Clarke was unsteady on her feet. Each sound that dared break the silence of the forest made her jump, her eyes darted back and forth and her heart hadn't returned to its normal beat since the surprise attack.
She didn't know what to think or what to do. She didn't know if she could even come to terms with what had happened. Her stomach was still twisted into knots and she she tried so very hard not to throw up in front of everyone.
She couldn't get the image of that ripa out of her head. She couldn't push aside the feeling of its body on her, its teeth gnashing at her or its hands and fingers clawing at her skin. She couldn't even get the image of Ryder, of his face, the bloodied bite taken out of cheek or the claw marks etched into his face.
She felt sick as images of Lexa taking head off flashed through her mind. She felt sick as she tried not to think about the way his head had fallen onto the forest floor, rolled, had collect dirt and mud and loose leaf stuck to his skin from blood and sweat and Clarke shook her head. She shook her head and she tried not to think.
Somehow, someway, in some manner she blamed herself. She blamed herself and she didn't know how to deal with it. Ryder had been ordered to protect her at all costs and now he was dead.
Maybe if Clarke had been more aware, maybe if she had somehow paid more attention to the forest, if she had somehow spotted the ripa earlier than she would have been able to avoid getting charged, avoid getting tackled, avoid needing Ryder to save her and…and?
Clarke screwed her eyes tight and tried not to kill the tears she felt beginning to build. She took in a shuddering breath and she hated it. Hated whatever it was she was feeling, hated every single thing that had gone wrong in her life.
Someone else pulled her to a stop and Clarke's heart leapt into her chest, panic spiked and her eyes started straining to see into the dark. But instead of ripa or danger or something she should fear all she saw was a small fallen tree in her path. She hadn't even noticed it and she supposed whoever had grasped her shoulder had just been looking out for her.
Clarke would have said a thank you to whoever it was if she could speak. She didn't trust herself to be able to say anything in that moment.
They continued walking in absolute silence as they returned back to Ton DC and at times Clarke could even sense the sorrow amongst those that walked with her and at other times they all acted like nothing had even happened. At those time she could almost pretend Ryder hadn't even died except for the fact that he didn't shadow her like he had.
And Clarke felt stupid. Pathetic. So idiotic. She hadn't known him at all. Hadn't really spoken to him at all and yet his death hit her more intensely than she could even imagine. It weighed on her, dragged her down, made her shoulders and her back and her legs ache more than the gravity her body still protested.
Clarke also didn't know if she should feel disgust at the fact they had left Ryder where he had died. She didn't know if that was how things were on the ground, if life was seen as expendable or if for whatever reason she was to blame. Did they not have enough time to bring him back to his family because of her? Was her presence the reason why they hadn't noticed the ripas until it was too late? Was she the only reason—
Clarke was pulled to a stop again and as she looked up she realised they had made it back to Ton DC. She watched as warriors in the trees overhead lifted an arm in greeting. She saw some seem to count those that returned and she knew they must have known. She saw one or two dart off deeper into Ton DC and she felt that same guilt and fear and anger and sadness beginning to build more and more and more.
Clarke was ushered into Ton DC, the warriors with her gathered behind the closing gates and she was kept still by strong hands on her shoulders. She didn't bother to turn and see who was keeping her present. Her mind was elsewhere, her thoughts were elsewhere and her heart was broken.
"Anya," Lexa said quietly.
Clarke watched as Anya stepped forward, a look of anger on her face.
"Retrieve Ryder's body. Bring however many you need to clear the forests near Ton DC," Lexa finished.
Anya said something in her native tongue, her gaze darted to Clarke and back to Lexa.
"Yes, Heda," Anya said before bowing her head and moving off.
"Indra, prepare a pyre for Ryder," Lexa said, her voice strong, ever clear despite how quiet it was in the air.
Whoever had been holding her by the shoulders let her go and stepped forward and Clarke realised the woman, Indra, had been the other one guarding Lexa's tent with Ryder and—
And Clarke suddenly file the bile building, she felt the churning of her stomach and she felt the pain, the agony, and the sickness and Clarke darted off, she stumbled away from the group of warrior, she moved to the closet dark shadow and she turned and vomited.
Clarke gagged, she retched, she spluttered and coughed and winced.
She felt sick, broken, helpless and she didn't know what to do or what to say. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out every single thing she could hear and feel and she hated it. Hated the ground. Hated the things she had seen. Hated that her life had been turned upside down, hated that every single thing she had thought was wrong, was broken, was completely and utterly—
Clarke felt someone come to stand by her side and as she opened her eyes and looked up she saw Lexa standing just a few paces from her. Clarke couldn't tell what Lexa was thinking, she couldn't tell if she was thinking anything at all. But Clarke realised Lexa held out her hand, a small cloth held out for her to take.
