Work Text:
After an hour goes by with no sign of Clarke or Ronnie, and then two...and then three...Lexa finally gives instruction for several of the Nightbloods to scout the surrounding forest. She refuses to allow herself to worry, convinces herself that the two of them had just gone exploring and simply gotten lost. Lexa is sure she'll be relieved and exasperated as soon as she sees them both traipsing back through the trees. But, one by one, the Nightbloods return with nothing to report.
Lexa is in the middle of what is quite possibly her hundredth pacing rotation around the campfire when she sees him. At first she isn't sure who it is - wonders if it's one of the youngest Nightbloods returning from gathering wood - but then she recognizes him. Ronnie, hunched over and clutching at his right arm with his left. He stumbles out of the tree line and into the sunlight, revealing blood dripping from his limp arm and down his face. As soon as he sees her his pace quickens, but his feet can't keep up. He falls to his knees just as Lexa reaches his side.
"Roni!" she breathes, falling to her knees beside him in an effort to catch him. She gets her arms around him too late, and in a second they're both in the dirt. She speaks quickly in panicked Trigedasleng. "Roni, are you okay?" And then, without waiting for his answer, turns to shout to the rest of camp. "Help! We need a healer! Quickly!"
The guards nearest rush to her side and several more run off into the camp, but a second after she gives the order Lexa realizes the inherent problem. Clarke is their healer, and Clarke is missing.
"Heda, they..." Ronnie tries to get back on his feet, but it's obvious that he's far from having the strength to do so. It doesn't take much pressure at all from Lexa's hands to keep him where he is. "They took Clarke," he manages to get out. He squints at her, like he's having a hard time fully making her out, but he talks as fast as he can between pants, the words tumbling over each other as they come out of him. "Warriors from Azgeda. I killed one of them, I think Clarke might've gotten another. They knew where the traps were. But I fell, and when I woke up..." he swallows. "They were all gone. I couldn't stop them, Heda, I'm sorry..."
Fear. The cold sting of terror rushes through Lexa's blood, but she knows she does not have the luxury of panic. Not now.
"Where?" she quickly asks. Footsteps behind her announce the arrival of a number of running feet, but her eyes and hands don't leave Ronnie. "How long ago?"
Ronnie gestures vaguely behind him. "Straight back there, half a mile. There are two trees that grow out from the same trunk. I don't know..." he shakes his head and turns somehow even paler. "An hour ago, maybe two."
"Alright - it's alright, Roni."
Lexa has never been a good healer; she doesn't have the eye for it, or the hands. There was much that she learned from Costia and more that she's learned from Clarke, but what she remembers is basic at best and theoretical at worst. Luckily, every Nightblood is trained in basic battlefield triage and a few of them are quite good at it.
She steps back as those Nightbloods go to work, the guards helping to carry Ronnie into her tent and out of the cooling air. Her mind races, cataloging options and actions even as she watches, feeling utterly helpless.
"Heda," says a voice at her elbow, snapping Lexa back into reality. Kita stands waiting, a grim expression on her face.
"He says they were attacked half a mile out," she tells the Nightblood, pointing in the direction Ronnie had indicated. "Take two with you and scout it out, see if you can pick up the trail. Report back as quickly as you can; I will begin packing camp."
Kita nods and immediately calls the names of two other Nightbloods. Within seconds, all three are running back in the direction Ronnie came from.
The guards that aren't assisting with Ronnie are already pulling down tents and packing trunks with surprising efficiency. The remaining Nightbloods, all the youngest, don't need to ask Lexa what to do - they instantly set about breaking down the campfire, packing up any remaining food and game, and saddling the horses. They have no idea what Lexa plans but it's clear from the Commander's face that, at the very least, it's time to move.
Before Lexa can get too far in assisting - she barely manages to saddle Trimani and begin packing her bags - a Nightblood runs out of her tent toward her. "Heda, Roni is stable, but he needs a healer. He won't be able to ride by himself."
She has to push down the anxiety. She has to ignore the worry, and the fear; she doesn't have the luxury of panic. Even as her pulse rushes in her neck, audible in her ear drums, she knows she can't let herself get caught up in the knowledge that a Nightblood who cannot ride on their own is a gravely wounded Nightblood. Ronnie's health and, if he was right, Clarke's very life depend heavily on what happens in the next few hours. She needs to be clear headed. She needs to act.
