As almost always the title of the chapter is a quote, this time it belongs to Mark Twain.
The full quote is "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog"
As a side note while "poison sumac" was mention in the show as some kind of natural tranquilizer or pain reliever (truthfully I don't remember) the truth is that this plant is more toxic than its relatives' poison ivy and poison oak.
I'm not being a plant geek here, pointing out some minutiae of botany, to be perfectly honest I'm able to identify like 5 plants (and one of those are roses) but I like to share whatever little knowledge I might have.
As soon as the challenge was accepted all the other delinquents retreated in a human circle, enclosing the soon to be combatants. A few, like Octavia and surprisingly Murphy, tried to intervene but their efforts were quickly hindered by someone else before they could so much as set a foot in the fighting arena.
Subconsciously the group of delinquents had divided itself. Humans are, by nature, herd animals and because of that primal instinct, is simply natural to have the desire to identify leaders and followers. Not only will that selection provide security and order to a previously established group but, in case of unforeseen calamities, it will also help shift the blame from the individual components to the leaders, thus absolving the followers from anything that might go wrong. Everyone craves the glory and potential benefits that come with been in charge but almost no one wants the responsibility of making hard choices.
Bellamy was a compelling figure, his natural charisma and confidence shone effortlessly, no one could deny that, he easily won them over promising them freedom and a new beginning but what many had started to realized was that his promises, while full of allure and excitement, were devoid of any real meaning, just vague and empty words, for he made no real effort to properly guide them or even help them settle down.
He preached that this was the beginning of a new era and guaranteed them a better future than what the Ark had held in store for them yet he tried to establish his dominance by bullying whoever opposed him. Did they really want someone like him in charge of their fate?.
Clarke, on the other hand, was regarded with suspicion, while most have never really interacted with her before they knew she belonged to the Ark's ruling class and that little fact didn't sit well with the former prisoners. They wanted to be free from the Ark's influence but they had to concede that she was the only one among them who seemed to have an idea on how to survive in the hostile environment they had been dropped in. Would it be so terrible to support her and give her the benefit of the doubt?.
Bellamy ran to meet her, heart filled with savage fury. His plan was fairly simple, try to overwhelm his foe with a frenzied barrage of big and aggressive movements. He had no training in personal combat, guards relied on their stun guns, but believed that his brute strength would be enough advantage over Clarke.
At first, she easily blocked his wild and uncoordinated punches but after a while, she started to get tired, the unrelenting onslaught was taking a toll on her. Clarke foolishly lowered her guard to attack him when a punch connected with her chest and another with her ribcage, sending her to the ground.
She took a deep breath, trying to regain some footing. Her head was swimming and a wave of nausea struck her, she felt her stomach tighten but refused to throw up, she was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much damage he had actually done.
Everything blurred for a minute, then came back into focus again. When her vision was a little better and she felt a little steadier, the blonde exhaled, inhaled again, inched her arms under her and pushed herself up on her hands and knees.
"Don't you dare give up! Get up and fight!". Wanheda's voice resonated in her head.
An animal snarl clawed its way up her throat and with renewed strength she launched herself against an unsuspecting Bellamy, who had cockily let his guard down while waiting to gloat about his victory.
She grabbed him in a headlock, thrusting a leg behind him, and threw him to the ground. Clarke tried to punch him in the face but the brunette boy, rapidly recovered from the attack, rolled away from the blonde and got back on his feet.
He lunged, trying the same movements that had worked in his favor so far, but this time Clarke was ready and effortlessly deflect them. Realizing his punches had missed he changed tactics and tried to push her but she had easily seen it coming. Turning, Clarke caught Bellamy's left hand in her right one and locked it between her fingers, pushing it back and up, the sudden shooting pain and Clarke's leverage sending the boy to his knees, a startled yelp escaping him.
Using all the strength he could master he throw all his weight against her and slammed her into the floor. Not giving the blonde any time to react he started to kick her, over and over again.
She absorbed the trauma, swallowing the pain, then kicked her way slowly back to the surface. The blond managed to him in the chest and send him tumbling down.
For a few seconds both combatants laid on the grass, the ache and extent of their injuries prevent them from making any sudden movements. They were badly bruised, full of lacerations and cuts, their ears were ringing, their hearts pounded erratically and both could taste blood in their mouths.
Despite his weak legs and hazy vision Bellamy tried to deliver another blow but Clarke managed to roll over and kick him behind the knee, making him tumble in agony.
Using his rage and tarnished pride as fuel Bellamy crawled on his hands and knees and using a fallen log as support he succeeded in getting up once more, in a poor attempt to deliver another blow he swung again, but lacking strength he barely managed to graze her cheek.
Clarke, using her last reserve of energy, curled her hand into a fist and aimed for his face. With a sickening crunch, her fist connected with the bridge of his nose, snapping his head back. Bellamy's blood splattered all over the ground and he fell once again.
A deafening silence enveloped the combatants, at first no one dared to move, too shocked by what had transpired, but once the tension seemed to subdue, claps, cheers, and excited shouts began to fill the air.
She may have won but she certainly did not feel like a winner; half her face was swollen, at least one of her eyes would be black by tomorrow, her hands were sore and her ribs ache simply for breathing, luckily they didn't seem to be fractured.
While trying to regulate her breathing Clarke hoped they would chalk up her unexpected victory to luck and pure determination. If she was questioned about it she wasn't sure if she would be able to give them a suitable explanation for her fighting skills.
The blonde was about to leave the human-made arena to some isolated part of their camp to tend to her injuries in peace when she saw that Bellamy was still in the ground.
For a second she idly wondered if she should just leave him there to nurse his wounds, pain and humiliation seemed like a fitting punishment, but her natural inclination to help those in need prevented her from it. Instead, she helped him on his feet and proceed to check on his injuries.
"It's not broken, thankfully"
He curved his mouth in a barely there smile and, while he didn't voice it, Clarke could see the respect clearly reflected in his eyes. Maybe the brawl hadn't been such a bad idea after all.
"Clean your face and once it stops bleeding elevate your head to reduce throbbing pain"
She gazed around until she found a mop of black hair among the crowd "Monty can you try and find us something to help with any residual pain? I think I saw turmeric when we were walking. Wells can take you there"
The boys easily agreed and instantly left the camp to comply with her request. Monty was babbling excitingly about all the plants they may find while Wells smile indulgently at his child-like behavior.
4 chapters in 1 day, I'm on a roll people!