How long had it been since she had walked away from Arkadia? Clarke Griffin would be lying if she tried to say she didn't know the exact amount of time - fifty-eight days, and counting.
One came after another, and with every day that passed, the blonde grew more accustomed to the wilderness. Those "Earth Skills" classes were working a miracle - and in the loneliness she thrived. Or, more like it, in the loneliness she knew that another betrayal would never fall upon her, and that she would never have to face those who she had inadvertently hurt. Nearly two months ago, she had to make the call to irradiate Mount Weather, costing hundreds their lives, and there was no moment that didn't haunt her. In her sleep, when she was awake. She was a murderer, whether she did it for her people or not. Because of that, she could not face those people. How could she face those who lived while the dead still haunted her?
For the fifty-eighth day in a row, the blonde found shelter. Tonight, she hunkered down in an old metal bunker, grown over with ivy and foliage. It wasn't the warmest, but she had a fur blanket to wrap herself up with, and there was food - a rabbit that she had caught earlier in the day. As the sun set in the distance, dappling oranges and purples between the rapidly falling tree line, she set a fire. Then, for the first moment that day, she lowered her guard and warmed her hands over the small burning bundle.<|im_end|>
Rylen was always watching but never watched, assigned by the Heda herself to keep his watchful eyes on one rogue "Clarke Griffin" - or, as those in his village and many others called her after the destruction of all those living within Mount Weather, "Wanheda". It translated to "commander of death", a name born to the woman who's destruction struck the hearts of all. Many would kill to have her, and many would kill her. The Commander herself, it seemed, wished for her to be alive and well. The adult male didn't question his Heda's orders and simply followed them. The goal was simple: keep the Wanheda safe, and once possible bring her to Polis.
Sometimes he lost her - not often though, and never for long. Tonight he watched from afar, waiting for the right chance to strike. Rylen had been given orders to try and return Wanheda to Polis, lest Azgeda get their hands on her. Clarke would stand no chance against an army and reports had come that Azgeda's soldiers were making a mount on Polis. The woman would fight, that he had little doubt of, but his pure muscle outweighed her and he stood a chance. Clarke looked almost peaceful, though he knew from the nights he had watched her that no peace befell her. As she sat by the fire he crept in towards her and, as the fire crackled and snapped, he lunged forward to push her down to the ground and pull her arms behind her back. If he could pin her, he would bind her hands with rope.<|im_end|>