Of Everything That Could've Been - Bellamy Blake [2]

Chapter 11 - Coup de Grâce

Myles is getting the hang of this. The red haired teen bounces on top of a horse by herself, with Clarke and Abby beside her on their own horses. It no longer feels out of place, and as they race down the path with three grounders behind them, she can't help feeling comfortable and free. Many books and movies on the Ark showed life before the war, and they greatly romanticised horses, but this isn't quite like that. It's exhilarating, it's intoxicating.

Her long red ponytail flaps against her back to the tune of galloping horses, their hard hooves thundering across the dirt path under the morning sun. The wind that slaps her in the face and brushes through her clothes is ice cold, and makes the skin of her right hand feel tight as it clutches the reins. Leaf-less winter trees slur past them, beautiful shades of brown with hints of green moss blending together as they fly down the path to Camp Jaha.

Abby digs her heels into the horse she's perched upon, forcing the whole group to slow down. Something itches at the back of Myles' head, and she can't stop herself from whipping her head around to scan their surroundings while a violent jitter courses through her left arm. A heavy pull sits in her gut, amplifying tenfold when Abby comes to a complete stop.

"Hold up," the doctor calls, quickly sliding off of her horse and walking towards a large puddle of water.

Hazel eyes scan calculatingly around them, the itch at the back of her head accompanying the distant buzz of a drill.

"Clarke," Myles drawls out when her blonde friend huffs as Abby crouches down and pulls out her water bottle. Blue eyes turn to her and Myles slides off of her horse, feeling too exposed. "We need to keep moving. Somethings not right here."

The words resonate with the blonde, and Clarke rapidly hops down to approach her mother, "mum. Why are we stopping?"

Abby stands to meet Clarke halfway, and Myles inches closer nervously as the grounders get off of their horses behind them, "you need to drink, too."

"I'm fine," Clarke assures in a hard tone, her red haired friends anxious shuffling and head turning putting her on edge. "We're almost home."

"Listen up," Myles declares, turning to the grounders patiently waiting. "Something's lurking near us, but our scouts patrol these woods. Be careful where you shoot."

A chorus of 'yes, ma'am's burst from the men and Clarke adds, "we're not stopping for long. Make sure you're ready to leave."

Clarke's subtle command gets the same response, a polite array of 'yes's as the men start to mount their horses again. Both teens turn back to Abby when she starts talking again.

"The grounders listen to you," the doctor observes, switching her gaze between the girls.

"Lexa told them to," Clarke divulges, her posture tense. Myles starts bouncing on her heels, her nervous energy completely consuming her features. "We shouldn't have stopped," the blonde haired teen breathes, turning to Myles, the only one left still on the ground. "Mount up."

"Clarke," Abby calls, stopping the two teens just before they reach their horses.

Myles pauses with her hands on her horse, her slender fingers touching the cool chestnut coloured fur as her splint shakes. Hazel eyes watch Clarke quickly rush back up to her mother, the blonde appearing a lot more exasperated than a moment ago.

"Mum," Clarke starts, her tone sharp, "we need to get back to that radio to see if Bellamy's made contact."

"Listen to me," the doctor calmly requests, her gaze strong as it bores into Clarke's eyes. "I know you don't think you need my protection anymore. But you do. You have to trust that I know what's right for us."