Clarke took a second to look at it, perhaps to make sure she was reading the situation correctly, perhaps to take consider if she wanted to reach out with her dirtied hand. But Lexa didn't seem to mind. She simply inclined her head as if to tell Clarke to proceed.
"Thank you," Clarke managed to splutter out past acidic lips. "Sorry," she whispered before wiping her mouth and hands clean.
"You may hold onto it for the time being, Clarke," Lexa said before turning away from her.
"Indra," Lexa called out. "Take Clarke to the bathhouse."
Clarke didn't protest as Indra directed her away from the group. Truthfully she was relieved to have space put between her and the others. She was sure she appeared weak and pathetic. She wasn't a warrior. She wasn't someone capable of killing people and she hadn't been prepared. Not for anything that had happened to her in the last year.
Clarke's mind was still dazed, unsettled, so unfocused that she hardly register where they went. This woman, this Indra, simply directed her just as she had done in the forest. Clarke was numb to taking in more of the village. She still felt the knots in her stomach, she still felt the acid in her mouth and she wanted to scream, to crumble to the ground and to curl into a ball and forget everything that had happened.
Eventually Clarke was pushed through a doorway into a wood structure. She blinked at the suddenness of heat she felt and she stared. She looked around and she realised she was in something delicate, calming, soothing. She stood at the entrance of a long and narrow building. A number of what she assumed to be large metal washbasins lined both sides of the room spaced evenly apart. At the foot of each basin was a small table or stool and mist lingered in the air.
Scents she couldn't identify lingered around her and a quiet bubbling could be heard. She blinked, she tried to order her pain and she realised Indra had guided her to the furthest basin. Upon the bench was a towel and small jars of paste or creams, and as she looked at the other benches she saw the same.
"Wash. Bathe," Indra said. Her voice was stern, perhaps a little brisk. But as Clarke stared at the woman she saw something a little kinder in the way she looked at her studied her, seemed to analyse who and what she was.
Or perhaps Clarke was just imagining a nicer place, a nicer people, a nicer life she had found herself living.
"Mochof," Clarke whispered. She didn't think she could say much more.
There was a very brief flash of surprise before Indra simply nodded her head and took a step back.
"No one will enter. Bathe," she repeated before turning to leave.
Clarke watched as Indra walked away. She watched as Indra disappeared out the entrance and she looked out at everything she saw.
Perhaps her heart was steadying a little now that she was alone. Perhaps her mind had stopped racing a little now that she was within the boundaries of Ton DC. She hoped and assumed it was safe. She knew it safer than the forest where the ripas roamed.
Clarke swallowed the emotion in her throat and she turned to face the basin. Water swirled before it. She could tell it was hot though she couldn't see how. Perhaps someone had recently heated it, perhaps she wasn't in any kind of state to think more clearly. She didn't care. Clarke looked around herself again, unsure what she was looking for before she started to undress.
Her fingers were shaky and unsure as she fought with the buckles and straps of her jacket but eventually she pulled it off herself. The weight dropped to the ground with a sturdy thud. Next came her shirt. Her boots. Her pants. And then her bandages and underwear and Clarke didn't know why but she suddenly felt ashamed to be wearing what she was wearing. She didn't know why. She didn't know what spurred it on. Whatever the reason didn't matter for she simply felt the way she felt.
Clarke's lip turned up at the edges into something close to a snarl before she squeezed her eyes tight and shook her head. She also lashed out, almost kicked the basin or the pile of clothes but she somehow fought her emotions, somehow pushed them back into control.
Clarke bent down and gathered her clothes, put them into as neat a pile as she could and then she stepped into the basin.
The water was hot. It was almost painful, it sat just below that threshold where she knew it would steal her breath and burn her flesh. Her toes were cautious as she lowered her leg. She held onto the basin lest she slip and she slowly dipped her other leg into the basin before she sat.
Heat lapped at her tired body. It seared into her very muscles and flesh and Clarke didn't realise it at first. She didn't realise it until she sat back against the hot metal of the basin, she didn't realise it until water lapped at her chin and she didn't realise it until her breath froze in her lungs but Clarke had never seen this much water at once before. She had never had a bath. Not like this. She had never been allowed to use anywhere near this much water to bathe.
Of course she had seen the river, the large body of water. Of course she had seen it rain and she har marvelled at it. But for some reason those moments, those instances felt different simply because they had been natural, they had been nature, the environment, things that the earth had domain over. But seeing this water, this bath, this use by a people just reinforced to her that things could have been so very different for her people who had been stuck on the Ark all these years.
And Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, she shook her head and she felt the heat of tears threatening to fall.
Her people had wasted lifetimes. Her people had thought themselves the only humans left. And they had been foolish, prideful. So very naive. And if they hadn't, if they had been venturous, if they hadn't been so arrogant they could have saved so many lives. Those who had died on the Ark, those who had been floated like her father. Even Ryder wouldn't have died. He wouldn't have needed to protect her, to die for her.
