She finds Torvun moving through the trees quickly, the sounds of the fighting having drawn his attention. And perhaps she smiles for just a moment as Torvun and Gustus come face to bearded face. And she stifles a pained smile when she notices that they look similar, if only because both men eye each other warily, both stand much too tall for normal and both jut their chins out proudly.
"I'm ok, Torvun," she says as he moves to her side, his hands quickly coming up to her face as he turns it left then right, his eyes peering intently at her bloodied nose, her eye swelling shut and the blood drying across her cheek.
"What happened?" he asks, his eyes turning back to Quint's body still slung over Gustus' shoulder.
"He happened," she shrugs, and so she sighs for a moment as Torvun grunts out disapproval, his eyes moving to the Commander.
"Come, Clarke," the Commander says then, "we should not linger in these forests. A Pauna lives close."
And so Clarke rolls her eyes again as she follows behind the Commander, the swaying of her long coat guiding her back to the war camp.
And so it's not long until they make their way back to the camp edge, the fires dotting the outskirts shining through the leaves and branches. And so Clarke begins moving towards where the Azgeda made camp, her mind already wishing for sleep, already dreading facing Ontari's furious gaze when she finds her wounds. But the Commander stops for a moment as she hears her moving away.
"Clarke," her voice calls out over the small distance between them, "you will come with me," she finishes, her chin lifting, her eyes a hard glint that holds the gaze they share.
"Why?" she says, "I'm tired. My face hurts. I want to sleep."
"My healer will see to you, Clarke," and then the Commander turns, Gustus close behind her and so Clarke follows with another roll of her eyes, Torvun close by her side.
They make their way up the winding path of torches, Quint's body passed to a group of Trikru warriors with instructions to prepare a pyre. And so she sighs tiredly as they come to the Commander's tent.
"Gustus, find Nyko," the Commander says as she moves to the entrance, briefly looking over her shoulder at Clarke.
"Wait outside, Torvun," Clarke says cautiously as she follows the Commander inside.
And it's strange, she thinks, as the Commander moves through her tent, as she removes her sword and as she loosens the collar of her coat. And it's disconcerting, she thinks, to watch as the Commander rolls her shoulders smoothly, just a little, just enough that perhaps she thinks she imagined the motion. But Clarke's eyes follow the Commander as she moves to one of her tables, a candle burning gently in the centre, as she places her sword down besides her pauldron that already rests comfortably across the tabletop and as she removes her gauntlets, placing them down gently on the table next to her sword.
"Is there a reason I'm here?" Clarke asks, her eyes tracing the river she sees winding its way over a folded map.
The Commander looks up then, her eyes careful in their movements as they take in the injuries that litter Clarke's face.
"You are hurt, Clarke," she begins, "my healer will see to you," she finishes with a gentle raising of her chin.
"I'm a healer," Clarke answers, her eyes guarded in their appraisal of the Commander, "I have healers back at the Azgeda camp," she continues, "no offence Commander, but I don't need a Trikru healer."
And so the Commander hardens her gaze, a long shadow falling across her face.
"You are important, Clarke," she says, her hands coming to rest behind her back, "so you will forgive me if I wish for my healer to see to you, rather than to trust the skills of another."
And Clarke's eyes roll as she comes to stand a few paces in front of her.
"I'm getting tired of you telling me what to do, Commander," she answers, "I get it. You want me to work with you. You want me to work with Skaikru and you want me to speak for Skaikru during the war meetings and smooth things over between them and the other clans. I've already said I'll do it. But I don't have to let you baby me," and she pauses for a moment as she eyes the other woman who stands before her and she is sure her eyes narrow a fraction when the Commander's head tilts just a bit.
But perhaps a thought takes hold. Perhaps a reason for why the Commander has a vested interest in her wellbeing spreads its root through her mind.
