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Clarke had forgotten how long she’d been walking.
It was hard at first, carrying the weight of her mistakes and her friends and her flaws on her back. It was heavy. For the first week, it was all she could do not to turn around and run back into Bellamy’s arms.
She wasn’t ready for that though. Clarke had seen the look in Bellamy’s eyes when she walked away from him. You’re running away, they said. God, was she running away. But with every step, her burden got a little lighter.
By the time she got to the third grounder camp, she was almost ready to be around other people again. Breathing wasn’t quite so hard anymore. Their leader had heard of her, of course, but admired her strength and offered her a place to sleep.
A few hours later and she’s sitting by a fire unnoticed, watching some grounder children play near her. Clarke looks at them and smiles softly. She remembers when she was that innocent, wishes she still was, wishes she could be. For now though, it’s enough that these children are.
Back at camp, everyone knows who she is. They look at her differently, even her friends. She hears the whispers of those who came down after the 100. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. She can’t find it in her to disagree.
For the first time, she’s glad she left. Because these children don’t know any of that. They don’t know what she’s done. They make faces at each other. When one of those faces is so silly that she can’t help but laugh, they whip around to stare at her.
Wanheda, whispers one of the children. Commander of death. Someone, something so terrifying that it’s all they can do to run away.
Clarke leaves not long after that. She’s still running away.
She didn’t mean to become this person. She just wanted to save her people, to survive. Somewhere along the way, she lost herself and everything she stood for. So she knows now. She knows that no matter how far or how fast she runs, it’s too late.
She has become death.