SEVENTEEN

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FROZEN STARS
SEVENTEEN
what doesn't destroy you leaves you broken instead.

warning: mild violence/abuse

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warning: mild violence/abuse

"MOVE, MOVE, move!" Elijah Bowman's voice yelled through the crowd of people. The delinquents parted, staring in confusion, intrigued and fear as he moved as quickly as he could towards the dropship.

Through the swaths of fabric, Clarke Griffin's eyes widened as she saw the outline of the boy and the limp figure he carried in his arms. He appeared into view; her brown hair was wet and clinging to her skin, just like her clothes, and her rosy lips were parted gently, just like she had fallen asleep. Her chest was rising and falling - albeit slowly and at a seemingly laboured pace - but she was breathing. She was alive.

"Put her down here." The blonde-haired girl cleared a bench of all the belongings scattered across it so he could lay her down. "Where did you find her?" She questioned as Elijah laid the girl across the surface.

"Just outside the fence." His breathing was heavy from how quickly he'd moved, rushing her fragile body towards the solace of the dropship, into the watchful care of Clarke.

"What was she doing out there?"

Elijah shook his head, wringing his hands in worry. "No clue," he replied, "is she going to be okay?"

Clarke's fingers were against her neck, pressing lightly in search of any sign of a heartbreak. Luckily, it came; the rhythmic thud of a pulse was evident. It was strong and normal, not slow and fading like she'd expected. Relief flooded Clarke's chest at the sensation.

"I think so," she nodded, rushing around to gather spare blankets, "prop her head up with this."

She thrust a rolled up blanket into Elijah's hands as she began removing the soaking layers of clothing that were clinging to the girl's small frame. As Elijah, lifted her head, setting it down gently on the bunched up fabric, he noticed the crimson pooling against his pale skin.

"Clarke." Elijah's voice was low and worried. "She's bleeding."

"What... what happened?" The girl spoke quietly, in no more than a croaking whisper as she struggled to painfully push the words from her throat. She could barely even hear herself through the ringing in her ears.

"Shh, it's okay," Clarke reassured her, examining the bloody wound that was hidden beneath her brown hair.

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