Harlai has spent two years in the dusty Skybox and she's ready to get out in either two ways: death or liberty.
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HARLAI WAS FEELING quite uneasy. After her little moment at the depot, she didn't feel like going back to their camp- at least not for the night. The brunette had gotten to the middle of the trail they followed earlier that day, so she turned on her heel and went a different direction. After a while, she spotted a large oak tree that should figured she could camp out under.
She plopped down onto the soil and grabbed her backpack, pulling out a stitching kit. She remembered the first time she needed a break as she pulled her bow and arrows from her back, being able to settle as comfortably against the trunk as she could. That day at the creek, the day they found the radio that Bellamy tried to trash, she had made this beauty. It was something she was really proud of.
Harlai brought a hand up to her forehead where her previous wound from the grounder had reopened because of Dax. She pulled her hand down, wincing as she saw the blood- something she had never been a big fan of. She opened her sewing kit and decided she would try to fix it herself even though she had a little help last time.
Her hands began to shake as Harlai tried to thread the needle, her vision growing a bit spotty. Why the hell was it her who always tumbled into harm's way? A small huff fell past her lips and she closed her eyes.