The memory of a nightmare from weeks ago makes bile rise in the back of her throat. She swallows it back down.
"He will have to go back, then," Lexa says, and leaves off preparing her horse to follow the Nightblood back.
Ronnie is no longer bleeding, his wounds having been hastily but effectively closed. They will not stay that way - Lexa has seen enough of them to know - but they should hold long enough to get him back to Polis, to a real healer. His skin is pale and clammy, and it's clear he has lost a lot of blood...but there is nothing more she can do for him here. They spend more time than she wants to sacrifice, and if the Ice Nation means to fight she will need every able body she can. But she helps saddle Ronnie up with one of the guards, the arms of whom are among the only things keeping the unconscious Nightblood on the horse, and sends them back. And tries very hard, as she watches the horse's hooves kick up dirt, not to think about this being the last time that she sees him.
As if on cue, Kita and the Nightbloods she'd taken with her come bounding out of the trees. They're beside her in seconds and Lexa would never have heard them coming if she hadn't happened to see them first. She would almost be proud, given other circumstances.
"We found the warrior Ronnie killed," Kita reports without preamble. "The trail continues north from there. They made no attempt to hide their movements, following them should be a matter of simple tracking."
It's difficult to believe that that an incursion of Azgedan forces into Trikru territory - forces skilled enough to sneak up on and take down Clarke and Ronnie without either escaping to warn the camp - couldn't effectively cover their tracks. Even if they were in a hurry, surely some attempt at obscuring their path or direction would be made. That the tracks are as clear as Kita suggests means only one thing.
"They want to be followed," Lexa says quietly.
That changes things. She hadn't until that moment allowed herself to consider why Azgeda took Clarke. Why take Clarke and not Ronnie? Why risk coming into Trikru territory, and then not hide it? To use her as bait. To lure Lexa into doing something stupid, something they could use against her and her Coalition. Paralysis weighs her feet, and she closes her eyes. She's been here before. Staying her hand, taking the diplomatic option. For the good of her people. For the good of her Coalition.
And what did it get her?
Her dream flashes before her eyes again, and paralysis turns to rage.
It changes nothing. So Azgeda wants her to follow; she'll follow. Azgeda wants her to come; she'll come. If Azgeda wants her to bring fire and fury to get Clarke back, safe and sound, she will burn the whole damned forest to the ground. She will move the earth itself before it comes between them.
"Leave everything!" she shouts in Trigedasleng, turning to the rest of the camp. Activity ceases immediately, the remaining Nightbloods and guards turning to look at her. Her pulse beats like a drum in her ears, and for a moment fear spikes along with the anger. Blood has already been drawn this day. With her words, she guarantees that yet more will be. But Clarke needs her. And she will not allow Azgeda to commit this crime twice.
"We ride light," she continues. And then, the fear subsiding, her lips twist and she roars, "We ride for blood!"
A whoop of excitement erupts from the Nightbloods, as if this were the best news they've heard all day. Lexa knows that many of them are too young to understand that this isn't an adventure - it could mean their deaths, or hers. But she doesn't have the luxury of waiting for reinforcements and small though many of them may be, these are the best trained warriors in the world. They'll be all she needs. They'll have to be.
The guards are more subdued, but nevertheless seem to feel the instant rise in energy and excitement. They immediately assist saddling the remaining horses while the Nightbloods rush to their packs and still-pitched tents to gather their weapons. Within minutes, every warrior is mounted and holding the reins of their horse, armed and expectant, awaiting her commands.
When she forged her Coalition, she envisioned a generation of Nightbloods that would not have to be blooded before the age of ten. Or fourteen, even, but this - there are so many young faces looking back at her. Highly trained faces who would see combat and death sooner or later, in this world where violence doesn't spare the innocent.
And her Nightbloods are hardly innocent. Of course it would come for them.
She mounts her horse, bow, quiver, and sword tied to the saddle. It's time to go.
"We ride!" she shouts, and steers Timani into the tree line.
She doesn't need to look back to know the Nightbloods follow close on her heels. The pounding of horses' hooves echoes behind her, close but never in front. Kita is the only rider Lexa can physically see and even she stays at least a head behind Trimani. Nevertheless, it's Kita who leads them to the place Ronnie described and points out the dead warrior.