"It's not just about Skaikru, is it?" Clarke presses, and she smirks as a flash of a moment's thought flits through the Commander's eyes. "You need me," and again she pauses, worries her lip for just a bit as her thoughts organise, as they dance through her mind and settle. "Azgeda's place in the Coalition isn't as strong as you want, is it?" and she sees the Commander's jaw clench just a bit, but enough to tell her where to press, where to push and where to dig deeper. "What, you think I can smooth things over? Between Azgeda and the Coalition? Between Azgeda and you?" and she leans forward, her eyes holding the Commander's, "Between Nia and you?"
And the Commander eyes her, but it's a curious gaze, it's a quiet tempering of thoughts that live in a darkening of green eyes, and it's a careful glint in her eyes that appraises her, that measures her bearing and studies the thoughts that live in her eyes.
"You think me evil, Clarke?" the Commander begins as she circles the table slowly, her eyebrow raised in question, a sole finger trailing the edge of the worn wood. "You think me unkind? You think me unfair? You think me unfit to lead the Coalition?" she finishes as she comes to a stop across from her, the table a sea of flickering lights and dancing shadows between them.
And Clarke's eyebrows twitch together for a moment, her mind unsure of where this conversation leads. And as she watches the Commander she thinks a lie would be recognised easily, would be scoffed at, would be met with mirth and derision. And so she settles for the truth.
"Yes," she lifts her chin, her hands coming to rest against the table in front of her as she gazes at the Commander from across the candle light between them. "You treat Azgeda poorly. You force us to trade with clans that offer us little. You dictate what we must do in our own clan. Even here, in Trikru lands."
"Yes," the Commander answers, and it's a simple thing, something that beckons no arguments, no alternatives. But still, Clarke thinks she sees the Commander's thoughts move for just a moment more across her face, and so she quiets, lets the thoughts she sees form into words for her to hear.
"You do not know everything, Clarke," the Commander says, the words a repeat of memories already shared. "The clans were at war before the Coalition. We fought each other. We killed each other," the Commander's eyes harden, "so yes, I will dictate how clans act if it will keep the peace," she finishes, her eyes unflinching in their gaze.
"Power can be corrupting," Clarke answers, iron finding it's way into her voice.
And the Commander stills for a short while, her eyes steady in their calculation, leaving a burning trail across Clarke's face, the steady stinging and the pain receding into the recesses of her mind as she holds the Commander's gaze.
"You do not trust me."
And so Clarke pauses, her mind turning carefully in thought. She wonders who the Commander must be, and she takes in the curve of her cheek that bends a lone shadow as it falls across her face. She thinks of what the Commander must be, and she traces the slope of her nose and the way the light shines against the green that lives in her eyes. and she thinks of what the Commander must have done to now control all twelve clans, and her eyes trail over the coat, collar opened, the rough leather and fur marked with the battles the Commander has no doubt fought.
And so Clarke meets her gaze steadily.
"No. I don't," and she is sure she feels her heart beating just a moment faster than normal as the words leave her mouth.
The moment hangs between them for a long while. It stretches, it pulls and pushes against her mind and she is sure she feels the twitching of her muscles and the ache in her bones. But she sees the Commander's eyes narrow a fraction, she sees a thought that lives for only a beat of a heart in the green eyes that look back at her. And then the Commander sighs just once, a barely there, barely audible sound that finds its way to her ears.
"Lexa."
"What?" and she blinks in surprise.
"My name is Lexa," she hears the quiet revelation and she thinks her mouth falls open slightly, "If we are to work together. If you are to trust me," and she pauses, her brows furrowing for just a moment, and then the Commander's mouth opens, words forming on her lips and—
"Heda, you sent for me?"
And Clarke turns, the healer she had seen days prior standing in the tent entrance.
"Yes, Nyko," the Commander replies, already moving from around the table, "Clarke Kom Azgeda is wounded," and she motions to her, the injuries clear for Nyko to see.
