It was late summer, early fall, but sweat still formed along Clarke's forehead. She was trekking through the woods aimlessly and had no idea where she was going. The only thing she knew is that she needed to get away from camp. Her mom was pushing on war because of an earlier mountain men attack, but she wanted nothing to do with it. She was merely 19 years old, but she could no longer keep track of the days that passed. She felt as if she was drowning, suffocating in the words of war and the pain of death of close friends she had known her whole life. Her strength gave in and she couldn't deal with it anymore.

From where she stood, Clarke could see a clearing. Cautious, she approached the opening in the woods, and found a village of large tents, almost like houses, some with windows, or stone built chimneys standing tall from the roof. One very large on stood in the very center of them all. She was curious but she knew nothing of these people. A few of them moved along the side, eyeing about for danger, with large swords and daggers. She went to turn back, so she wouldn't be seen but it was too late. A few men yelled out something she couldn't understand, and eyes were drawn to her.

She didn't know if she should shoot or not, so she kept her hand gripped on her gun, but never pulled it from its holster. A force, hundreds of pounds more than her came from behind and knocked her out. As her body shut down, voices speaking a different language argued about what they should do. They were all men, until a voice, almost angelic cut it, demanding them all. Clarke was carried off to a smaller area next to the main tent, and she was out cold.

Clarke's POV:

My body ached from the blow from earlier. The bright light from a fire burning 50 feet away hurt my eyes as I pried them open. I tried to move built noticed that my hands were bound by something, cold and metal. I looked around the room and noticed a table, where a few people stood over it, speaking in strange hushed voices. Then a woman entered the tent, her hand resting on a sword in its holster. She had war paint on her face, and around her eyes, and her eyes screamed anger. She sent a look at me before walking to the table. Everyone around it moved to give her space and kept quiet. It then made it clear that she had some sort of power here, like a queen. Another woman with the same war paint then entered, but she was more strongly built. Her black hair created almost a halo around her face from the fire flickering. She walked towards me, and examined me.

"What is your name, stranger," she asked sternly. This caught the attention of the other woman who matched her. "Costia, leave her be, we have yet to come up with a plan for her," she looked me up and down and retreated to the other's side. "Yes Commander," she answered strongly. The then began speaking their language. The Commander walked over and pulled me up. She drew her sword and held the cool metal to my throat, but I didn't flinch. Something flashed in her eyes, like success. She hummed and pushed her tongue against her cheek and smirked. Costia stood back and watched angrily.

"What is your name, brave one?" her words were as smooth as the steel sword on my neck. "Clarke," I answered, coldly. "I am the commander, or you may call me Heda, but only Costia calls me Lexa, " she said sternly. "you will not be killed, but trained as one of us, we need as many warriors as we can get," she removed the sword from my neck and ordered another person. "my protector will take you to a place to rest for the night. I will make sure you don't attempt to escape by placing a guard outside your quarters. I will wake you before sunset, and I will train you personally since you have a lot to learn" I nod.

When we arrive, I settle down into the makeshift bed and try to breath. I think if planning an escape, but the days events had worn me and I fall asleep instantly.