Lexa bounds off her horse before she fully has a chance to stop and quickly examines the body. Kita wouldn't have misjudged, but still she wants to see for herself. The warrior's face is smeared with white warpaint, his clothes and armor streaked with the usual Azgedan black and white. Lexa also sees a trail of blood leading off among the conspicuous tracks that Clarke's kidnappers left for them to follow, indicating that Ronnie was right about something else: Clarke must have at least injured one other.
These assessments are quickly made and Lexa swings back into Trimani's saddle before all of the Nightbloods even have a chance to gather. They quickly follow the trail north, cantering as quickly as forest floor and safety for the horses will allow. After three or so hours, they come upon another body that even from several paces away is easily identified as another of the Azgedan warriors.
The second one. So Clarke's blade had struck true. Lexa calls a halt and for light; the forest is dark by now, and though his armor marks him, she needs to know.
A guard stands over her, holding a lantern above her head as she stoops to examine the scene. Judging by the sheer amount of blood staining his clothing - and not the forest floor beneath him - she hazards that he had been traveling with the wound that killed him. And sure enough, though the trail widens here as horses no doubt fanned out around the dead man, there is no sign of a struggle. This was not the casualty of a desperate or successful attempt at escape. This was indeed the result of a fierce but failed attempt at defense.
The trail continues on, the kidnappers clearly in ever more of a hurry, and Lexa climbs back into the saddle. They will have to move slowly so as to not lose it in the darkness, but they should be able to find where they've taken her. And when they do, she will make them pay.
The light fades from the sky and darkness falls over the forest. After a time, Lexa orders all lanterns put out. It forces their pace even slower, but they must be getting close - and sentries are trained to spot a light among the trees from several miles away. The lack of light also means that, shortly thereafter, Lexa is able to see the thin, swirling trail of smoke rising from the trees ahead of them.
They're still several miles out. The warriors that took Clarke were certainly riding far faster, with daylight to guide them and no concern over who might hear or see them coming. Lexa would guess they'd arrived at their camp in the early afternoon, which means Clarke has been there for half a day. Assuming she is still there.
She doesn't let herself consider that possibility for very long.
Instead, she calls the horses to a stop once more. Everyone dismounts this time and a few Nightbloods tie the horses to nearby trees. Lexa motions for Kita and the two she'd brought with her earlier, and while the rest settle down to rest without fire or shelter, she leads them deeper into the trees.
Just as lanterns would pick them out from miles off, they're now too close to hope that hoofbeats wouldn't give them away. So the four of them, clad in black and with muffled weapons at their sides, move on foot. They fan out, separated enough to hopefully spot any sentries before they are spotted in turn, but not so far that they wouldn't be able to hear a cry of alarm. There is little question that there is a camp ahead of them, but what sort and how big of one is yet to be determined. She tells herself, repeatedly, that rushing in headfirst without any idea of what awaits them would do little to help Clarke; they need information, and getting that information will take time. Precious, precious time. But also necessary time, if they wish to avoid ending up injured or dead. Doing so allows Lexa to control the impulse to rush in, sword singing...but it is a narrow thing.
Lexa is able to see little in the darkness, particularly because she can't get too close to the edge of the camp. Sentries are numerous and while it's useful to know their position - she'll have to kill at least enough on this side to avoid their presence being noticed until absolutely necessary when they do attack - it makes scouting the area even more difficult. And, perhaps more frustrating, even slower.
Eventually, they manage a complete circuit around the camp. Between the four of them they're able to catalogue the number of sentries, any visible defenses, and a general idea of the number of tents. Lexa doesn't even bother noting how many might contain warriors - this is a war camp if she's ever seen one. Every tent will contain at least one warrior, and there are well over a hundred tents. Even in the dark, it's clear they are ready for battle. Why they would bring such a force into Trikru territory and the obvious reality that they would not need so many to kidnap Clarke does not escape Lexa - but she ignores these problems for now. One thing at a time.
They silently return to the Nightblood's camp and only then does Lexa ask each of them for a report of what they saw. The Nightbloods each report numbers and observations very similar to Lexa's own estimations, which even now gives her a spark of pride. But then Kita clears her throat.
"Heda, there is something else." She straightens her shoulders and raises her chin, as if ready to receive a reprimand. "I saw a slope in the trees and climbed it for a better view. It is possible I could have been spotted, though I was careful. I believe I saw where they might be keeping Wanheda."