She makes her way back to the Azgeda camp, Torvun quietly moving by her side, and she is sure that after Quint's attack, he won't leave her side willingly. And so a sigh finds its way into the air, the pale light of an early moon giving guidance to their steps as they wind through the tents, as they move past tired warriors and watchful sentries.
They come to their tent and Torvun nods to Clarke as he takes a seat by the entrance, his knife already unsheathed, a whetstone held in his free hand. Clarke ducks through the entrance, the cool of the early morning replaced by the gentle warmth that lives within the tent and so she pulls the furs from her, their warmth just a bit too warm and she grimaces at the motion, her ribs aching dully. And so she lifts her shirt and inspects the bandages Nyko wrapped around her waist, and she sends a quiet thanks that none were broken. And so she sighs, rolls her shoulders painfully and brings a hand up to her cheek, just a gentle wince finding its way from her lips as she brushes her fingertip against the cool paste that still clings to her face.
She moves towards the bed in the hope of catching up on the last few hours of sleep she can get before the morning war meeting. But as she nears the furs and the sleeping women, she finds Ontari's eyes peering up at her tiredly, a gentle frown resting across her face.
"You were gone a long time," she whispers as she sits, the quiet of a candlelight shining across the chest binding Ontari wears and the furs falling to bundle around her waist, and so Clarke shrugs deftly as she approaches.
"Yeah," she begins, unsure of how to bring up what had happened. But maybe she's thankful that the dark hides the injuries that live across her face. At least for the moment.
But she thinks Ontari's eyes narrow, she thinks that as she approaches Ontari must see the flickering of a something because she sits up fully, her eyes hardening.
"What happened?" the woman hisses quietly, already moving out of the furs, her exposed skin prickling in the cold of the quiet morning.
"Quint, happened," Clarke grunts out, already removing her boots as she sits on the edge of the bed.
"Quint?" Ontari asks, "the Trikru scum from the war meeting?" she growls out as her eyes take in the extent of Clarke's injuries, "I will kill him," she snarls as she comes to kneel before Clarke, her fingers stilling in their motions to take Clarke's face in her hands.
"No need," Clarke whispers, a small smile finding its way across her lips, "he's the burning pyre you'll see in the morning," and Ontari's eyes narrow even further as she ghosts a finger over Clarke's cheek, the paste coming away with the movement.
"Are you ok?" she asks, her eyes careful as she searches Clarke's face, and Clarke sees her grimace at the swelling of her cheek and nose.
"Yeah, I'm ok," Clarke answers, "I'm not dead yet," she laughs quietly and so Ontari meets her laugh with a quiet smile.
"Good."
Clarke finds herself back in bed, the warmth of their bodies a comfort that steadies her thoughts and so Clarke lets herself be lost in the warmth of the furs and the soft press of Ontari's body behind her and the gentle sounds of Entani's breathing.
And maybe, as sleep encroaches on her mind, as she lets it pull herself further and further into a much needed rest, she smiles, if only because she feels Ontari's arm wrap tentatively around her waist, if only because she feels the press of Ontari's body and the warmth of her skin and the gentle ghosting of her breath against the back of her neck.
And she thinks it's nice to have a clan where she belongs.
And she thinks it's nice to have friends.
She thinks it's nice.
"I think," Entani says as she pulls a shirt on, "that you should not encourage Trikru anymore, Clarke," and she throws her a smile as she runs her hands through her hair.
"Quint was an idiot," Ontari answers from behind Clarke, her fingers quickly moving through the blonde braids, "and now he is dead," she finishes.
"Where was Torvun?" Entani asks as she looks at Clarke, "was he not with you?"
"No," she shrugs, Ontari's movements through her hair making the gesture awkward in its motion, "I went out for— you know," she finishes lamely.
And she smiles when Entani snorts, "I think you will not have anymore privacy now then."
And Clarke thinks her correct. And so she sighs, her eyes turning to the entrance for a moment as she continues to feel Ontari pull on her hair, braids quickly being rewoven.
