❝ Hell isn't where you go when you die.
It's what you become when everything you love has been taken away. ❞
[ sequel to 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 ]
[ the 100 / season two ]
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Human;
𝐀 faraway cry echoes through the quietness of the forest.
Clove's body flinches, alerted eyes immediately checking her surroundings. Her pulse beats against the skin of her throat, adrenaline already surging through her veins.
The night had been as restless as she now feels, senses kept remarkably sharpened the entire time.
Listening for any threats lurking about.
Hardly keeping both eyes shut.
After detecting no visible danger, her brain finally processes the current situation.
Her body is kept meters above the actual ground, kept away from both grounders and starving wildlife.
Yet, despite being profoundly grateful for the tree's security, she knows she can't linger in its arms. The dropship. That's where she has to be.
If she's fortunate, she might even get there before nightfall.
Her fatigued body eventually manages to untie herself, leaving her nearly out of breath. Her limbs are screeching, begging her to rest.
But she can't.
Stretching down to the closest branch, her foot eventually finds a new balance. A strangled groan follows, eyebrows drawing together in a quiet wince.
She proceeds down the trunk, one step at a time. Slow movements in order to soothe the pain in her thigh. She finds herself regretting not adjusting the bandage before climbing down.
A machinic eruption splits the easy atmosphere.
Her head whips up, body halting. Her lips part in genuine shock.
Gunshot.
Who would use guns, other than people from the camp?
The blonde instantly hastens down from the tree, glad to find the ax is still where she left it. It's soon resting in her sweaty palm, fingers gripping the handle securely.
She can't bring herself into a run, but it doesn't prevent her from pacing as hurriedly as her leg will support. By the sound of it, the shot had come from the village.
The village she ran away from the night before.
As another sequence of shots cuts the quietness, she finds herself increasing her pace. Still, it's not as fast as she would prefer.
By the time the clearing facades, all that's left is ghost silence.
She moves carefully through the reserved terrain, pushing through branches while scratching against unforgiving pine needles.