She should be ready for a reprimand. Putting herself in the camp's sight lines was an incredibly reckless thing to do, and jeopardized not only her safety but everyone else's as well - not to mention it defied a direct order that Lexa gave at the start, to stay low and take no risks. But Lexa doesn't consider any of this. Instead she grabs the scrap of paper they'd been using to piece together their information into a sketch of the camp and puts it down in front of Kita. "Show me."
Kita nods and quickly scans the makeshift map. "Here," she points to a spot a little to the left of the center. "There is a tall pole in the ground here. Someone is tied to it, and two warriors are standing guard near by. It was too dark and too far away to confirm that the figure is Wanheda, but I don't know who else they would have reason to tie up."
Lexa's hand twitches for the sword at her side.
"That will be our target, then," she says, instead of running for her horse and jumping into the saddle immediately. Without a visual confirmation they're working on an assumption at best - but it's a good one, and the best they have.
She assigns the other two Nightbloods to tabulating the resources they have - how many bows, how many arrows, what else they might have that would give them the time they need to get to that gap in the tents. In the meantime, she works with Kita to design a plan to do just that, and they debate their options until well into the early hours of the morning. Only then, when they have agreed upon a strategy, do they settle down with the others to rest.
Lexa wants nothing more than to charge into that camp now, knowing full well that any hour in which Clarke is in Azgeda's hands is another hour that harm could come to her. But her people have been awake for most of the night and all of the day before, and are as of yet in no shape to fight. If Azgeda wanted to kill Clarke, they would have done it when they ambushed her. That they didn't must mean that they want her alive, for one reason or another. And so she posts sentries to watch the camp and, as the sun rises, she closes her eyes. Just hold on, Clarke, she thinks to herself. And forgive me.
When she wakes, the sky is awash in early morning light. She hasn't been asleep long, that much she knows, but she and Kita had been up until just an hour or two before sunrise. Now, the height of the sun indicates that it's mid-morning.
Lexa's sleep was anything but peaceful - full of nightmares, most that she thankfully can't remember. The ones she can remember are bad enough. The instant her eyes open, her hand reaches toward her sword. She'd unbelted it before falling asleep, but it was never so much as a few inches from her. In under a minute she's fully armed and ready, and as she looks around their makeshift camp she sees that she isn't the only one.
Nightbloods are silently but quickly disassembling the small amount of setting up they'd done the night before. Most didn't even pitch tents, instead preferring to sleep on the ground, and food was pilfered from the leftover dried meats and fruits they'd brought with them in lieu of a cooking fire. By the time Lexa has a chance to saddle Trimani and strap her gear into place, everything is cleared and packed. Aside from the flat spaces of Earth where each person slept, it’s as if they were never there. And each Nightblood stands next to his or her horse, reins in hand, expressions ranging from expectation to resolve to excitement - but all ready, and all eyes fixed on their Commander.
She clenches her hands into fists so they can't see her fingers shaking.
What is she about to do? What is she about to make them do? Attacking a member of the Coalition...
She sets her jaw and swallows.
"Natbliddas," she says, and forces her voice to remain calm and even. There is no pulling away from this precipice. She and Clarke knew this had been a possibility from the beginning, had discussed it at length, and carried on with their relationship anyway. She had known the dangers it would pose to her, to Clarke, and to her Coalition from day one, and had long ago decided that the threat was worth it. Now it has actualized itself, and she must deal with those consequences as best she can. Clarke deserves that. Her people deserve that.
Doesn't she deserve that? Surely no one on this land, no matter their crimes, deserves to live that trauma twice.
Even if she did put herself in this position.
Clarke needs her.
"This is not the day you've been training for," she continues in English. Some of the Nightbloods look baffled by this; this is surely not the rallying cry they were expecting to hear. But it is the truth. "Your training has been in anticipation of a better day. A brighter day. A day on which blood is shed not for power, but for duty. A day on which a leader is born, a Commander is discovered, and our people find a new protector.
"But that is not this day. This day, we have been called to attack those who have claimed to be our friends. Those who have broken bread with us, who have slept in our home and called us siblings. It is a leader's duty to protect those who are under their charge, and yesterday, Azgeda challenged that responsibility."
Lexa's lips twist, and for a beat she falls silent. That rage, familiar and comforting, licks at her insides and warms her blood. When she speaks again, it is through a snarl.