"You aren't coming to the war meeting?" Clarke asks Entani after a moment.
And the other woman shakes her head, "no, our warriors hurt themselves in training so I must see to them," she sighs, "but it is preferable to listening to clan bickering."
And Clarke lets a smile form on her lips at the answer. But she finds her thoughts move on their own, she finds her mind shifting back to the night, to the conversation she had had with the Commander— with Lexa. And maybe she can't help but to consider the role she is sure she will take part in with the coming war. If only because Nia told her she is expected to serve Azgeda, if only because she is expected to serve Nia, isn't that what she was told? And she is sure Lexa has a plan too, has a use for her. And maybe she thinks she doesn't appreciate being a pawn in a chess game played by others. But for now? For now she can play her part, she thinks. For now she will serve Azgeda. For now she will wait.
"All done," Ontari whispers quietly, breaking her wandering thoughts, a hand coming to rest against her shoulder with a gentle squeeze.
The walk to Lexa's tent is a quiet thing, other clan's warriors join them quietly, the sounds of their feet brushing against the ground all she hears.
And as she moves through the burning trail she finds the smouldering remains of a pyre, the smoke rising lazily towards the sky and so she lets her eyes take in what remains, the charcoal and the burning wood and the ash that dances on the breeze, carried away on the wind.
And as she passes the pyre she finds a few Trikru gazing at her, their eyes careful and guarded, but maybe, if only because they now stand by a pyre, she thinks she sees less hostility, less open distain.
And so she smiles.
They come to stand around the war table once more, the warriors that stand around it turning their gaze upon Clarke as she stands besides Skaikru, Azgeda also by her side.
"Skaikru," Lexa begins, her eyes turning to Kane before quickly moving to Raven, "has progress been made?"
"Yes, Commander," Kane begins, briefly gesturing for Raven to step forward.
"We think we've found where the Mountain gets their power from," Raven begins, her eyes turning briefly to the Lexa before she looks back to the map. "This river, there's a dam here," and she looks up at the silence before adding, "how they survive," she says simply. "We destroy it, we can get through their front door. But we can't get close until the acid fog is down. So we're still waiting for that to happen," she finishes as she looks back at Lexa.
And Clarke sighs once as she hears the grumbles of annoyance spread around the table, the reliance on a single person bringing frustration to the warriors gathered.
"We wait," she says, her eyes cutting into those who grumble. "You might not like it. But waiting is all we have at the moment. Or do I have to remind you what happened to the last person who questioned Skaikru?" and she jerks her chin towards the exit, the cooling pyre the clear target of her gesture, and she smiles as the dissent lessens.
"Scouts found a number of reapers moving through the forest, Heda," and Clarke looks to Anya, her eyes trained on the map, "they move close to Arkadia, perhaps they mean to attack, to disrupt our connection," she finishes.
"Or distract our forces from Ton DC and the warriors here, Heda," Indra adds, her eyes moving between Ton DC and where Arkadia is marked on the map.
"Azgeda has the second largest force here," Lexa begins, her eyes holding Clarke's gaze for a moment, "You will deal with the reapers."
"What of the other clans?" Clarke says, her eyes hardening. "You expect us to do all the work?"
"No," Lexa answers, her voice firming, "Azgeda can afford to send warriors without their numbers weakening. Trikru will accompany you," she finishes, her tone leaving little room for discussion.
And Clarke is sure she feels Ontari glaring angrily at Lexa, and so she reaches out below the table and squeezes her hand for a moment.
"And," Lexa continues, "you, of all the warriors here, are most familiar with Skaikru medicine. So you will lead the attempt to capture a reaper in this attack."
It's quiet. That's the first thing she notices. Well, not exactly quiet quiet. If only because the reapers grunt and snarl and make whatever noise a reaper makes. But the birdsong ceased long ago, the reapers having driven them far. Even the other animals seem to have fled the area. And it's still. The wind hardly breathes through the trees where Clarke finds herself.
