( trees? that seems like such a mundane subject to focus on, and any other day — with any other energy running rampant between them, any emotional feedback loop that wasn't rooted in hurt and loss and subsequently losing control — she might have laughed. but instead: )
I used to draw trees all the time.
( clarke griffin is not a chatterbox. on the ground, her entire vocabulary seemed to consist of roundtable war talk, rousing speeches, and gentle appeals to the better nature buried within people. there was the occasional tearful chant of apologies, the even rarer angry emotional outburst. but she seldom talked just to talk.
for shiro, she'd try. inching across the carpeted floor of the tent, like approaching a wounded animal and not wanting to startle it. )
We only had one on board, and it was so small. I don't think I ever really understood how tall they could grow down on Earth — reading about it's one thing, but seeing it's something completely different, and it was really, really beautiful that first day. ( it's tentative, the mental image she paints for him. a feeble attempt at distraction: a gloriously bright day, breathing in a breath of fresh air for the first time in her life and realizing the air wasn't poisonous. jumping down into dirt thought untouched for 97 years with a cloud of dust, ash, and dirt springing to life around her feet. looking up — who would have ever thought the world was so green? but lapping at the edges of that memory are darker thoughts. atom strung up from a branch, jasper strapped to bleached white tree branches that looked like claws. traps springing out from trunks at torso level. ominous figures that watched them from the foliage behind camp. turning saplings into fences, trusting trees to protect against the dangers of the new world.
i burned so many of them. )
I'd never seen real horses before, either.
( i burnt them too.
a truly herculean effort goes into thinking about something to talk about from her time on earth that doesn't sting of tragedy. clarke tries again. )
no subject
I used to draw trees all the time.
( clarke griffin is not a chatterbox. on the ground, her entire vocabulary seemed to consist of roundtable war talk, rousing speeches, and gentle appeals to the better nature buried within people. there was the occasional tearful chant of apologies, the even rarer angry emotional outburst. but she seldom talked just to talk.
for shiro, she'd try. inching across the carpeted floor of the tent, like approaching a wounded animal and not wanting to startle it. )
We only had one on board, and it was so small. I don't think I ever really understood how tall they could grow down on Earth — reading about it's one thing, but seeing it's something completely different, and it was really, really beautiful that first day. ( it's tentative, the mental image she paints for him. a feeble attempt at distraction: a gloriously bright day, breathing in a breath of fresh air for the first time in her life and realizing the air wasn't poisonous. jumping down into dirt thought untouched for 97 years with a cloud of dust, ash, and dirt springing to life around her feet. looking up — who would have ever thought the world was so green? but lapping at the edges of that memory are darker thoughts. atom strung up from a branch, jasper strapped to bleached white tree branches that looked like claws. traps springing out from trunks at torso level. ominous figures that watched them from the foliage behind camp. turning saplings into fences, trusting trees to protect against the dangers of the new world.
i burned so many of them. )
I'd never seen real horses before, either.
( i burnt them too.
a truly herculean effort goes into thinking about something to talk about from her time on earth that doesn't sting of tragedy. clarke tries again. )
Did you know radioactive forests glow?