Bellātor | BELLAMY BLAKE

seven

sᴇᴠᴇɴ : ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴜs
⋆

It's no secret that Octavia has a curious, adventurous soul. She was limited to a constricting space under the floor and the small room in the Ark, so being on earth has given her the opportunity to explore. She feels her inner child come out when she slips out of camp that night after sleeping for a little while by Jasper's bed. The other night, she found glowing butterflies. Tonight, she wonders what other wonders the earth has, so she grabs a jacket and leaves camp.

If her brother knew what she's doing he'd have a fit, so she slips out soundlessly, biting back a childish grin.

Octavia only takes a few steps out of camp before that giddiness is stolen from her.

★

Clara doesn't stay unconscious for long. Her eyelids flutter open when the pain in her side wakes her up, and she feels weightless. At first she thinks she's dead, but then she realizes that she's just being carried.

"Clarke!" Someone's voice—Octavia's?—shouts frantically somewhere in front of her. "CLARKE!"

"What's going on?" another voice demands, then, "What happened?"

"O found her and Wells just outside of camp," a deeper, more gravely voice says, this voice much closer than the others. "She needs help, Clarke! Snap out of it!"

"Right, I just—Sorry, bring her over here."

Clara groans in pain as she is transferred from the arms of her unknown carrier to a cold table. She squints and tries to see what's going on through the darkness.

Octavia's face hovers above hers. When Octavia sees that Clara's eyes are open, her face brightens. "Clarke, she's awake!"

"Bellamy, go get Wells," Clarke's voice commands. Clara lifts her heavy head and sees Clarke at her side, tearing away some of her shirt for better access to the stab wound. Across from the blonde is Bellamy, who glances between Clara and Clarke.

"He doesn't have a pulse—"

"I don't care!" Clarke shouts, finally at her breaking point. "Go get Wells, now!"

Bellamy looks over at Clara one last time before following Clarke's orders. Clara would have laughed if it weren't for being stabbed.

Clarke presses down on the wound. Clara hisses in pain, her back arching slightly. "Take it easy, Doc."

Clarke turns away from Clara and grabs some supplies out of her view. "Octavia, find something for her to bite down on, I'm going to give her stitches."

Octavia quickly grabs a piece of cloth meant for bandages but rolls it up and sticks it in Clara's mouth. She then takes her hand, the Blake girl shaking.

"Who did this? Was it the grounders?" Octavia asks with an urgency in her tone. "Oh my gosh, you guys were attacked right outside of camp. What if they're still here?"

"Octavia, stop," Clarke snaps. "I need to focus."

"Sorry. I can't help it."

"Try to," Clarke replies in a snarky tone before diving in with a needle and wire. The pain of the materials piercing through the already tender skin makes Clara bite down hard on the cloth. She squeezes Octavia's hand for an extra release.