And so she keeps watching the three reapers move before her. Their guttural sounds reaching her ears over the quiet of the forest. She waits until they pass, until they move away from her and until they turn and present their backs.
And then she rises.
She feels the bow in her hands flex and she feels the brush of the fletching as it ghosts against her cheek. And she ignores the sting that still lives across her face as she takes a breath. And she holds it for just a moment.
And then she releases.
The arrow flashes forward, a sharp whistle through the air, the sound of two others close behind. And she watches as the arrows snake forward, as the reapers pause for a moment as the sound reaches them and then she smiles grimly as the arrows punch into the reapers. Their cries of pain quickly silenced as their blood leeches from their ruined bodies.
And so she stands, casts her eyes around her and she moves forward. Azgeda faces rise from the underbrush, their usual white faces a dark black, if only because Azgeda aren't stupid. Not when they're sent into a reaper camp.
And so she meets Ontari's eyes for a moment as they slink forward, their bows re-notched, arrows poised to strike once more.
"That's the third group we've killed," Clarke whispers as they pause, the Azgeda fanning out around them, their eyes trained into the trees that spread out.
"We are getting closer," Ontari replies.
And her ears pick up the quiet birdsong that echoes through the trees, and so both women turn to the sound and they wait. The sound comes again, two quick hoots before it dies and so Entani looks up from where she inspects one of the dead reapers.
"These reapers appear fresh, newer," she whispers, "not as deformed as others," she finishes with a grimace.
"They must be recently taken," Torvun adds quietly from where he crouches besides Clarke.
And they hear the hooting once more. A longer one, something that lingers in the air for a moment.
"They found the reaper camp," Clarke whispers. "Remember," and she casts her eyes to the Azgeda around her, "try and capture one. But if your life is in danger don't risk anything, ok?"
And the Azgeda around her nod their heads in understanding, a few eager smiles gracing their lips.
"Let's go."
Her feet pound against the dirt underneath her shoes, her breaths come quick and controlled and so she dives over a fallen tree trunk, spinning in the air until she faces back the way she ran and she releases the arrow. And as her back hits the ground she rolls, she moves and she finds her feet again, her fingers already drawing another arrow.
She hears the grunt to her left and she turns quickly, Torvun already fighting off two reapers, one with a gruesome gash that runs across its chest, another with a bloodied nose.
And so Clarke drops to a knee, her chest rising rapidly and she pauses for just a moment between lungfuls of air.
And she smiles as the reaper drops, her arrow piercing its chest, and she catches Torvun's eye as he removes his sword from the second.
"There are more coming!"
And Clarke turns at Entani's warning, the other healer's spear sliding out from the stomach of a reaper. And she sees more bursting from the trees, their faces ravaged by whatever wretched drug the Mountain uses.
She backs up, Torvun behind her and she rushes to Ontari's side, the other woman locked in battle with a reaper. And Clarke lunges, her knife driving into its side before she pulls her knife free, dropping to her knees as Ontari swings her sword, taking the reaper's head off in a single slash.
"Where are the Trikru!" Ontari snarls, her eyes an angry, violent glare that moves from reaper to reaper that attack the Azgeda with them.
Clarke ducks under a reaper, Torvun already pinning it to the ground and so she fires an arrow at another looming over a wounded Azgeda, and she chases after it. Her arrow hits the reaper low in the stomach, doubling it over long enough that the Azgeda warrior can plunge his knife into its chest before struggling to his feet. And Clarke makes it to his side, her hair clinging messily across her forehead, and she pulls an arm over her shoulders, already dragging him back to where the other Azgeda warriors have bound together, wounded lying behind them.
Torvun takes the warrior from her, his chest rising heavily before he passes the wounded man to Entani, herself already wrapping a bandage across the chest of another Azgeda.