"Like thieves in the night they came into allied territory and kidnapped Wanheda. They tried to kill your brother. And though they may call themselves allies in the daylight they have shown their true colors in this act. Wanheda has helped us, has healed us, has prevented war and kept our peace for as long as she has been here, and they have stolen her away in spite of my protection to challenge my rule and my strength." Lifting her voice to bend the Earth, she says in Trigedasleng, "Will you allow it?"
"No!" is the predicted and immediate response. The Nightbloods leap into their saddles like it's nothing, all traces of confusion or nerves gone.
Their whooping and cries of excitement are surely not contributing to any hope they had of going undetected by Azgeda's sentries, but before Lexa can think of quieting them Kita pulls her horse up out of the line of Nightbloods and raises her spear. Their cheers quiet just enough for her voice to clearly ring out among them. "For Wanheda!"
It takes no time at all for the rest of the assembled warriors, guards included, to take up that chant, even as Lexa mounts her horse and turns to face them.
"Torches!"
Four assigned Nightbloods strike flame onto oil-soaked torches and hold their light aloft. They aren't needed now, with the sun still high in the sky, but they will be necessary for the next step.
"Bows!"
The remaining Nightbloods and their accompanying guards draw bows from their sheathes on their saddles and string them. Each rides with a quiver in front of one knee, populated by arrows tied with oil-soaked rags. Lexa does not draw her bow, but instead reaches for her sword; it sings from its sheath, and she holds its bright steel blade aloft.
"We ride!" she shouts, and another whoop goes up as she turns Trimani and leads the charge out of the woods.
The sentries will know of their arrival. With hoofbeats thundering across the forest floor, their approach will sound like drums to waiting ears. But stealth was never part of the equation, not this time. This time they strike with fire and with fury, and by the time the Azgedan forces have recovered from their shock enough to mount a defense, they will be gone. Ancestors willing, with Clarke safely among them.
The first sentry they come upon barely has enough time to turn before he's cut down by Lexa's sword. In moments there's another to their left, and then to their right - running back toward their camp and needlessly shouting warnings. Both fall from arrows neatly shot from the guard's bow to Lexa's right. The Nightbloods were instructed to keep their arrows safe until they hit the tree line, which is exactly what they do.
Lexa pulls Trimani up short so quickly that the horse jumps to a halt. "Light the arrows!" Lexa roars in Trigedasleng. Even before the order, Nightbloods gather around those holding torches and light their arrows - but not before Azgedan warriors, groggy and wearing only pieces of armor, begin to rush through the edges of the camp. "Fire at will!"
Flaming arrows arc against the sky and land among the tents. Lexa gave no further direction than to shoot as far as possible and aim for anything flammable, but the Nightbloods clearly know what she's after. Distraction, and chaos.
Shouts in the distance call more warriors, these only slightly more prepared with weapons in hand, to the front of the camp. After several volleys, the first three lines of tents are entirely aflame. The wind is on their side and carries the fire inward, sending the flames lapping at tents faster than warriors and guards can douse them. Their window of opportunity to get in, find Clarke, and get out without any casualties is narrow, but it's there - and it begins now.
She matches the lines of tents to the map they drew, and locates what Kita had seen the night before: a gap in the tents just to one side of center, an irregularity unmatched by the military organization of the rest of the camp. She looks to the right, catches Kita's eye, and nods. As the last of the flaming arrows is fired, Lexa lifts her sword - still coated with that sentry's blood - high into the air, and roars a battle cry. The Nightbloods change out their bows for melee weapons, lift them into the air, and join their voices to hers as she leads the charge down, down into the fire and confusion. She has one destination in mind, and she cuts down any and all who get in her way.
Lexa is at the front of the charge and therefore can't confirm the safety of her Nightbloods. She trained them well, all should be able to dispatch unprepared, unmounted warriors - but in truth, she simply doesn't have the room in her mind to worry for them. Battle leaves no room for emotion. Only calculated thought, only instinct, only enough time to respond to the enemy or obstacle in front of you. Lexa is used to this state of mind and embraces it fully now as she makes short work of cutting a path into the gathering warriors.
The camp is indeed enormous, just as each of her scouts reported. But Kita is right at her side, cutting down guards and warriors with just as much speed and accuracy, and the younger woman throws her horse sideways to lead the way deeper into the rows of tents. Lexa doesn't have to turn around to know that Nightbloods close in behind them, blocking the path for any of the warriors already alerted to their presence. At least for the moment, Lexa and Kita are largely unencumbered and able to gallop toward their target.
