Much love friends as always!
Chapter 13:
Clarke woke with a start. She groaned as she removed the dirt and grass form her mouth. Wiping the debris away she dried her cheeks once more from a night of endless nightmares and tears. Clarke rolled over onto her back.
As she did so she realized something was wrong.
Her feet were bound. Glancing quickly at her feet Clarke made a motion to untie the rope.
"I wouldn't," a man's voice startled her.
Clarke froze and found the man standing a few feet behind her in front of a small fire. He had shaggy hair and black paint smeared on his face along with copious amounts of dirt. His voice was gruff but purposeful. He made no movement toward her.
"The great Wanheda…" he said, observing Clarke with a knowing stare.
Clarke swallowed. She glanced at her surroundings. She still had her dagger on her hip and there was a rock close by she could reach if she had a distraction. Clarke looked back to the man.
It was the same one from the trading post. Clarke glared at him. "What do you want?" she demanded trying to hide the fear in her voice.
The man remained silent as he continued to watch Clarke. She tried to hide the fact that he made her feel uneasy. The adrenaline was starting to pump in her veins, it was coursing through her body with such ferocity that it was beginning to be hard to ignore. The man smiled and said nothing. Instead he turned his back to her and his attention back to his fire.
Clarke took a deep slow breathe watching him. She slowly removed the dagger from her hip and began cutting at the rope trying to free her legs all the while keeping her eyes trained on the man.
Her last slice of the rope was too forceful, the sound made the man turn to look at Clarke. She took her chance, quickly switching the blade to her finger and taking her shot. She struck him in the abdomen and he fell to his knees.
Clarke scrambled to her feet as the man grunting and keeled over. She quickly closed the distance and made a grab for her dagger, as she removed it the man's arm shot out and grabbed Clarke other wrist. In a panic Clarke slashed with her dagger gashing open the man's cheek. In a snarl of pain and anger the man struck Clarke with a fist to the head. She flew back off her feet caught off guard by the force, her dagger flying to the dirt.
The man quickly staggered to his feet and rushed Clarke, he had his dagger out and before she could defend her self she felt the hilt of it smash into the side of her face. Clarke fell to her stomach like a dead weight as the blow knocked her unconscious.
Sometime later Clarke tried to open her eyes. Her vision was blurry but she blinked a few times before it cleared. She wasn't in her previous location. She was in a field of straw with the cool night air on her face. She groaned as she sat up remembering the fight she had before she lost consciousness. Becoming more alert Clarke took in her surroundings and found the man crouching a few feet away from her with his shirt off.
Clarke saw detailed scars on his back before noticing the definition in his muscles and the various cuts and scars from obvious weapon wounds. Then Clarke noticed her own wound she had caused on him. He was cauterizing his belly wound over a small blaze. Clarke shook her head slightly, I fucking missed she thought angry with herself.
The man must have heard her stir as he was now looking at Clarke. Watching her intently, perhaps trying to figure out if she was going to make another move against him. Why aren't I dead? The thought popped into Clarke's mind before she took it for what it is. She was still alive.
"What do you want?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
Clarke pressed, "If you wanted to kill me you would have done it already."
The man smiled slightly through gritted teeth, "You're right." Clarke could see her other mark that she had made on him. The gash was deep; she had ripped a hole into the side of his cheek. Clarke smirked defiantly.
He said nothing else but turned back to the fire. After a while he turned to look at Clarke again.
"Don't pull anything and you'll be okay," he said gruffly gesturing to the fire.
Clarke took the man in for a few moments before understanding. He was trying to beckon her closer to the fire. It was then that she realized she was shivering. Swallowing her pride she slowly stood up noticing her hands were now bound but her legs were free. He was smart Clarke acknowledged internally; he recognized his mistake by underestimating her and only bounding her feet last time.
She made her way to the fire before plopping down. He wasn't going to hurt her…right now anyways. She was too tired to fight if he was she thought to herself. She hugged her knees into her chest and searched the flames.
The man put his shirt and armour and furs back on while Clarke stared into the fire. He then sat down a few feet from her and began eating a hunk of meat. The smell wafted towards Clarke and her stomach growled at the smell.
He must have heard it because he smirked. He grabbed his canteen and handed it to Clarke. "Drink," he commanded. Clarke turned to look at him defiant as ever, "drink" he repeated. Clarke stared at him as she realized just how dry her mouth was. She reached out and snagged the canteen eagerly bringing it to her lips and drinking deep. She emptied the thing in seconds.
"Better?" he smirked as he held his hand out for the canteen. Clarke handed it back to him, angry with herself that she showed such desperation in the moment. "Eat," the man said offering Clarke some meat. Clarke watched him for a few moments. He shrugged and made a move to pull his hand back.
"Wait." Clarke said reluctantly and she held out her hand.
The man smirked again and handed her the meat. "Hurry up," he said, "we have to move."
Clarke ate the meat not responding, she instead began to think. Where were they going? Why did they have to move now? Why were they in a hurry? Who was this bounty hunter taking her to?
Clarke chewed slowly before she swallowed the last bite. The man was already on his feet gathering his things and kicking dirt into the fire attempting to put it out. When he was successful he grabbed the rope that was attached to Clarkes hand and gave a tug. "Up. Let's go," he told her.
Clarke was forced to her feet by relentless tugging. Onward he went dragging Clarke behind him. Her feet moving as if by ghosts falling into step behind him, trying not to stumble as he quickened his pace.