And so Clarke started crying. She started feeling the pain etch itself into her heart. Her chest ached. Her shoulders began to shake, and Clarke reached up, cradled her face in her hands lest she fall to pieces.
Clarke didn't care that she sobbed into her hands as she sat alone in a bath in a building all by herself. She didn't care that anyone who entered would see how pathetic she was. She didn't care that someone might hear her outside. She didn't care that anyone who saw her would think her weak.
Clarke just wanted to feel sorry for herself without guilt and she didn't care at all who saw.
Clarke wasn't entirely sure how long she had spent in the bath, perhaps fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes. However long it had been was long enough that the heat from the water had mellowed to a gentle warmth. She wiped her hands across her face in the hopes she'd be able to scrub away the evidence of her tears. She took a moment to steady herself and take in a deep breath before she submerged her head underwater. It was such a strange feeling, too. The heat of the water seemed more intense as it wrapped around her. She felt the pressure of the water against her ears and feeling it grace her face was so strange, so bizarre. She had never felt this before and she didn't know what to think.
She stayed under long enough that her lungs began to protest and she only came up for air after she felt the burn beginning to take hold. Clarke took in deep breaths and she let the water cascade down her face. She blinked, she squinted past the water dripping off her. Clarke started running her fingers through her hair. She had started getting small knots. Clumps of hair that had been far too neglected. She winced every now and then but she ignored the pain as she tried to clean herself as best she could. Clarke didn't know which pasts or jars to use. She probably was making a mistake choosing whichever one she chose but Clarke didn't care.
She reached for the closest jar and opened it. A small pop echoed around her before she took a moment to sniff its contents. Something strong, herbal, unique that she couldn't describe met her and she thought the scent nice, charming and gentle.
Clarke dipped her fingers into it before she began lathering it into her hair. It felt oddly cold against her scalp and she shivered despite the heat of the water. Eventually she had worked it into her hair as much as she could and then she leant back, she let her hair submerge into the water and she started washing the soap out. For some reason it felt cathartic, for some reason that simple act helped calm her, ease her pains, dull them to a degree that she didn't think she'd cry in front of people again. But still, there was a pain, there was an ache, something she didn't think would fade any time soon.
Clarke looked up at the sound of the main entrance opening. She squinted past the slight mist and steam and she realised Indra had returned. In her arms was a parcel that Clarke couldn't identify. She remained where she was as Indra approached and came to stand at the bench beside the basin she was in.
"Clothes," Indra said. "Fresh bandages," she added. "Dress."
"Mochof," Clarke said.
Indra nodded at her once before she turned and left and Clarke felt a small, sad smile settle upon her lips. She thought Indra straight forward, easy to understand. Clarke appreciated that. She appreciated that she thought she could read Indra. At least she was one person who was seemingly upfront with her from the start.
Clarke took a moment to soak in the water one last time before she stood. She shivered in the cold and she stepped out of the basin. The towel she wrapped around herself was warm, thick, rich against her skin. It seemed to soak up as much water as possible and Clarke marvelled at whatever material or fur or fabric it was.
Clarke dried herself quickly. She wrapped the towel around her head in an attempt to dry her hair before she started rummaging through the parcel of clothes Indra had left behind.
The undergarments were easy for her to understand, the pants and the shirt were fastened with small wood buttons and gentle strips of fabric. They were warm, comfortable, thick enough to keep the cold out, light enough that she wasn't weighed down or restricted in movement.
Clarke pushed aside the fact that she was being supplied with clothes. There was no point trying to see the hidden reason behind why. She couldn't do anything about it and she didn't really mind being given new clothes. Whatever was expected of her was simply something she would do.
Next came the bandages to go around her feet. She took a moment to dry her feet completely, the blisters still a little raw and sensitive but she thought whatever paste had been applied had done a lot to aid the healing. Clarke made sure to wrap her feet the same way Nyko had shown her and once satisfied she slipped on her boots and shrugged on her new jacket.
Clarke spent a moment folding her clothes and putting them back into the parcel before she stood, parcel in her arms as she headed for the exit. As Clarke approached she found herself steeling her mind. The bath, in whatever way, had helped wash away her anguished and her pains. Or perhaps not quite washed away, but helped let her come to terms with what had happened and what would surely continue to happen on the ground.
She couldn't change what had happened in her life since coming to the ground. She couldn't change what had happened in her past but she could have an influence and an impact on what she would do next.
Clarke stopped at the exit. She reached out for the doorknob and just before she pushed through she paused, she took in a steadying breath and she decided she would fight. She would fight and she would make sure her people would be able to survive life on the ground.
That was her mission after all.