It doesn't take long. They break into a clearing, a purposeful ring of tents with only one tent present just right of center. The pole Kita had seen the night before stands off to the opposite side, along with two stunned guards. And on the other end of the clearing, no more than two hundred yards away, is a man clad entirely in black kneeling in front of someone tied to a chair. In the same instant that Lexa identifies that person as Clarke, a volley of flaming arrows appears above them and fall directly toward the pair.
"No!"
Lexa twists her sword, currently stuck on the end of a slash that disemboweled the guard she just rode down, and wheels Trimani around. The arrows miss Clarke, thank the Flame, but catches the person in front of her. As he ignites and scrambles away, she rides directly to Clarke and jumps from the saddle.
"Clarke!" she cries, and if it weren't for the adrenaline of battle she is certain there would be tears in her eyes. Clarke is...horrific. Bruises cover her face, her arms are lined with row after row of fresh, blistering burns, her front is soaked in what must be her own vomit, and blood leaks from - everywhere, just everywhere. Her lips are split and nose runs, and there's a gash on her head that Lexa can see from even this far away; at the sound of her voice, Clarke's head lolls towards her and she clearly has to force open bruised and swollen eyes. Fear sits in her stomach like acid, and she feels panic creeping in at the edge of her mind. Lexa jumps out of her saddle and all but slides to Clarke's side.
"By the Flame, Clarke," she breathes. Her voice shakes. She's dropped her sword without noticing or meaning to, and now pulls at the bonds tying Clarke's hands and feet to the chair, getting a knife under them to cut through. "Are you alright??"
"Yeah," Clarke's voice sounds so unlike her, Lexa might not have recognized it if the woman herself weren't sitting right in front of her. It's slurred and quiet, raspy to the point of unintelligibility. "Totally fine."
The knife slides through one rope, then a second, releasing Clarke's right side. She moves to the ropes on her left hand - and chokes on her gag reflex.
Lexa hadn't noticed it, at first. But now it's impossible to ignore: her left hand has been mangled, a massive welt right in the center of the back of her hand and three fingers broken and useless, shifted grotesquely out of place. Her mind flashes to the painting Clarke completed for her just days ago, to the charcoal sketches, to the patients Clarke has told her about, and now she is blinking away tears.
"You are not fine," she says, and blinks rapidly until her vision clears. She cuts that arm free, then her other leg, and stands. "Can you walk?"
She doesn't wait for Clarke to answer. For expediency, she will tell herself later - they needed to be out of there as quickly as possible, as the longer they stay the more time the enemy will have time to organize against them. In reality, she doesn't think she would be able to stomach it if she said no.
Instead she gets Clarke's arm over her shoulder, and puts her own around Clarke's middle. She hauls Clarke to her feet, and grits her teeth at the way she feels the whole of Clarke tremble under the strain of her own weight - even as Lexa holds the majority of it herself. She puts her free hand out towards Trimani and the horse, seemingly preternaturally calm despite the chaos around her, comes to her.
"Sound the horn," she tells Kita, and the Nightblood nods and lifts a war horn to her lips. She blows a deep, baritone note as Lexa catches hold of Trimani's saddle and all but lifts Clarke into it. She will be fine, she tells herself repeatedly, even as Clarke's eyes flutter again and she groans exhaustedly in pain. Lexa climbs up behind her and, despite everything, she feels a sweep of warm relief run through her as she pulls Clarke's back against her. She will be fine. I just need to get her out of here.
Trimani is slowed by the extra weight of a second rider, but not by much. The horse charges back the way they came: straight into a wall of chaos. Screams of fear and pain echo in every direction and flames surge around the two horses as they race back to the group of Nightbloods. They've let almost none of the warriors through their line and when they hear the horn this close, they immediately part to either side. Trimani doesn't so much as slow her pace, as if she knows they'll be out of the way in time - and then they're galloping up the slope and away from the camp. Lexa is again in the lead, Kita close at her side. She still blows the horn, rallying all of the Nightbloods to them as they retreat to the safety of the trees. And all the while, the muscles in Lexa's arm strain to keep Clarke propped up against her.
"You're safe now," Lexa tells her. She isn't even sure if Clarke is still conscious, but she says it anyway - and knows it is as much to remind herself as it is to soothe Clarke. The sound of gathering warriors comes from behind them, but it fades fast as Trimani's hooves chew through yards and yards of forest. "I have you, you're safe."