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"That's my mom," Clarke said, eyes wide.
"Clarke, we can't go back, the missile is coming," Lexa protested.
"I have to--"
Before she could say anything, a high pitched whistle tore through the air.
Lexa didn't hesitate to grab Clarke and throw her to the ground.
---
She couldn't think of the last time see looked at the forest.
It was beautiful, Clarke realized. Greens and browns. Colors she'd only seen in television shows or pictures, or the occasional glance of that tree on the Ark.
She couldn't focus on it. Her mind kept ringing. Like a phone that wouldn't shut up. She tapped her ears, trying to dislodge the noise.
"--Arke. Clarke," a voice cut through the noise.
Clarke turned her head slowly, like her movements were suspended in water.
Water... that was another thing she hadn't seen in abundance until she fell.
"We need to assess the damage," the girl whispered. With a shock, the noise and confusion left her. Clarke stared at Lexa in horror.
Slowly, she turned to look downwards.
A crater. That was all that was left of Tondc.
"Oh my god," she whimpered.
"I saw the Mountain Man," Lexa said coldly, staring over the crater. "He went down there, and then left. I would have gone after him, but..."
"You were watching me," Clarke realized. "How long was I out?"
"The missile fell about ten minutes ago. You awoke soon after that, but you were dazed until now."
Clarke nodded slowly, trying to suspend the horror she felt as she stared downwards at the wreckage.
No... Wreckage implied something remained. There was nothing.
"Is anyone..." She didn't have to finish it. Lexa looked sadly down.
"I don't see how anyone could have survived," she whispered.
"Let's go," the blonde said. "We need to make sure."
They weaved their way past fragments of metal. Chunks of stone.
Nothing was distinguishable from anything else. No people. No buildings. Just a mass of debris that looked like it'd been put through a blender and poured into a hole in the ground.
"It struck on the edge of the town," Lexa noted. "Away from us. If we'd gone any other direction..."
Clarke looked around, desperately seeking any movement. any life.
But there was nothing. The trees has been pushed violently back, away from the explosion. There was nowhere for survivors to hide. And if there were any... The spotter would have killed him.
In the distance, a paint whinny caught their attentions.
Two horses, a brown one and a white one, bolted out of the forest.
The latter's tale was aflame.
Lexa barked a few words in Trigedasleng, and the two beasts ran over to her. She removed her overcoat, beating the flames off the mare, running her hands to sooth it's fearful cries.
"We've found the survivors," the Commander said wistfully, her hands stroking the horse's neck as it slowly began to calm. The fire hadn't done extreme damage, mostly just scared the animal. Still, the scent of burning hair permeated through the landscape.
For one glorious, reckless second, Clarke almost suggested the unthinkable.
Let's run. Let's leave. Let's be free. She could be happy, she thought. If she could get away from all the death, and the war, and the damned leadership that had been thrown at her so suddenly.
For one wonderful second, she stared at Lexa and imagined being... them. Alone. No war. No death. No armies to command, or civilians to sacrifice for the greater good, if such a thing existed.
But her mind trailed back to Mount Weather. To Bellamy. To all the 47--or however many were left, now. To the Grounders who'd been kept in cages and bled like livestock, only to be given to their brothers, who'd been turned into rabid dogs.
For one reckless second, she tried to ignore all that.
But the second ended, and she rested her hand on the neck of the brown horse. "Let's go find the army," she said, her voice detached. Trying to make her mind copy it.
Lexa, for her part, seemed to know. She looked into the distance, away from Mount Weather, and shook her head, as if clearing her mind of a fantasy or a dream.
"Of course," she whispered, mounting the white mare with a leap, not slowed down by the lack of saddle or reins.
Clarke took a little longer, and only managed after Lexa dismounted and helped her. That, at least, earned her a small smile.
After a few moments, they left, riding toward the army, and toward duty.
The second had ended, Clarke knew. But she could always dream of a future where it existed.