The green forests were a stark contrast to the black blood they followed.
It wasn't an unusual scene—blood was regularly spilt in the forests, whether if it were an animal's or theirs—it was there. But this trail sent cold lightning through her spine—for, it was a reminder, that this could only end in one way.
Death.
The blood that stained the green undergrowth edged them on. They had advanced quietly, weapons drawn; or at least, as quiet as shoes and wheels would let them.
The blood-flow was sporadic. So sporadic, in fact, that Clarke wondered if Emerson had managed to salvage his wounds in some way—after all, he did get into a fight with Lexa, and to envision getting away from a fight with Lexa uninjured was like provoking a beast and having it not attack. Damage was expected, and there was definitely wounds on both ends.
(Especially with the bloodied hand she saw lying in their abode, that had matted the floorboards wet, which Clarke was pretty sure belonged to the neither of them.)
Sometimes, they feared that they would lose the trail entirely—but those fears didn't usually last long. And so, for what felt so long yet short, all the same, they had eventually followed the bloodstained trail to a cave.
They were greeted with the sight of Carl Emerson, wielding a stolen gun in one hand and a bound stump in another, and Madi under his handless grasp.
''I've been expecting you,'' was what he drawled out, once his gaze flickered to Clarke. Madi was writhing under his grasp, and Clarke felt her heart harden. And at her lack of response— ''C'mon, Clarke. Don't you even remember the last Mountain Man's name?''
''Emerson,'' Clarke gritted out, her gun pointing straight at Emerson's chest. She felt like she was on fire. Her brain felt like screaming; all she saw was red. ''Put down your gun.''
''Less so your girlfriend, though,'' he said, gaze turning to Lexa, as if oblivious to both their guns. ''Who thought bringing your crippled girlfriend here was a good idea?'' Emerson's smile was low, lazy, mocking. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lexa shift. Her finger, all-too-steady on the trigger, twitched.
Don't forget the plan, Lexa, she attempted to communicate—even as she gripped on her gun; even as Clarke herself recited the plan in her mind—because her finger twitched as well.
''Funny, isn't it?'' Emerson said, his smile mocking. ''How everything falls. First my people, and then yours is thrown into ruin. I'd like to think that I was a cause.''
There was a growl, a heft of a gun. ''Shof op, Maunon,'' was gritted out.
Emerson only grinned. And her ears roared for blood; war drums of the past drowned out any sense of reasoning; as every bone in her body screamed for blood. From the corner of her eye she saw a bristling Lexa; in front of her stood Madi and a monster. And then, Clarke realised that she couldn't bring herself to care about the plan anymore.
No! Shit. Can't drive myself mad now.
Almost as if he'd noticed her expression, Emerson's grin widened. And then, almost in response, Emerson dug his gun harshly into Madi's head, which caused an involuntary whimper. ''Who says?'' he drawled, his eyes trained on Lexa. And when there was a click of a gun, Emerson's gaze jolted back to Clarke—still in a lazy grin, and she felt her blood boil. He pushed the gun against Madi's head. ''Shoot me and I'll shoot her.''
Clarke felt herself bristle. And Emerson didn't seem to notice but continued on. ''Now, the rules are pretty simple, Clarke. I can let this kid live on a condition. Bring that girlfriend of yours here, surrender yourself and put down your weapon.'' And his smile widened, and Clarke felt her stomach churn with sickness, and a snarl came from the far side—Lexa's, as if to show how willing she was. ''Pretty simple.'' he drawled on, ignoring her. ''And then you might finally understand a smidgen of the pain you've tortured my people with. And she'll understand a fragment of pain from then,'' he spat out, as Lexa snarled again. ''If not, then... be prepared to say your goodbyes.''
