𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, bellamy blake ¹

09; grounder

"I am one of billions. I am stardust gathered fleetingly into form. I will be ungathered. The stardust will go on to be other things someday and I will be free."

― Laini Taylor, Days of Blood & Starlight

                                    ➳ ➳ ➳

THE HORN HAD SOUNDED IN THROUGH THE VILLAGE. The young woman was collecting the children, bringing them into the safe houses.

"Come, hurry," she spoke. She held the little one by the shoulders, walking her to her mother. "Be careful."

She ushered the last of the children in before exiting again. Her brown cloak fluttered around her ankles and she pushed a hand through her braided hair. She could see the fog from even here, descending down the mountain like a hungry creature. She did one last round of the village, calling for any children that might be unaccounted for: too young to understand what was going on.

As she was skirting around the river, she spotted a figure in the water. The girl was floating face up in the current.

"Hello? Are you okay?," she asked, wading into the shallows, worrying it was one of her people. She reached in, hooking her arm under the figure's shoulders, and pulled her out. The two stumbled back and the grounder peered at the girl curiously. She had burns covering her limbs and a large gash across her forehead. Her hair was the colour of wheat in the summer.

"Sky girl." The woman whispered in English now. She touched near the open wound on her forehead. When the woman looked up, she saw the yellow cloud reaching the bottom of the cliff, bellowing as it did so. She grabbed Naomi, lifting her into the safe-house and dismissing anyone who questioned her.

"I am your leader. You will listen to me," she commanded, placing Naomi on a spare bed. "She will stay here." The woman gave them all a glare.

"Serena—"

She narrowed her eyes in a challenge. "That is a command, Nyko."

➳ ➳ ➳

The first thing that surprised Naomi when opened her eyes, was that she woke up at all. The second thing that surprised her was that she was resting in a bed.

A thatch ceiling blurred into place as her vision cleared and she twisted her hands in soft fur sheets. She knew she wasn't in the drop-ship. She forced her sore torso up, groaning at the exertion. Her eyes wandered around the hut. The inside of the room was comfortable—with a boarded floor, an armchair, and the gentle smell of wood. A fireplace sat burning to her right, and shelves stacked with strange artefacts rested above it.

Naomi's arm was wrapped with proper bandages, and she knew that beneath the furs, her leg was too.

A sheet covering the doorway flew open and Naomi snapped her head towards the motion. A woman walked through. She had chestnut hair bound up in braids and skin the colour of warm clay. A tattoo sleeve wandered down her arm in an intricate pattern, a pile of firewood in her arms. She wore clothes made of fur and animal skins. She couldn't have been older than her late 20s.

She was a grounder.

Naomi leapt to her feet, eyes wide and ready to jump into a defensive stance. Her injured leg crumpled beneath her body and she clattered to the ground, slamming her face on an empty wicker basket. Naomi scrambled backwards, left leg burning.