'I'm going out,'' Clarke said, packing her bag and stuffing it with only the bare essentials. Food, water, Lexa's notepad to keep track of the flora, and a cloth was all Clarke needed. It was so that if for some reason Clarke or the bag disappeared, it wouldn't be that heavy of a hit to their supplies.
If the rabid-mutant animals didn't get to their supplies first, that was.
Lexa's eyes were troubled; perhaps even more than usual, with the knowledge that someone—or something was out there, taking and living off of their supplies. ''Be safe, Clarke,'' she said, but it was almost a whisper.
In response, Clarke leaned in for a kiss, which Lexa savoured. But she broke away too fast, and then Clarke was at the door, waving with a smile twinkling in her eyes, and she was gone.
Lexa breathed in a sigh, and returned her gaze to her notebook and their plans for the future.
...
It had been fifteen minutes since Clarke was supposed to return.
It was worrying, but Lexa pushed aside the thought to focus on sketching out plans when they ran out of rations. They were preparing to cultivate a farmland, hopefully ripe in time after they finished their rations. Finding the seeds proved tough, however, as there weren't many edibles around. It wasn't impossible, however, to make the farm...
Clarke had likely gotten carried away with scavenging, maybe even found a fresh patch of berries if they were lucky. There was nothing to worry about, Lexa's mind insisted, and yet...
Carefully placing her notebook into the compartment in her wheelchair, she wheeled away from their patch of arable dirt, and approached the forests.
She had never been a fan of the forests, not after wheeling in once in sought for berries that were just out of reach, and ended up trapped in a staunch of mud. She had managed to free the chair with some help from Clarke, but she had always been wary of the forests since then, despite the overwhelming urge she felt to enter the forest and to just hunt, like she did many times ago as Heda.
It wasn't her favourite pastime, but it was one of hers.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a fleeting shadow pass—but by the time she looked back to determine what it was, there was nothing. Though it must've been a trick of the eye, the knotted tension in her stomach lurched. Scanning through the dense forests; reaching for the knife under her armrests' compartment, she tried to find the figure in the woods.
And then, Lexa heard a scream.
...
One so faint, barely out of earshot, and its origin nearly impossible to determine. But it was a scream nonetheless, and she knew it came from the forest.
Biting her lip and gazing upon the forests once again, she contemplated her choices: 1) Find Clarke, who was in obvious danger, for if she knew anything she knew Wanheda didn't scream, or 2) Wait here to be picked off by her stalker in the woods, possibly losing Clarke as well, and have their rations feasted on by their said stalker and mutant animals.
There was certainly no way Lexa would let Option 2 happen.
Taking in a bracing breath, Lexa eyed the most viable path (for if she got stuck in the mud, it would make her bad day even worse) that led into the woods. It was a fairly solid path, one Clarke used for gatherings.
The screams were getting louder.
Sucking in another breath, Lexa wheeled into the forest, bypassing the small trees, ferns, and the wheels bumping over the twigs, which had her grit her teeth and wheel further on. Your pain is nothing compared to Clarke's.
The scream, once so faint, had increased in volume. Lexa knew she was nearby.
The path had winded down, splitting into two ways. Recognition—deja vu nagged at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite place it. Steeling her nerves as she felt another bump, she tried to suppress the flinch and internally ignored the jolt.
You're the Heda Lexa. You can do this.
The screams had died down. Lexa could hear nothing, and her heart quickened. What if...? No. She forbade herself to think that. There was no way.
She could make out a figure amid the trees, its shadow running through the trees as if trying to get away, trying to escape notice. Although her heart hammered in her ribs, she ignored the silhouette. She had to find Clarke.
Wheeling through the thick bushes and the barbed vines, grimacing at the bumps from the tired path, she broke through the sea of trees and into an open canopy, where whimpers of pain came from a blonde-haired figure, its leg snapped shut in a bear-trap.
''Clarke!'' Before Lexa knew it, she had slid on the ground beside a groaning Clarke, her legs folded underneath her, furiously working at the bear-trap which had ate Clarke's leg. It was a common tool Polis's (and Shallow Valley's) hunters used to catch big-game animals, such as hinds or bears where they herded the animals into the location of the bear-traps via a chase. However, after the hunts, they usually recollected their traps to use another day.
What was this doing here?! It was impossible, unless...
Somebody deliberately put it there.
Lexa felt sick. The sight of Clarke's snapped leg, ensnared in a bear trap, bleeding from its blunt yet vicious jaws, and her cries of pain agonized her, and made her nauseous. She knew who had put it there.
Three survivors left to scourge the Earth, and the last turns on us?
One click, and the trap sprung free. Clarke clutched at her leg, moaning in pain, as she gasped to make out words. Lexa hushed her, told her to save her breath and to focus on relaxing her muscles so she could take care of Clarke's wound, before making out what Clarke said:
''T—there was a Natblida.''
Her gaze turned sharply from the wound to Clarke. Surprise. Fear. Intrigue. Horror. ''What?''
''There was a Natblida,'' Clarke managed to cough out again, before breaking into a fit of coughing. Lexa tried her best to soothe her, while rummaging in Clarke's bag for something—anything to prevent the bleeding. ''A child. S—she,'' was all that got out before Clarke moaned in pain.
Lexa found a cloth. She could use it for bandaging the wound. Not perfect, but it was the best she could do for now. Gesturing towards her wheelchair, Clarke slowly moved into it gingerly, stifling gasps of pain as she did.
''The Natblida did this?'' Lexa asked, almost incredulously, as she worked on setting a tourniquet for the wound. Jagged bite marks were etched into Clarke's leg, with a stream of blood gushing out. It wasn't so much that a Natblida did it, but a child did. Why would they...?
Clarke nodded, before breaking out into another coughing fit. Cupping her hand, Lexa struck it against Clarke's back to help ease her.
''Yes,'' Clarke said hoarsely, gasping as Lexa began to bandage the wound. It took around fifteen minutes for Lexa to finish, and another five to secure the tourniquet. Although the blood still gushed from the wound, stained the bandage, at least it was less than what it was before.
They sat there, panting and sweating in the afternoon sun for a few minutes, before Clarke's gaze flitters back to her, almost an apology. ''I should leave.''
Lexa nods, and wiping the some of the mud and the black blood away from her hands (though it would return when she wheeled out of the godforsaken forest), she sucked in a breath as Clarke hobbled away from her wheelchair, and she gingerly transferred herself back on.
''Hold onto the handgrip,'' Lexa said, amidst Clarke's small but audible groans of pain. ''Not your full weight.'' Breathing in, reassuring herself, she said: ''You'll be alright, Clarke, I promise.''
She hoped it wasn't a false promise.
