After the End [ The 100 ]

30. Death-bed-of-grass

i am become death

———[eiden]

I'm panting as I come to a stop. I double over, grabbing my knees. Then I slowly stand up.

I left just as they were getting ready to leave. As much as I need to see Ali again, I know that I can't. At the end of the day, I did this for both of us. I'm dangerous and a liability, and my... killing... it puts her in a dangerous position.

I pull my hair into a ponytail before sliding a few sticky strands off my sweaty face. The sun is beating down on me now.

I couldn't run the whole way back because I didn't need the other hearing me. If I was pounding through the barely concealing line of trees, I'd be back at the camp and back in Ali's arms.

That, on its own, is actually something I am craving. Just the thought of it turns me rabid. In response, I squeeze my bow so tightly my knuckles almost pop out.

It's not for forever. It's just until I'm safe to be around them again.

Keeping the sun out of my eyes has a few benefits. For one, looking down means I avoid rocks, tree roots, and other things I could trip over. But the ground clears up, leaving a patchy green. The cold's killing off the spokes slowly but steadily.

My boot doesn't even touch the ground when my eyes lift.

Oh.

Far away to keep me safe, but standing by my stream and the trees that I shoot at is the unmistakable clothing of Grounders. There's a woman, and she's surrounded by more, smaller grounders.

I immediately go behind a tree, keeping quiet as I crouch down, hidden in the blades of grass that are tall enough to still catch sunlight.

They have to be about eleven, maybe twelve. The one clearly guiding them is a little older than me, no more than twenty years old. And she's teaching them how to use bows.

I don't spare a look down, only stroke my bow softly.

This is not happening. I left for a few hours.

My ears perk up at the voice. My eyebrows frown in confusion as she speaks in a foreign language.

"Bisen, kep in trana."

Keep on trying?

My fingers scrape against the bark as I peel out a little more to get a better look. If that's really what she said, then they aren't just savages. The grounder having that horn makes sense, but stabbing Finn makes less.

The boy aims at a tree I've shot at a dozen times. I flinch at how easily the arrow sinks in.

The woman smiles proudly before patting his shoulder. Then she cautiously turns to the rest of the kids. She catches a look before the boy comes back with his arrow and plants himself in front of her. Now that she's distracted, she takes the arrow. Then she's gesturing to the line behind her. They all take turns.

Wow. How am I not supposed to feel insecure about the weapon I'm holding?
Look at all they've learned. At their age, I was just beginning to hit a milestone in my life. Which was being one of the only people on the Ark to not have an illegal sibling.

Even from here, I scan her face. The sunlight passing through the trees is bright enough to see what's going on with her. Brown eyes. Wavy brown hair with strips of red that are either natural or dyed with whatever they use to dye hair with here.

Her garments are standard: a thick, furry leather vest. It stops just above her waistband, revealing part of her pale-skinned hips. I mean, it's distracting. She's like out in the sun all day and doesn't tan. The thick pants are tattered. It seems like no Grounder alive has ever heard of a needle and thread.