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forty two . . . our burning salvation ( march 19, 2150 — woods clan territory )
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THERE WAS A single green dot that followed Roan all the way to a cave where himself and Clarke ducked inside, concealing themselves from the Ice Nation army and Clarke's reinforcements. Cullen was able to figure out who still aimed their sniper at Roan, but made her knowledge unknown, eyes scoping everywhere around them, referring back to the same place she knew Riley was located. He had offered to come, convincing Clarke he was a good shot with a sniper, and that she'd need him; it was clear then that they should have listened to Harper's warning that Riley wasn't ready to be around the Ice Nation, especially so soon after escaping Farm Station following his enslavement by them.
Soon after Clarke and Roan's disappearance, Echo ordered her archers to shoot if they were to hear a gunshot — the same with their infantry, her having ordered them to scatter and climb, and kill until there was no one left. Kane had tried to argue against it, but Echo offered him no dispute, thinking very confidently that the Ice Nation had the upper hand. Skaikru had twice as many bullets as Azgeda had men, and everybody seemed to be aware of that fact except Echo, who didn't falter once from her hostile position.
Cullen remained quiet in Sloan's hold, simply thankful he no longer had a hand over her mouth; his sword was still flush against her neck, grip as deadly as ever, but he refrained himself from harming her more than he already had. She wasn't the only one growing tiresome of waiting for Clarke and Roan to hash out the misunderstanding, the Ice Nation warriors slacking slightly on their defensive fronts — that was, until, a body crept into the distance from around the same corner Clarke stood at.
"Look out. Skaikru!" A man bellowed, Cullen's eyes snapping towards who approached them.
It was Monty, both hands raised in the air as an act of surrender. He fearlessly kept trekking forward, despite all of the Ice Nation archers pointing their arrows to him. "Stop. I'm unarmed. I need to talk to whoever's in charge."
A man dashed forward, seizing hold of Monty's arm roughly, and dragging him towards Echo's horse. Cullen's eyes trailed after Monty's body diffidently, mentally scolding him for making the same mistake she had — as though sensing her uneasiness, Monty's gaze flickered over to Cullen's for a split second, something adjourn in his irises telling her he had this, whatever it was, under control.
