Bellamy laid his socks over a branch to dry, then dipped his feet into the stream. It was already hotter out than it had been when he left camp, and the cold water felt incredible on his skin. He rolled his pants up to his knees and waded in farther, grinning like a complete doofus as the water swirled around his calves. It was one of his favorite things about Earth, how mundane stuff like washing your feet suddenly felt like a huge deal.
The trees weren’t as dense by the stream, and the sun shone brighter. Bellamy’s face and arms suddenly felt unbearably hot. He pulled off his T-shirt, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it onto the grass before reaching down to scoop water into his hands and splash it over his face. He shiser miled, still blown away by the revelation that water could have a taste. They’d always made crude jokes about the ship’s recycled water supply, how you were basically drinking your great-grandfather’s piss. Yet now he realized that the centuries of filtration and purification had stripped the liquid until it was no more than a collection of hydrogen and oxygen molecules. He reached down and cupped another handful. If he’d had to describe it, he would say it tasted like a combination of Earth and sky—and then he’d punch whoever laughed at him for it.
A crack sounded from inside the woods. Bellamy spun around so quickly, he lost his balance and fell backward with a splash. He quickly scrambled to his feet, rocks and mud shifting beneath his bare toes as he turned to look for the source of the sound.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Bellamy pushed his hair back and saw Clarke standing on the grass. It was startling to see someone else in the woods, which he’d come to think of as belonging exclusively to him. But the flash of irritation he was expecting never came. “You couldn’t wait till afternoon?” he asked, making his way back to the bank.
Clarke blushed. “We need that medicine,” she said as she looked away from his bare chest. She was so tough most of the time, it was easy to forget that she grew up in a world of fancy concerts and lecture parties. Bellamy grinned as he shook his head, sending droplets of water flying.
“Hey,” she shouted, jumping backward as she tried to flick the water off. “We haven’t tested this stream yet. That could be toxic.”
“Since when did our badass surgeon become such a priss?” He sat down in a sunny patch of grass and patted the spot next to him in invitation.
“A priss?” Clarke lowered herself to the ground with a huff. “You could barely hold the knife last night, your hand was shaking so badly.”
“Hey, I killed the deer. I think I did more than my fair share. Besides”—he paused as he lay back on the grass—“you’re the one who’s trained to cut things open.”
“I’m not, really.”
Bellamy brought his hands behind his head and tilted his face toward the sun, exhaling as the warmth seeped into his skin. It was almost as nice as being in bed with a girl. Maybe even better, because the sun would never ask him what he was thinking. “Sorry to insult you,” he said, stretching out the words as a relaxed heaviness settled in his limbs. “I know you’re a doctor, not a butcher.”
“No, I mean I was Confined before I finished my apprenticeship.”
The note of sorrow in her voice reverberated strangely in Bellamy’s gut. He gave her a weak smile. “Well, you’re doing a great job for a quack.”
She stared at him, and for a second, he worried he’d offended her. But then she nodded and stood up. “You’re right,” she said. “Which is why we need to find that medicine. Come on.”
Bellamy rose to his feet with a groan, slipped into his shoes and socks, then slung his shirt over his shoulder.
“I’d recommend putting your shirt back on.”
“Why? Are you worried you won’t be able to control yourself? Because if you’re concerned about my virtue, I have to tell you, I’m not—”
“I meant”—she cut him off with a small smile—“there are some poisonous plants out here that ouback o could make that pretty back of yours erupt with pus-filled boils.”
He shrugged. “For all I know, that might be your thing, doctor girl. I’ll take my chances.”
She laughed for what Bellamy was pretty sure was her first time on Earth. He felt a surprising flicker of pride that he’d been the one to make it happen.
“Okay,” he said lightly, pulling his shirt over his head and smiling to himself when he caught Clarke’s eyes on his stomach. “The wreckage was farther west. Let’s go.” He started walking up the slope, then turned to look at Clarke. “The direction the sun sets in.”
She ran a few steps to catch up to him. “You taught yourself all of this?”
“I guess. There aren’t a lot of lectures on Earth’s geography on Walden.” The statement didn’t carry the bitterness it might have, had it been directed at Wells or Graham. “I’d always been interested in that stuff, and then when I found out they were planning on sending Octavia to Earth…” He paused, not sure how much it was safe to share. But Clarke was looking at him expectantly, her green eyes full of curiosity and something else he couldn’t quite identify. “I figured, the more I knew, the better equipped I’d be to keep her safe.”
They reached the top of the slope, but instead of heading back toward camp, Bellamy led them deeper into the woods. The trees grew so close together that their leaves blocked most of the sun. What little light made it through dappled the ground in golden pools. Bellamy smiled as he saw Clarke taking care to step around them, like a little kid trying to avoid the lines crossing the skybridge.
“This is how I imagined Sherwood Forest,” she said, her voice full of reverence. “I almost expect to see Robin Hood pop out from behind a tree.”
“Robin Hood?”
“You know.” She stopped to look at him. “The exiled prince who stole medicine to give to the orphans?” Bellamy stared at her blankly. “With the enchanted bow and arrows? You kind of remind me of him, now that I think about it,” she added, smiling.
Bellamy ran his hand along a vine-covered branch that shimmered slightly in the dim light. “We don’t get a lot of story time on Walden,” he said stiffly. But then his voice softened. “There aren’t many books, so I used to make up fairy tales for Octavia when she was little. Her favorite was about an enchanted trash can.” He snorted. “It was the best I could do.”