And Clarke turns back to the reapers that advance on them with a frustrated curse and she sees their rusted weapons glinting in the sun and she lets a snarl bring her lips into a gruesome contortion. And she knows they need to pull back. She knows there are too many reapers here for her and the other Azgeda to face.
And so she curses the Commander, she curses the Trikru who have vanished, who were supposed to accompany them and she curses the reapers and the Mountain.
"We move!" she calls out, "pull back, take the wounded, forget about capturing a reaper," and she looks behind her briefly, wounded already being lifted onto shoulders.
Ontari fires an arrow then, anger burning in her eyes before she turns and begins running, and so Clarke fires her own, other Azgeda archers quickly moving from tree to tree as they fire off into the advancing reaper numbers.
She isn't sure how long they run, but it's long enough for her legs to burn and her lungs to wheeze painfully. And she knows that they must be close to their horses, and so the thought spurs her on, and she ducks down onto a knee, twisting back just enough that she can sight a reaper giving chase and she fires off another arrow. And then she turns, not caring to see if the arrow finds its mark and she runs, she scoops an Azgeda up whose foot catches on a root and she pushes the warrior forward with a curse.
And she runs, she runs hard, she lets the anger fuel her frustration and she lets her fury bring her feet one after the other. But she hears a loud crack, and it's deafening. It's piercing and it thunders through her mind and she winces, she claps her hands over her ears and she turns to the sound, a ringing echoing through her mind.
And she sees Bellamy, gun held in his hands, the barrel smoking briefly before he fires another shot into the reapers.
And then Trikru burst from the trees, their eyes glinting, their tattooed faces snarling as they engage the reapers.
And she is sure her eyes roll, and she is sure she hears Ontari swearing angrily as the able bodied Azgeda once more join the fight.
"Where the fuck did you go?" Clarke hisses into Anya's face, the blue of her eyes an icy stare that holds the other woman's gaze.
And she sees the Trikru woman's own eyes harden for a moment, "we saw you needed help, so we got Skaikru and their guns," she shrugs as she gestures to Bellamy and other guards that stand amongst the Trikru.
"You could have told us," she continues, anger building in her chest.
"It would have wasted time," Anya answers cooly, "we captured three reapers," she finishes before turning away, already walking back to where Octavia and Lincoln stand, their own chest rising heavily from the fight.
"Trikru bitch," Ontari says as she comes to stand next to her.
"Did we lose anyone?" Clarke asks, her gazing turning to the Azgeda that rest on the ground.
"No, but many are wounded, some severely," Ontari says and it comes out tight, a quiet rage living within her words.
The ride to Arkadia is tense, the Trikru and Azgeda forces keeping to themselves, the Skaikru trapped between them in an awkward dance.
But Clarke's eyes widen and she is sure she even hears Azgeda whisper words of wonder briefly as her eyes fall upon the Ark.
And it's a twisted thing, jagged metal reaching up into the sky, the blackened charred surface contrasting with the cool polished metal that survived reentry. Her eyes follow the Ark as it splits and spreads out across the open field, and she sees people moving about, buildings dotting the space between the main structure and the large walls that surround it. She sees guard towers spread out across the wall too, figures standing guard. And she thinks her eyes widen further when she realises that the light comes from flood lights, and she thinks she smiles for a moment as she realises that electricity must power them.
And maybe she feels just a touch of happiness, somewhere deep in her mind, that Skaikru are surviving.
"You lived here?" Ontari says, her horse coming up next to Clarke's.
"Yeah," she says.
"It is ugly," Ontari finishes, her eyes guarded as she gazes across to Arkadia.
"Yeah," she laughs, "I guess it is."
She paces back and forth in the med bay, the reapers already strapped to hospital beds, and her mother working over them, a chart in her hand. She passes Ontari then, and the woman reaches out quickly, her hand snagging on the furs around her shoulders.
"Stop moving," she says as their eyes meet for a moment, "you are annoying me."
