"SOMEBODY FIND CLARKE."

Inside the dropship, Clarke's head snapped up and she dropped the wad of ripped cloth she'd been fashioning into bandages, her feet propelling her towards the door even as her brain began to register what was happening. Miller's voice. He was on hunting detail today. Hunting injury? He was shouting for her from the gate - most hunting-sustained injuries are brought to her in the ship, as they usually consisted of sprains, twists, bruises, and breaks. This was something worse, then. Something life-threatening.

Clarke's feet had done their part during her mental triage, and she screeched to a halt in front of Miller. "Who is it?" She demanded, noting that Miller's hands were empty save the ever-present rifle.

"Jeremy." He replied grimly, stepping aside to reveal Munroe and Sterling supporting the smaller boy between them, one arm slung over each of their shoulders. His skin was white as a sheet under the caked on grime that had become part of their uniform, and his chin was dropped forward to his chest, so that Clarke was faced with the top of his head. Unconscious. His toes dragged on the ground, as he was distinctly smaller than his two human crutches, and his hands barely reached their opposite shoulders. Clarke's lips pursed. Jeremy was one of their younger campers, clocking in at a fresh-faced 13 (and three quarters, as he was fond of reminding them).

"Get him to the dropship. Onto the table." Clarke ordered the two older hunters, who immediately complied, Miller and Clarke following shortly behind. "What happened?"

"Grounder trap," Miller's voice was grim, "A panther chased a buck right past us. Jer speared it and ran ahead to get it. Wasn't looking where he was going, sprung the trap. Those came flying out of a hollow tree." Clarke looked to where he indicated, and noted two large chunks of jagged wood impaled into Jeremy's back. One was at the top of his right shoulder, and the other just a few inches below it, closer to his side.

"He's lucky," Clarke mused as they reached the ship and ran inside, "It looks like they might have missed anything vital."

"About four of those flew over his shoulder." Miller added, following Clarke into the makeshift sick bay where Munroe and Sterling had laid Jeremy down on his stomach atop the metal table. "It was designed to catch something a lot taller than him."

"Tell him that next time he complains about the rations being strung up so high." Clarke joked, but her voice was strained. It wasn't looking likely that anyone would be telling Jeremy anything in the foreseeable future. "Munroe, grab me bandages and the suture kit, and my big knife. Sterling, get water and some of Monty's latest batch, and make sure there's a fire going somewhere." Clarke began to examine Jeremy's shoulder as they scrambled off. Miller hovered by the door, waiting for her initial scan to complete. "Miller," She spoke without looking up, leaning down to smell the wood, searching for any indication it may have been poisoned, "Grab a team and go bring in that deer before the panther gets it. See if you can figure out how the trap was sprung, and how we can recognize them in the future."

"Sure thing." Miller nodded, and headed for the door. Clarke glanced up from her examinations, her voice halting him as he reached the parachute-tarped entryway.

"And Miller?" She called, "Be careful. I haven't got any more free tables."

"Yes, ma'am." Miller spun, offering a mock salute as he backed down the ramp and out of sight. Clarke sighed, returning her attention to the boy in front of her. Munroe was the first to return, slipping in just as Clarke wrapped her fingers around the first chunk of wood.

"Perfect timing. Come over here and hold him down, I need to wrench these out and it will probably wake him up." Clarke instructed. The taller girl rushed over, dropping her cargo on the supply table and placing her bloodied hands on the left side of Jeremy's back. Clarke ground her teeth together as she pulled the first branch out, hissing in frustration as pieces of it splintered. "That's good," She murmured, "Maybe if the branch had been poisoned, the added agent would have smoothed it out and prevented this kind of breakage." Munroe's furrowed glance reminded Clarke that this was dramatically optimistic, but Clarke choose to ignore it for the moment and focus on the task at hand. She fished out as much of the splinters as she could, splashing the water from her own canteen into the wound and rolling the still unconscious boy over to flush out the wound. Clarke had just pulled the second branch out when Sterling sprinted back in. "Moonshine." Clarke instructed.

Sterling darted to the table and unstoppered the large bottle, dumping it over the two wounds before splashing it on Munroe and Clarke's outstretched hands, followed by his own. The three sanitized in silence. Clarke had required that most of the hunters and gunners come in for a crash course in emergency medical care, as they were usually the ones on hand when it was required. She was grateful for that now, as despite their nervous eyes and clenched jaws, the two hunters were proving to be steady and reliable help. They now held Jeremy down as Clarke began to stitch him up, exchanging worried glances as the minutes ticked by. Still, their charge lay motionless on the table - so much so that Clarke stopped to check his pulse multiple times, convinced twice she'd lost him before rediscovering his admirably persistent thumping heart.

It wasn't until she was finishing up the second wound that he finally awoke with a raspy scream, jerking back and forth under Munroe and Sterling's gentle pressure. "Done!" Clarke gasped at last, stepping back and watching the younger boy fall still, his back heaving with the effort of bringing in air.

"Good job, Doc." Munroe murmured. Her face remained stony, a trait that many of the gunners had begun to share as the reality of their new charge sunk in, but there was a hint of admiration in her eyes that warmed Clarke's heart. Inside the walls of her hospital, she had earned a new nickname, one that sat much better with her than "Princess." No one would own up to using it outside of the dropship, and certainly no one would dare let it slip in front of their fearsome leader, but having it here was more than enough.

