The ride back to Polis seems longer than she remembers it to be. The growing distance does nothing to dull the heaviness that has found a home in her bones since she ordered the retreat.
Since she turned her back on stormy blue eyes. Since she left Clarke at the bottom of the
. With every rhythmic back and forth, with every brush of the horse’s legs against the tall grass, her limbs grow heavier and heavier, as if her body was protesting.
Protesting without a doubt the pace of these past two days’ journey and the hard regimen she’s observed over the past weeks.
Lexa though can’t help but wonder if it’s protesting the decision she took as well.
Jaw locked, back straight, she refuses to dwell on it. Refuses to question her choice. Because for the second time in her life, she’s not sure she wouldn’t regret it.
Instead, she tries to focus on what she knows. The words, the thought, the feeling are all familiar. I bring you the taken, your lost but never forgotten.
I bring you the bodies of the fallen, warriors no more. I bring you… a temporary reprieve.
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