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OCT 15 & 16, 2149 DAYS THIRTY THREE & THIRTY FOUR ON THE GROUND
"YOU'VE BEEN AWFULLY QUIET." Clarke commented through her heavy breaths, glancing over at Fallon as she dragged Anya's limp body on a makeshift stretcher.
The Mountain Men had lost their track immediately upon the grounder viciously removing the tracker from her arm. There had been no sight of them since.
"Just avoiding having to talk to you. That's surprising?" the hotheaded blonde quirked a brow, though the typical fiery attitude in her voice was bogged down with weariness from their exhausting journey.
The Griffin girl's eyes inevitably fell to her mangled hand knowing merely from the looks of it how badly it needed to be treated.
"Let me just put it in a sling, Fallon." she pleaded after a moment, which she'd asked for several times, and been continuously denied permission.
"No, Clarke."
"It needs to—"
"Clarke." she warned.
"If I could just—"
"No!"
"It's going to be permanently damaged if you—"
"Okay, okay! You know what!? If I let you put my arm in a sling, will that get you to finally shut the hell up?! Like for good?" she snapped, the 18 year old giving a few blinks and a nod.
"Fine. Be my friggin' guest then."
Fallon plopped down on a nearby boulder, allowing the girl to tear fabric from her coat to use, grimacing when she positioned her limb into it.
"Did Dakota make you that?" Clarke nodded to the friendship bracelet on her other wrist as she did her work.
"Oh my God, what part of shutting up for good do you not—" Fallon paused abruptly, eyes widening at something in the distance.
"What?" Clarke immediately whipped around, afraid she had spotted danger.
"That tree look familiar to you?" she pointed to the plant, Clarke hurriedly grasping onto the stretcher again as the two rushed towards the remnants of something they had once known.
"Home sweet home." Fallon kidded as they entered their old camp. Everything looked so dead and desolated compared to what it used to be; bustling with life, and color, and vibrancy.
