Reckless

Peace

Chapter 4

A rough jolt woke her from her blissful slumber, her dreams filled with the rough pants and ecstasy. Her eyes slowly opened to take in Bellamy's naked form. He inhaled. He exhaled. She thought he was fascinating—that level of peacefulness across his normally hard features. She realized after a moment of ogling, it wasn't him. The smile that formed on her face had not yet disappeared, though. Her shoulders were yanked again by tiny damp hands. Her bare skin was tickled by the panther fur as she turned her body, hugging the blanket to her breasts. "I need your help." Octavia whispered—small tears in her eyes, "Get dressed and meet me by the gate." Her voice was an indication of her worry, her grief.
Clarke stole a glance, sucking in a nervous breath before she threw the blanket off her body. Pure, fear pulsed through Clarke's system because she was absolutely certain someone was seriously injured. She was quite certain that person was not a member of their camp, either. Clarke pulled her clothes off the ground, noting the dampness of the fabric. She rolled her eyes at her makeshift lock that laid disassembled on the ground.
She bitterly thought, No privacy whatsoever.
Her eyes examined the guard posts—they were asleep. She snorted, more out of fear and anger than actual humor. They would all be dead...they could be under attack right now and no one would know. She thought about leaving a note for Bellamy but her lack of pencils and paper came into play and she hoped she would return before he woke up. What would Bellamy do if he woke up and she weren't pressed into his side, her hand running down his shoulder blades with a satisfied smile on her lips? He would freak out. "Tell me who it is? Is it your grounder...? Octavia, speak!"
"It's Lincoln's uncle...Clarke, it's really bad." She sniffled, her hand swiping away overwhelming tears.
"I need to get my-" Clarke twisted her body, attempting to turn around towards the drop ship to grab some type of meager supplies.
"You can't, we don't have time." Octavia gripped Clarke's wrist, refusing to release it. Her eyes relayed the message that she was not going to let Clarke go anywhere.
"I'm useless without my supplies, Octavia." Clarke explained, her low leader voice coming forward. She cared for her friend...immensely so, but she could not perform miracles. Situations like these made her doubt her abilities.
"They have supplies." Octavia was crying like a scared child, "They just need your mind." And what if my mind is not good enough?
Clarke nodded hesitantly after a few seconds, her lip coming between her teeth as she began to follow Octavia. At first, it was a fast walk but as they neared the grounder village (or so Clarke assumed) Octavia started to run. Clarke followed partly because she did not want to be alone in their territory, partly because she felt the need to protect Octavia.
Branches flew against their bodies, cutting quickly into their skin as they continued to run. Octavia did not pause once they reached a ditch-entrance. Clarke couldn't afford to pause to take in the area. She could only run after Bellamy's sister and pray to god they weren't about to walk into their death. If anything happened to Octavia...
It would be Clarke's fault.
Clarke cared for Octavia. She liked her. Octavia's free spirit was something she admired but her recklessness was absolutely appalling. What was she doing out of the gate in the first place? If Bellamy knew about his sister's late night activities, he would kill her. He would also attempt to kill the grounder that Octavia was preoccupied with. "Bellamy's going to kick our asses, you know that right?" Clarke asked Octavia, her breathless voice being drowned out by the sound of drums. Her heartbeat quickened because she felt the music overtake her ears—overtake her every sense. She forgot how to speak for a moment, how to breathe.
The grounder village was remarkable but still dark—dark, tainted by the rugged beauty of survival. It was also tattered but Clarke was used to tatters and holes from her time on the Ark. Her eyes touched each visible hut, took in the size of them and also the way the grounders built off of former structures. Is that a gym? Her eyes washed over the broken bricks and wood roof tied together by ropes and some other unifiers that she'd never seen before. It was fascinating to her, the buildings and permanence of their lifestyle.
"He's here." Octavia motioned for her to follow, pulling back the flap to a hut made out of sewn animal skins. A rugged man met her eyes, his wrinkles pushing together because of pain and obvious outrage. He turned to Lincoln, barking something in their language. Lincoln responded, seemingly unashamed that Clarke and Octavia stood before them. The man was bleeding profusely, an arrow sticking from his side. They should be able to fix this... Clarke thought, remembering they'd survived for almost a hundred years with crude weapons. "Their healer is not...around." Octavia read her face, "Clarke, please save him."
She let out a long breath and looked between Lincoln, Octavia, and the angry grounder. "It's going to be a long night." She huffed, her eyes finally settling on her angry patient. "Hold him down." She said in a determined tone. The grounder flung around, his arms trying to swing at her but he was too injured to truly hurt her underneath Lincoln's hold.