BATTLEFIELD→ lincoln [1] ✔️

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
WE'RE SCREWED
"i'll be here till the end of time"
˚✧₊⁎*⁎⁺˳✧༚

     When Dylan woke up, the first thing she could register was the throbbing pain  in her head. The short girl groaned loudly as her eyes fluttered open. She wasn't quite sure what to expect seeing as her most recent memory was of a grounder slamming a stick at her head, but she most certainly did not expect to stare right at a scared shitless looking Clarke.

     The blonde Griffin girl looked like she had been crying. Her eyes were slightly red and puffy, and Dylan could see the stains from tears on her usually pale, rosy cheeks. Her hair wasn't much different then every other day; messy and dirty. Her hands, much like Dylan's, were tied behind her back tightly, as well as her legs.

     Next to Clarke, a beaten up boy sat. Finn. He looked exhausted, and the shiner he was currently sporting on his face let Dylan know that he went out with a bang. Literally. He was awake too, his hands and feet secured with rope. He looked as distressed as Clarke, if not more.

     "Dylan? Dylan, are you okay?" Dylan blinked, looking back over at Clarke as she spoke. Slowly, she nodded. Dylan still felt a bit light headed. Damn that grounder who had clubbed her with that stick.

"Yes, just dandy." She gritted her teeth. "Where the hell are we?"

"You've been out for a while. The grounders brought us here. I d—"

Clarke was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, grounders soon entereing the room they all were in. Dylan immediately recognized one of them. She was the leader that Lincoln had brought to the, on the bridge. Anya.

     One of the grounders, her guards Dylan guessed, pulled Finn to his feet at a command from Anya, another one doing the same to Dylan. She groaned in protest, but her weak struggles against him were in vain. He easily pulled her to her feet, and the sudden cold feeling against her thrown let her know that a knife was pressing against it.

     Dylan wanted to laugh. Her father was dead, they were at war, and some random grounder freak was holding a blade to her throat, threatening to slit it and kill her. And to think that Dylan had always dreamt about returning to earth. How ironic.

"Help her." Anya ordered, pointing her sword in the direction of a girl ontop of a table. She was young, way too young to be invovled in any of this, and was covered with sweat. Dylan couldn't notice any visible wounds, so she assumed it was something internal. She wasn't really the doctor, Clarke was. "If she dies, they die."

Dylan's eyes widened. Clarke quickly glanced at the two teens. "W-what? Dylan need medical help. She could bleed out from that wound!" Clarke exclaimed, pointing to the bleeding spot on Dylan's head.