The Commander of The Founders: Book One

Chapter Thirteen: Preservation Instantiation Part One

"I sometimes dream about Lincoln. That it was my fault that he got killed. The dreams stopped when I came to the conclusion that it was out of my control," Octavia said.

"I wish it were that easy," Didrika said.

Octavia looked at her, curious. Didrika was leading on to something. There was something going on inside of her that Octavia could not pinpoint. Was it self guilt? Was it something sinister?

"Where's Clarke?" Didrika asked.

"She headed into the woods," Octavia explained.

Didrika smiled at her and jumped out of the Rover. Didrika slowly made her way into the woods. Octavia slid to the end of the Rover and dangled her legs out of it. Bellamy walked around to stand in front of her. Octavia shrugged and jumped down to gather the supplies back into the Rover.

Clarke made her way through the woods. The fallen thin tree trunks were covered in green moss. The ground was soft and damp. The smell was of wood and water. Woodpeckers sounded in the distance. The bird cawed around her. The insects buzzed. Clarke suddenly stopped moving and a sense of emotion came over her. It was like a dam bursting open. All the emotions that she had been keeping locked away since Lexa's death came out in silent tears. Clarke missed Lexa so much. She craved her touch, her smell, her appearance. She was trying to stay strong. She was trying to live up to Lexa's expectations. She wanted to do right by her. Clarke felt like she had failed. Polis was being taken over by a computer program. She had brought destruction to an isolated clan. She had ruined Lexa's friend, Luna's life. How could Lexa be proud of her now? She felt like she needed to apologize to Lexa.

A crack of sticks pulled her out of her grief. A man charged her with the butt of his gun outstretched to hit her head. Clarke staggered backwards and fell onto the ground. A whistling sound passed over her head and an arrow lodged itself in the attacker's neck. Clarke turned and saw Roan on Didrika's brown and white horse. He had his bow still outstretched. He wore a black leather long jacket with a black wool hood. He climbed off Poseidon and walked toward Clarke. Clarke scrambled onto her feet. She was still panting from shock.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who's been following your tracks. Where's Didrika?" Roan asked.

"You can't have her," Clarke told him.

Roan knew that Didrika would be nearby. Clarke had come from the opposite direction he came from. Didrika would also be from that direction. Roan rolled his eyes at Clarke. She was always so paranoid. Roan walked toward the direction she came. He heard a gun cock and he turned to the girl behind him. He stared at her unamused and slapped her hand away. Her arm fell to her side and she stared at him hurt.

"You have a real gratitude problem, you know that?" Roan sassed her.

Roan tossed her gun to the side and walked away from Clarke. Clarke chased after him. He froze to let her speak.

"Would you just hear me out? We're trying to find a way to save Polis," Clarke reasoned with him.

Roan turned to her and sighed.

"Wanheda, I was sent here to do just that," Roan told her.

Roan turned away and forged forward. He heard the tiny steps behind him as Clarke tried to keep up with him.

"Please, just stop," Clarke begged.

"Polis is already gone, Wanheda. There's no one left to save. So no, I won't stop. Not until I keep my vow to Heda," Roan said.

Didrika slowly made it down a steep slope. She stopped and saw Clarke fighting with a man. Didrika bolted toward the man and threw a knife. It rammed itself in his thigh. He twisted and collapsed onto his one knee. He shrieked in surprise and looked up at Didrika. Didrika stood there wide eyed. She thought it was one of the chipped men. The way the man cried out in pain meant he was not chipped. She looked closer and felt guilt wash over her.