches for you."
Clarke glowers at the Commander for a moment longer as their eyes meet again and she is sure she sees mirth dance within the green that holds her gaze. But she feels Gustus bend then, and so she breaks their gaze to find find Gustus picking up Quint's body before slinging it over his shoulder.
And so Clarke sighs just once.
"Lead the way, Commander."