[ The last time they spoke she had thought Clarke might never forgive her for putting her people first, even if Lexa still believes she did what was necessary. The touch to her shoulder says otherwise. Clarke's hand is only barely warm through the thin cloth, but Lexa feels heat spreading down to her gut, her fingers tingling a little, and she can't help but smile just a little, more with her eyes than her mouth. No surprise, though. Clarke is a leader like her: it seems natural that she should, in the end, come to understand.
Besides, all that is put behind them. Neither the sky people or her clans are here, just snow and occasional strangers, squatting in what abandoned houses have not yet been lost to time or weather, the way the Grounders once did, before they learned to survive on their own. Lexa means to learn to survive this snow, too — but she's not there yet. ]
I don't know.
[ Echoing Clarke's thoughts accidentally, but for different reasons. She's been measuring time by the familiar rhythms of her body, the length of her paces, a knowledge deep in her bones. "Night" is locked doors and killer cold, not darkness. But she has missing time, lost hours, and she can't be specific. ]
no subject
Besides, all that is put behind them. Neither the sky people or her clans are here, just snow and occasional strangers, squatting in what abandoned houses have not yet been lost to time or weather, the way the Grounders once did, before they learned to survive on their own. Lexa means to learn to survive this snow, too — but she's not there yet. ]
I don't know.
[ Echoing Clarke's thoughts accidentally, but for different reasons. She's been measuring time by the familiar rhythms of her body, the length of her paces, a knowledge deep in her bones. "Night" is locked doors and killer cold, not darkness. But she has missing time, lost hours, and she can't be specific. ]
Two weeks, I think.