And so Clarke sighs, her gaze turning back to Abby as she draws a sample of blood.
"The first samples came back positive," Abby says as she meets Clarke's eyes, "there's a drug in their system. I'm taking another one to run some test on," she finishes, her eyes turning back to her work.
"Will it work?" Clarke asks as she worries her lip.
"We'll know in a few days, Clarke," Abby says, "but for now there's no point worrying. It'll happen when it does."
"Yeah, I know," she pauses, a hand coming to rub against her face for a moment but she winces, the pain Quint inflicted much too fresh still. "Thanks," she says finally.
"Your warriors won't be able to go back yet," Abby says after a moment, "the ones who were wounded more seriously, at least."
And Clarke feels Ontari bristle slightly at that and so she reaches up, a hand moving to rest across the other woman's back for a moment to steady her.
"I agree with her, Ontari," Clarke says and she sees Abby's eyes narrow at the closeness they share. "We'll let the other less seriously wounded stay here and guard them until we can send others," she finishes.
"If they die," Ontari says, her chin lifting as she takes a step towards Abby, "you die."
But Abby snorts once, her arms coming to fold in front of her, an eyebrow raising in challenge.
"Noted."
And so Ontari casts one last look at the reapers and then the wounded Azgeda that also lie in the med bay before she turns and exits through the doors.
"She's nice," Abby says, her eyes following Ontari's retreating figure.
"Ontari's just…" she trails off for a moment, "she's just stubborn," she says, "and a bit aggressive, that's all. She won't do anything."
And Abby smiles for a moment, "I'm happy for you, Clarke," she whispers, "I'm happy you found people. I'm happy you've got someone to support you," and Abby brings a gloved hand up to her eyes gently.
"Hey…" Clarke trails off as she moves closer, but as her hand reaches out she finds that words leave her speechless for a moment. But she thinks repeating what she has said wouldn't hurt and so she smiles at Abby. "I meant it when I said we can talk more, figure out what to do when this whole thing with the Mountain is over, ok?" and she makes sure she meets her mother's eyes, "but for now we have to focus on what's in front of us."
"I know, Clarke," and Abby smiles, "I know. I'm just—" and she pauses, looks away for a moment in thought. "I'm just sorry for a lot of things that have happened," she finishes quietly.
"Me too."
Clarke finds the rest of her afternoon spent in the med bay helping the wounded Azgeda, moving from injured to injured as she resets broken bones, stitches wounds and checks for concussions. And she grimaces as Abby passes, pushing a female warrior sedated on a operating bed, her leg too damaged to repair, a line marked on her leg where its to be amputated. And Entani stays close to Clarke, her own healer curiosities piqued by the different methods and materials the Skaikru use in fixing wounds sustained from battle.
Ontari stays by the door, her eyes following Clarke's motions carefully, often glaring at Abby as the older woman leans over Azgeda, her fingers nimble and quick in their motions as she bandages and stitches her own fair share of wounds. Torvun stays close by the now sedated reapers too, three other Azgeda warriors and two skaikru guards, their hands resting against weapons, all surrounding the beds in case one breaks free.
She's in the middle of finishing suturing a wound slashed across a warrior's cheek when the med bay doors slide open and so she looks up to find Lexa walking in, closely followed by Anya and Gustus. And so her eyes narrow as she follows the trio move towards Abby, a hushed conversation passed between them.
And it's just a short while but Lexa moves towards Clarke then, her gaze sweeping over the wounded Azgeda that lie on the beds.
"You did well, Clarke," she begins, "Abby says the reapers may be cured."
"Yeah, well, no thanks to your Trikru," Clarke answers, her jaw clenching for a moment, "we'd have less injured if they hadn't run off before the fight even started."
And Clarke is sure she sees just a moment's twitching of Lexa's cheek before Anya grunts out a quiet curse.
"Peace, Anya," Lexa says, her hands clasping behind her back, "we return to Ton DC, Clarke. You are you finished here?"
