Chapter Text
Clarke watched silently from the tree line as the smoke curled it's way upwards darkening the sky and clogging her throat. She knew she should be crying like the other mourners, sobbing on their knees by the dying ashes of the fire, her black coat pulled over her head in the traditional sign if respect and her desperate cries echoing through the woods.
But even if she wanted the comfort of others she couldn't bring herself to let any more tears fall. They had left her that first night when she held her fathers body as he left this world. His face was mutilated beyond recognition by the burns but she could still see the moment his spirit left his body- and her- behind.
She had held his now empty body close, the tears running down her face as she screamed every curse she knew at the monsters who had done this to him. She had sobbed, each breath a struggle ripping at her lungs until her mother had come and joined her in her grief. She stopped her shouting then and had just enjoyed the feeling of her mother holding her tight morning their loss together. Eventually the tears stopped falling and she got up and walked away from them, leaving her mother to day goodbye. She walked on into the night and into the early hours of the morning when she came to rest at the top of the cliff overlooking the forest. The image of his lifeless body was branded into her mind but there she prayed. For her fathers spirit, for his people and, most of all, for her strength. She vowed never to show such weakness and to cry again and had marched back to their destroyed camp with determination and a new found purpose.
By the time she arrived back her tribe were already rebuilding the camp. Working in solemn silence to try and rebuild their lives from the rubble and the ashes. The rockets had torn through their camp leaving only destruction in their wake. It could have been much worse, they had been quite lucky in fact. A scout had spotted the bright lights leaving the camp of the sky people and heading to them. They had evacuated the camp of all who were too important, unable or too young to fight. This included Clarke and her mother Abby who were the tribe healers. But not Clarke's father, the tribe leader. The warriors had stood valiantly as the flares- as she now knew them to be- had raced each other to reach the camp. They didn't know what they faced and had been unprepared for the onslaught. Clarke's shout of warning too little too late to save the people who were just trying to save the rest.
After a few rickety shelters had been constructed, food collected and firewood stored the group had started the arduous task of burning the dead. Each mangled body, only recognisable by their individual necklaces, had been wrapped in material and set on a pyre to burn and be sent upwards. This had carried on most of the week, a constant smell of smoke and burning flesh hung over the camp and Clarke was avoiding it. She would hike away early in the morning and find a tree to sit in with her sketchbook to draw the world around her. It was oddly calming and a welcome distraction from the horror that was her life. Only on the last day of mourning had she dragged herself to the clearing currently serving as a memorial ground to watch her father go up in flames. He was the last to go as he was their leader and was granted that small honour. The whole tribe- or what was left of it- had turned out to watch their beloved 'king' leave.
To Clarke it was all a bit perverse. Her father had left his body and ascended in her mind already and the idea of surrounding his corpse with the element that had ultimately caused his demise was a wicked irony that felt wrong to her.
It was becoming too much watching his last connection to the Earth disappear so she turned around and walked back into the trees. None if the mourners noticed apart from her mother who gave her a tearful smile, well more of a grimace, as she left. Now her father was gone Clarke knew she would be in charge. Despite only being seventeen she was mature and respected among their people. Her mother could take the position but no one doubted her reluctance to leave her job as healer and Clarke was an only child- a rarity among them. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do know the mourning was over. Go on with their lives as normal? Declare war? Seek revenge in another way? She was tired, stressed and could feel a headache coming on so she jumped up and grasped the nearest branch using the momentum to swing herself up. She nimbly climbed the tree until she sat on one of the topmost branches surveying the sea of green stretching as far as the eye could see. She leant back against the trunk and quietly watched the world go by.
After a few hours of silent contemplation Clarke decided that now would be a good time to see what needed to be done. She jumped down from branch to branch until landing on the soft forest floor. The camp was still quiet when Clarke entered but there was an air of calmness as well that could only come from the closure the mourning brought everyone. A small boy no older than twelve, Declan she remembered, ran over from where he was helping the others construct a new wall.
"Hello Clarke," Declan said nervously suddenly very interested in his fingernails.
"Hey Declan. What's up?" Clarke asked forcing a cheerfulness into her voice that sounded fake even to her own ears.
However Declan took it as a good sign and continued.
"There's a meeting in the main hall about strategy. Abby said to tell you when you came back."
Clarke nodded her thanks and watched as he scurried back to work. No rest for the wicked Clarke thought and trudged to the biggest structure she could see guessing this was the new main hall. Not much of a hall but impressive none the less considering the resources they had.
Raised voices could be heard from outside and people scurried past afraid to accidentally eavesdrop but Clarke marched through the opening and stood inside letting her eyes adjust.
Her mum, Abby and the tribe's wise woman, Agnatha were glaring at each other from each side if the room. Abby was glaring daggers at Agnatha, arms crossed and foot tapping in annoyance while the other woman had her hands on her hips and her lips pursed.
Clarke sighed. "What now?"
"Retaliation that's what," Agnatha snapped not taking her eyes off Abby, "or lack there of."
"Clarke, we slightly differ in our opinions is all," Abby interjected. Clarke and Agnatha snorted at that.
Clarke sighed inwardly, "what's the problem then?"
They both started speaking together but Agnatha spoke louder and more forcefully than Abby silencing her, "it's the retaliation strategy. We need to show these people we are not to be messed with. Your weak hearted mother thinks that we shouldn't do anything but that will only encourage them to try to assert dominance. We must declare war at once-"
"We cannot declare war when we have no warriors!" Abby growled angrily.
"We have plenty of people willing to fight!" Agnatha retorted.
"Stop!" Clarke shouted before they could resume their previous argument, "we need to think of this logically. Agnatha you're right, we need to show them their actions have consequences," Agnatha smiled smugly at Abby who let out a squeak of protest. Clarke put up a hand to silence them both, "however Mom you're right we don't have the resources, warriors or moral for an all out war."
Agnatha began to scowl at being undermined and Abby tugged her braid nervously though obviously relieved Clarke listened to her.
"This needs to be done carefully, each move calculated and precise. We are in a chess match and I am determined to win."
"And how exactly are you going to accomplish that?" Agnatha drawled, the scowl still on her face.
"We must create discord in their camp. Put them out of their comfort zone," Abby interjected.
"Exactly," Clarke agreed the corners of her mouth slowly curling upwards, "and I have the perfect plan."