Pawn {B.B} (1)

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The Calm (11,1)

The guards escorted Tyra all the way back to Anya's side. Her mind whizzing and sparking with all the tiredness she felt. She had not slept properly in months, and during the past few days she had barely been getting three hours in, not to mention how Tyra had pulled an all-nighter by paying her debt to Octavia and keeping her unspoken promise of watching Bellamy as if he were her own brother.

In short, Tyra needed a nap that she would not be getting.

Tyra had arrived just in time to be faced with all the main warriors from Trikru, Anya standing at the head of the table with dozens of faces Tyra could not name in the surrounding area. All eyes staring right at her, making her straighten her posture to compensate for all the glares Tyra had suddenly begun to receive.

"Tyra." She nodded in Anya's direction, briefly aware of the fact that her escort had still not left their positions behind her on each of her sides.

"Anya." She extended her arm toward one of the warriors to her right, their face almost entirely covered with leaves glued onto their body. Possibly to blend in to the trees better.

"Cahya tells me you were inside the sky problems camp. As one of them."

If Tyra had truly been seen, there'd be no use of even denying her actions. That would only further incriminate her as a traitor, sending her down the same route as Lincoln had been sent through. Only she would not take it as graciously as he had.

"I was." Anya let her eyebrows raise slightly, her coal eyes seemed brighter with rage and curiosity all at once.

"Why?" Tyra tilted her head to the side, she didn't like being questioned without motive. Even less so when she knew there were some underlying ideas that Anya was insinuating.

"Information."

"And?"

"They have only one food source," Tyra had smelt the smoke emanating from one of the wooden huts built inside, they were attempting at drying their meat. "Most of their warriors fell ill to the sickness you released or died," Tyra knew first hand of that, hearing the quiet whispers or asking innocent questions about how they contracted it, all blaming someone from guard patrol.

Anya waved her hand around her face, clearly expecting more information. "That is all?"

Tyra clenched her fists against her sides, trying to simmer down the bubbling rage beginning to brew in the pit of her stomach. "It's more than what we had."

Anya began to walk toward Tyra, ready to argue further about the topic, but was interrupted as another warrior suddenly rushed inside. Tyra had recognized him from a couple of meetings up at Polis, Caliban, if she recalled correctly.

"This is a private meeting, Caliban."

"We found Tris, she's not in a good state." The name didn't sound familiar, but by the way Anya's face dropped, the holder of the name had to be someone terribly important.

"We will continue this matter later. Where is she, Caliban?" Anya had already begun to rush out of the tent, the other members of the audience not even bothering to stay behind once the meeting was dismissed. Each filing out in a single line across the side of the tent.

Caliban gently grabbed onto Anya's forearm, stopping her from still rushing like a wild horse in a field. "She needs a healer, Anya."

Anya's face dropped even further. Though Tyra had not known at the time, Lincoln had been the only healer even close to the Trikru village they resided at, the art already beginning to die from even before Tyra had been born. So, Tris needing a healer would require at least a day, that she did not have by how fast Caliban was speaking.