"Thank you. Both. You were a huge help. Go get dinner before it's all snatched up." Clarke ushered the two hunters out of the dropship and into the waning daylight. She turned to Jeremy, whose eyes were starting to droop. "Here, Jer, drink this." She helped him sit up at the edge of the table, and held her canteen up to his lips, spilling the lukewarm water down his throat. He drank messily, his knuckles white as he gripped the neck of the bottle, but enough of the liquid found its way inside of him to satisfy Clarke. A bit of color had found its way back onto his cheeks, and his eyes were beginning to look less wild than they had when he'd first awoke.

"What happened?" He croaked, reaching across his chest in an attempt to feel what was causing the pulsating pain eminating from his right shoulder. Clarke swatted his hand away, forcing a kind smile onto her face despite the worry that crept into her stomach at how his hand was still shaking.

"You stole a deer from a panther." She answered, watching the gears turn behind his eyes as he attempted to piece together what she meant.

"I got in a fight with a panther?" He finally asked, confusion evident on his face, which was gaining color by the minute.

"You got in a fight with a tree." A deeper voice sounded from the door of the ship, and Clarke turned, only somewhat surprised by Bellamy's appearance. He made it a point to keep track of the status of his hunters, and would often drop in on their check-ups with Clarke to see to it that she had the back in fighting shape as quickly as possible. Bellamy stepped past the tarp, and Clarke noted that he was carrying three sticks, each spearing a hefty chunk of browned meat. "Thought you two might be hungry." He arrived at the side of the table, distributing their dinners before leaning back onto the nearby supply table.

"Thanks!" Jeremy enthused, ripping into his share before freezing, his cheeks bulging with food. His eyes widened a little as he glanced from Bellamy to his kabob and back. He began to speak, looking as though he might swallow that first bite whole, but Clarke's murderous gaze forced the younger boy to indulge in diligent chewing for a few moments before speaking again. When finally his mouth was clear, his words spilled out, tumbling one over the other. "Did I kill this?" Bellamy nodded, a smile dancing around his lips. "And took it from a panther?" Bellamy nodded again, and a smile of her own began to creep onto Clarke's face. "And then a tree attacked me?" Here, a little of the air deflated from Jeremy's puffed up chest, and confusion creased his face again. Clarke's smile faded, and she glanced at the ground before answering.

"You sprang a grounders' trap," Bellamy's voice was smooth and careful, gentle insistence hidden behind clinical fact, answering so Clarke didn't have to, "And it speared you twice in the back." The color that had been gradually finding its way back to Jeremy's cheeks fled once more as his gaze darted fervently to his right shoulder. Clarke's heart dropped into her stomach at the sight. "So," Bellamy speaking again brought both of their attentions back up from the floor, "Not only did you feed the entire camp tonight, but you martyred yourself to identify a new threat. Thanks to you springing it, Miller determined how we can recognize traps like that, so no one else gets hurt. You're a hero tonight, Jeremy, and the whole camp knows it. Thank you." Bellamy clapped his hand on Jeremy's left shoulder, engulfing it under freckled knuckles, and Jeremy's face lit up like it was Unity Day on the Ark.

"Do you mean it?" He gasped, and Bellamy nodded, his face all pride and comfort and warmth. Jeremy surged forward, throwing his arms around Bellamy's waist in what surely was in his mind the appropriate response to being called a hero. Clarke chuckled the immediate discomfort evident on Bellamy's face, but noted that it didn't infect his hands, which respectively squeezed Jeremy's left shoulder and ruffled his hair.

"Now head over to your cot, buddy. You're spending the night in here." Bellamy instructed. Policy, with grounder related injuries, given the increasing likelihood that the weapon was poisoned. Clarke, too, would be spending the night in the dropship, monitoring the young hunter for any signs of poison or infection and hopefully catching them early enough to be helpful. Jeremy stood, wavering for a moment before walking over to the mattress in the corner, asleep even as his cheek hit the blanket beneath him. Clarke trailed after him, spreading neon orange blanket over him and tucking in the edges before drifting back to the table, where Bellamy was still working on his dinner.

"He really looks up to you." Clarke offered when she reached him, her voice hushed as to not wake their young patient, "Thank you, for saying all that. He needed to hear it, from you." Bellamy shrugged, his impassive mask securely back in place now that Jeremy was asleep.

"Eat your dinner, Princess, before a panther comes and takes it away from you." Bellamy's voice was taunting and gravelly, the smooth sincerity that he'd offered to Jeremy long gone now. "I'll come by later, I want to talk strategy with you. We're gonna lose serious time if our hunters have to walk on eggshells in those woods every time they step foot outside our wall."

"You know where to find me." Clarke answered, ripping off a piece of deer and wrinkling her nose. It was severely overcooked and tasted like ash, but after the passionate lecture she'd given about the dangers of undercooked meat, with a pallid and violently vomiting Marcus on the ground behind her to underscore the whole speech, most of their meat was well, well done. Bellamy disappeared through the parachute, and Clarke returned to the almost-made bandages she'd abandoned at the top of the evening.