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— THE BLOOD UNDERNEATH HER FINGERNAILS HAD BEEN ACCOMPANIED BY DIRT. Her right hand was completely wrapped up, tightly wound and keeping everything in place until it could heal. Her heart was heavy with sorrow, her eyes drifting to the four graves that sat outside the wall that was being hastily built by the group. Cleo didn't understand how a grounder could've taken out Wells when he was so close. Nobody saw anything, but she refused to believe it.
For nearly a week, she had been visiting the gravesite every morning. Not a single word ever left her mouth while there and she still couldn't figure out why she did it since it only brought more pain to her. But it was routine now, she knew that.
Swallowing down a lump in her throat, she leaned down to pat the dirt on top of Wells' grave before leaving. She ran into Clarke, who was coming to pay her own respects. They shared a nod, remaining silent as they passed each other. Cleo walked to the center of camp, where her peers were working hard.
Logs were being lifted and tents were being set up. They were making their home on the ground and Cleo hadn't helped a single bit. Murphy wanted her to, but surprisingly, Bellamy hadn't made her lift a finger. He knew a thing or two about grief, she supposed.
"Hey! You think the Grounders are just gonna sit around, and wait for us to finish the wall? Maybe we should let the little girl do the lifting for you, huh?" Murphy marched away from Bellamy, barking at the boy who'd just dropped the log.
He had been giving orders for the past few days like an angry foreman who didn't get paid enough.
"I just need some water, okay? Then I'll be fine." The boy pleaded.
Cleo opened her mouth to tell Murphy that she'd take his place, but the words froze in her throat. She'd barely spoken at all this week, she almost forgot what she sounded like. Her mouth shut and she stayed silent.
