archenemy | clexa

five

In the meanwhile, the months pass down on the ground, summer advances further and Clarke more often than not wishes to have the cooling system of the Ark down on Earth. It's humid, the heat is oppressive and Clarke's shirt sticks to her skin 24 hours a day. There are insects too. Bugs, flies, stuff that Clarke can't identify from her Earth Skills lessons but that bites and stings and makes everything just worse.

'Everything just worse' means the problems Clarke is already facing.

For once there is the Ark. Or, more exactly, there is not the Ark. Clarke wants to believe the council, the doctors and mainly her mother all know she's alive. She wants them to come after her. She wants the Ark to show up with everyone save abord so Clarke can finally stop worrying about her friends, her family. But seeing it realistically, she simply can't believe that everyone is fine on a dying spaceship. She can't think of another situation as that her wristband broke at impact too, Jaha thought that the ground wasn't survivable and executed Clarke's friends when their respective times had come.

That her mom would think she was dead. Dropped somewhere with blisters and red skin, leaking radiation.

Clarke is not longing to meet the Ark's society and political system again, nor is she keen on living under the same restricted laws and rules as before, but she would choose that over the thought of all she loves dead a thousand times. They too should have the chance to see their planet, which is in fact survivable and could easily hold the rest of Clarke's people.

Well- more or less survivable. That's the second problem. Clarke landed in the middle of beasts. Bloodthirsty warriors raised by nothing but the wild, with the minds of predatory animals.

As long as she, who came from somewhere they obviously don't understand and who has guns that obviously scare them, keeps them afraid though, she doesn't have to fear them. Also, with so many Grounders and so many of their primal villages, there is so much amazing to steal. Definitely a win. One shot in the air and what she wants is hers. And if someone gets too close, if she gets threatened too much, then the shot does not hit the air and the problem is dealt with as well.

It's not that she's keen to kill. But she isn't keen on losing her head to an axe either.

Clarke has long made herself a nice make-shift bed with all soft furs and blankets, feeling as delightful as Clarke discovered clouds to look, and her crooked, self-made shelf is full of the nicest things. Well, as nice as they get for Grounder standard.

Which is mostly weapons. But Clarke doesn't mind that, in fact, she's grown quite an admiration for the finely carved daggers, the elastic bows and the shining swords that come in all different sizes and shapes, none of them lacking any grace. And, to Clarke's delight, these people seem to know how to make paper.

Next to Clarke's bed, there's a sketchbook and a pencil. If she isn't out to enjoy the absolutely magnifying nature of Earth, she takes the endless time of hers and draws.

That afternoon, Clarke's body falls onto her bed and she plops a lush, thick blackberry into her mouth. The taste explodes on her tongue like the sweetest bomb. She still hasn't gotten used to that part of Earth.

Another page of her sketchbook fills and her supplement of berries is gone by evening. Two hours later, she has another two woolen bags full of them, but as long as she doesn't have to, she doesn't pick them from the bushes hiding her ship. The small village she discovered that day she killed the first Grounder is a nice long walk away and Clarke soundlessly drops on the other side of the protection wall from an outsticking tree branch.

The primitive huts and tents are no challenge to sneak into. Clarke's body is concealed by the shadows, her hood pulled deep into her face and her feet master the art of moving her body as silent as the darkness falling over the small village. She grabs berries from one of the huts, a fresh fish just because she can and the kitchen knife since a girl couldn't possibly have enough knives.