WHO: About a dozen Grounders (They're Floukru, but that's not known at the moment until Lincoln points it out). Surveillance. Military. Medical. Command. WHEN: Late afternoon. WHERE: The blast doors. WHAT: A dozen Grounders beg for sanctuary. Go ahead and reply ICly, if you want! WARNINGS: These people survived being burned and clawed, so probably blood and gore.
Thoma floundered at the door. The skin from his burned hand left a bloody mark on the metal blast doors. Not loud enough. Not nearly. He was out of breath and out of time. His legs refused to support him, and he slid down the door until he had to rest his forehead against it for support. A choking sound in his throat reminded him that he had to be strong. His chief would remind him that warriors were to show no emotions in the midst of battle.
His chief was dead. He wouldn't be reminding anyone of anything anymore. The giant flying reptile made sure of that. All of the warriors had gone down fighting. Thoma was the only second left standing to get their farmers, their gatherers, their children to safety. He'd done his duty, only lost two along the way, but there were dozens who had died in their village. What was he going to tell the Teresa about how he'd come here? (Lexa's decree had been absolute. The lands around the mountain were not to be disturbed.)
"They saved their people even when we abandoned them. They're —" Another sob, and he pulled himself upright, even if he could not get to his feet. A warrior was proud.
He tried again, exhaling as he heard footsteps behind him. He'd been sent ahead to scout the way. They'd finally caught up to him. Three children, Teresa including, collapsed at the door. Sheri gathered rocks, handing them to anyone who could hold their arm out.