They hadn’t spoken since Mount Weather– which seemed like long ago; almost like an entire different life
to the one they were living now. The delinquents had all changed since then (Harper walked with an almost-limp on some days, a painful and physical reminder of the hardships they had endured– that she had suffered while the monsters she saw in her dreams extracted her bone marrow). Forgiveness was NOT high on her to-do list, not for that moment, but the moment she saw Clarke, after hearing that she had left, Harper could do nothing but stare painfully, a lump in her throat. “You left, you didn’t even say goodbye,” she managed to choke out, words nothing more than a whisper. “Monty said you couldn’t stay here– I thought that you would atleast bid us farewell before leaving.” Call it naïve hope that the seventeen year-old assumed she was important enough to be worthy of that. Deep down, she knew she could never live up to Bellamy or Octavia or Jasper, she was just ‘Harper’, she was just 'damaged goods’ and 'a good shooter’; nothing less, nothing more. I’m helpless. Personal feelings aside, Harper needed to assist Clarke, however she could, because it might be important (which is probably was). “If you need help, you’ve got it in me, Griffin. What do you need?”
