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Clarke found them fascinating, the people who had fallen from the sky. Not that she’d ever tell anyone that; the others didn’t like or trust them. Raven scowled whenever she brought them up and Bellamy just frowned and got quiet.
The leader of the sky people was weak by their standards; most of them would have never survived past childhood on the ground, where you were made to fight for every breath you took.
Yet she had lasted almost a month so far, kept both herself and most of her people alive with little resources and little knowledge of their surroundings. Clarke respected that.
Clarke also respected the fact that the girl, probably only a few years her junior with the same immeasurable pressure of keeping her people alive placed not quite so squarely on her shoulders, was willing to stand up to her and fight her over the decisions Clarke made that she disagreed with.
Lexa had a spark in her that Clarke hadn’t seen in a long time. Gustus, Indra and Anya trailed after her whenever she wandered alone though their camp. The rest of her people, save for Lincoln who Octavia had taken a liking to and was off with more often than not much to Bellamy’s great disapproval, were wary of them, and rightly so.
Every single one of them, even their healers and seamstresses, had been trained from a young age to fight, to survive. Which made it harder than it should have been for Clarke to find her alone and corner her and to be honest it was Lexa who cornered her.
“These are good.” Lexa said, and Clarke jumped and reached for the knife hanging from her belt.
“You shouldn’t scare me like that,” Clarke told her, stepping the rest of the way into her tent. “I could have killed you.”
“Sorry,” Lexa shrugged and Clarke knew she didn’t mean it. “These really are good though.” She held up the object in her hand and Clarke saw that it was her sketch book; the one that Bellamy and Raven had organized the others into making for her after her first season as commander.
“Thanks.” Clarke said, trying to sound as unaffected as she could. But she knew what Lexa had seen in there; pictures of the earth, of her tribe (her family), the way their ship had looked as it streaked towards the earth, pictures of her. “It was something I used to do when I was younger, now I do it to get my mind off everything I’ve had to do for us to survive.”
“It’s not easy being in charge.” Lexa said and it sounded like she was agreeing with Clarke. “I have enough trouble with the hundred- eighty six. I can’t imagine what it must be like leading thousands of people.”
“It’s exactly the same. Whenever one of them dies I feel it. I’m responsible for their lives, just like you are. Just because I’m doing it on a larger scale than you doesn’t change the feeling you get when something happens.”
Lexa set the book aside and leaned forwards like this conversation would let her in on some great secret.
“Does it get easier?”
Clarke laughed, “No.”