"Yeah, I'm finished," she sighs in answer, her eyes turning back to the Azgeda for a moment.
The walk out the med bay is tense, Gustus standing much closer to Lexa than even Clarke is sure she appreciates but she can't help but to share in her annoyance, if only because Torvun does the same, his eyes trained on Gustus as they follow behind the Commander as she leads them out of the metal walls.
"I am glad to be free of that place," Ontari sighs as the last of the doors open for them, the setting of the sun casting long shadows against the ground.
And Clarke smiles when she hears Entani agree, and so they follow Lexa and the other Trikru towards the stables and where the rest of the uninjured Azgeda rest.
The ride back to Ton DC isn't far, but it's long enough that Clarke finds her thoughts drifting and wandering without much care. And so she casts her gaze up to the sky briefly as she gauges how much light is left before dark sets in.
"We are half way there," she turns quickly to find Lexa eyeing her from where she rides besides her at the head of the procession of Trikru and Azgeda and so she nods for a moment.
They fall into a quiet then, the sounds of the birds a comfort that soothes her mind, if only because it must mean reapers do not lurk near. And so she stretches her shoulders, winces briefly at the pull in her ribs and the stinging in her face and she turns back, her gaze falling to the Azgeda that ride behind her, their eyes careful as they peer out into the forest around them.
She stifles a yawn then, her hand tentative in its pressure across her mouth.
And it's quiet at first. just a slight shifting in the air, but she thinks she senses it. And she knows she senses something when others around her stiffen in their saddles. And so she glances at Lexa, and she sees her hand coming to rest atop her sword, her eyes turning left and right as she gazes out around them.
And she hears the forest quiet, she feels the air deaden around them and she shivers.
And then the air explodes with a rush of birds and birdsong, and she jerks her head up as she sees hundreds of birds flying away, all fleeing from the same direction and so she turns back to Lexa before looking at Ontari, her own eyes widened in shock.
"Acid fog!"
And they flee.
A horn is echoed through the forest and the Trikru and Azgeda forces flee. They turn their horses and they follow the direction of the birds. But she feels the prickling of her skin and the stinging in the air and so she glances behind her as the horse gallops beneath her body and she sees the orange of the fog descending upon the forest and the trees and she is sure her eyes widen in fright as it swallows the landscape behind her.
Her horse rears up then, a bird flashing past it and Clarke curses, she holds on and she cries out in shock as she is thrown from her mount.
She lands with a painful thud, her ribs screaming out in pain and so she scrambled desperately to her feet, her eyes already stinging in the orange that nears.
Fuck.
She searches for the direction of the forces that flee and she thinks she sees movement ahead and so she runs. She runs and she curses her horse and she curses the Mountain and she curses her ribs as they throb painfully, her breaths coming in ragged, broken gasps.
"Ontari!" she yells, but the sound is swallowed by the screaming of the wind and the breaking of branches overhead.
And she knows.
She knows she is lost.
Fuck.
She starts running, she starts moving somewhere.
And it's her luck, it's her wretched timing and her miserable life that she trips. She trips and lands face first into the ground, her cheek once more opening up, blood smearing across her face.
But she gasps as she feels strong hands reach for her, she gasps as she feels herself pulled to her feet and she gasps as she feels the press of a body against her. And so she runs, she runs where the person takes her.
"In here!" comes the shout, and maybe she'll thank her saviour in a moment. But for now she dives headfirst into the hole in the ground. And she curses as she lands onto hard ground.
And she feels the other person drop down, and she hears the frantic scrambling and the loud thud as something is closed with a harsh jerk and she hears the coughs and the curses as the light from the fading sun deadens.
Clarke struggles to her feet then, her eyes watering and her bones aching from the exertion. And so she wipes a hand across her bloodied cheek.
"Thanks," she gasps out as she turns to face the other person.
"You are welcome, Clarke," Lexa replies.