✮ Her head wished she had went on thinking he was an infuriating, overly-confident, horribly handsome asshole, that hated her people and always put himself first. Her heart knew he wasn't any of those things. He was a celestial; a man plucked from t...
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"You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes."
―A.A. Milne
Astoria faded in and out of conciseness during the walk back to the teenagers camp, one hand on her bleeding side—covered by one of Clarkes to help keep pressure on the wound—and the other on the blondes shoulder as she all but carried the grounder. Wells and Finn (the spacewalker) were tasked with carrying Jasper, the boy doing far worse than Astoria, with Bellamy and Murphy carrying the dead panther behind them. Astoria's dead panther, she had been quick to remind the eldest boy. If it wasn't for her he'd be dead, and their camp would have nothing to fed their starving stomachs. He didn't respond to her words.
When they made it back to camp Astoria shook awake once more, the sound of yelling hurting her ears and head. She allowed Clarke to pull her towards the Dropship, stopping (and nearly causing Astoria to crumble to a heap in the dirt) when Monty appeared to see the state of his closest friend. His face visibly paled.
"Is he—?" he began, though Clarke interrupted him before the melancholy thought could breathe air.
"He's alive. I need boiled water and strips of cloth for the bandage," She told him before removing the hand pushing down on Astoria's wound to pull the tarp back. The grounder whimpered under her breath at the loss of pressure, but no one but Clarke heard the sound. It surprised her, but she didn't say a word as the boys carried Jasper through.
Astoria wanted to sleep, but she knew better. If she slept it would make it harder for Clarke to get into the ship, and if she caused any more trouble they might've thrown her out before fixing up her side. She just had to wait until she was off her feet, then she could sleep for as long as they'd let her.
Clarke guided the girl in, helping her sink down to rest against the closest wall. She crouched to be eye level as the grounder laid her head back into the metal, not caring that it was uncomfortable. It brought relief to her headache despite the fact. "You'll be alright," the blonde spoke, lifting up the layers of clothing at Astoria's side to look over the wound. "After I help Jasper I'll be back down."
Astoria gave a weak nod despite Clarke already being halfway up the ladder, her eyes finally closing. "Take your time," she whispered, releasing a breath of air as she moved slightly to make herself more comfortable. The metal was cold on the one hand the laid flat upon it, the other lazily over her wound. The tarp blew slightly from the wind, filling the silence with white noise. Astoria couldn't relax without it—the quiet only made things worse.
When she awoke her side was wrapped with cloth that looked just clean enough to not make things worse. She didn't remember Clarke cleaning and covering her wound, and the fact that she had slept through it made her feel sick. She should've forced her eyes open—sleeping surrounded by unknown enemies was foolish.
