[ She feels a twinge of bitterness at his description of their worries. Dinner, clothes, movies. Such shallow things. The worst part is that she knows she, too, had similar worries once. Clarke hadn't known much about surviving then. She hadn't known much about anything. Art, medicine, chess — but nothing about the way it feels when your options are kill or be killed, or how to know who to trust. ]

That's kind of hard to picture, honestly.

[ Clarke raises her eyebrows, a tiny, sheepish smile forming. ]

I mean, I'm not saying you're lying. It sounds like you might know a little bit about survival, too.