Day 3, 7:35 AM

“If it seems too good to be true it probably is.”

— Unknown

I wake up a twisted lump of screaming nerves. I plow through the pain, struggling to draw a breath. Opening my eyes seems impossible. They are so crusted, they feel welded shut. Still, I force myself to do it. Dry blood flakes from my eyelashes, and I blink half a dozen times before my vision focuses.

The forest is gloomy, yet too bright. The leaves above glow green with occasional yellow dots where rays of light found a path through the canopy.

It’s daytime, I realize with several seconds’ delay.

In a herculean effort, I sit up and scan my surroundings to find five wolf corpses. I open my status screens, but notice no significant change. Maybe the last line got longer?

I didn’t level. I guess five wolves don’t count as a riot.

My stomach growls, drawing my mind away from the thought. I reach for the jerky, only to find my pocket torn and empty. I look down and realize my body and clothes are a bunch of tears and bite-marks.

No wonder everything hurts.

“You’re awake,” a timid female voice says behind me. I turn around and see the young miss. The girl winces at the sight of me and takes a step back.

Can’t say I blame her. Back home I would’ve run like hell if a skinny youth clothed in rags and covered in dry blood appeared before me.

My stomach growls again, and I look at the dead wolves, salivating.

“I am. Thank you for watching over me. How long was I out?”

The young miss looks at me, I can’t tell why, but she seems to be struggling about something. Finally, she reaches a decision and speaks.

“The whole night, the sun rose recently.”

“I’m hungry,” I tell her with as much honesty as I can muster, in case my growling stomach is not enough. “You must be hungry, too. Could you give me that knife so that I can get us some meat?”

I point at the wolf carcasses, hoping they hadn’t gone rancid. I don’t even know how to tell whether they have gone bad. I’ve never eaten wolf meat, and I have no idea how it should taste.

The young miss hesitates again, but after a few moments of visible internal conflict, she hands me the knife. It’s a fancy thing with a steel blade and golden hilt. Despite its ornamental appearance, it cuts through wolf fur and flesh just fine.

I massacre three chunks from each of its rear legs, then start a fire by rubbing dry wood and using wood shavings. I’m no expert, but elbow grease and friction prove good enough, and an hour later, the young miss and I are chewing on tough, slightly charred meat. The aroma is very strong. I can’t say it’s bad, but I can’t say I like it either. My stomach, however, is ready to cry from joy at the symphony of fat, protein, and calories it desperately needs to keep me alive.

“Sorry. My cooking sucks.” I’m not sure whether I’m apologizing to her or to myself, but it matters little.

The young lady nods. Her eyes still harbor distrust and shock. She’s sitting a distance away, keeping the fire between us, but at least she’s acknowledging my words.

Baby steps. I smile and bite off another mouthful of wolf meat. Three hours later, we’re moving through the forest and stumble across another ankle-deep stream.

Man, there’s a lot of running fresh water here. Is that normal?

“Little Missy, pardon me, but I will have to wash myself and my clothes. I may attract more predators if I reek of blood.”

She gives me an odd look, but nods and even graces me some words. “I’ll be up ahead.”

She drinks some water, unfortunately we’re lacking bottles and water-skins, but the streams seem common enough, I hope. I wait before she disappears from my sight, then also drink my fill before undressing.

Disrobing is an agony. Caked blood clings to my clothes, and my scabs rip and bleed all over again whenever I pull a patch of fabric off me.

If this doesn’t get infected, I don’t know what will. I grumble silently, hoping a slave’s immune system is strong enough to handle whatever’s assailing my body. All my wounds are hot and red, showing initial signs of inflammation.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

At least there’s no swelling or pus for now. After cleansing myself, I try my best to pluck any stray threads and hair from my wounds before I wash my stolen clothes. After scrubbing for several minutes, I come to terms with reality. They are ruined.

The wolves had enough tact to leave my unborn children alone, but their remaining effort made me look like a parody of anime decency.

I rip off my tattered sleeves and pant legs, binding them into a loincloth, which I don over my torn pants, Supermale style. It might look silly, but having an extra layer safeguarding my royal treasury puts my mind at ease just the tiniest bit.

“Little Missy, I’m done,” I say before pushing my way through the dense undergrowth.

I give the squatting young lady the handsomest, most confident smile a bare chested man wearing a loincloth over capris can muster to reassure her I’m alive and well.

She looks like she’s taking a dump. For a moment I think I’ve made yet another faux pas, but her lips twist in what could be a passing smile or a show of amusement before she regains control of her features and stands.

“Lets go,” she says, and I hasten my step to get ahead of her and lead the way.

Branches and thorns scratch my bare calves, and I wonder how our bare-butted ancestors survived walking around, but they did, and here I am, recreating their miracle.

We eat cold wolf steaks for a late lunch or early dinner, not really sure what to call it. The moment I swallow the last mouthful the ever-handy blue screen of death pops up, notifying me I have eaten again.

[⌭Ω©°æ∆⚇π°π∆†πß°∆°æπ∆◎†⌭°£π∆¶\

⌭Ω©◎°æ©ß¬π◎°✌︎Ω©ß†π◎°≠✢°◎π✢π†\]

I look at the damn squiggles and angles. They seem to be the same every time, or at least very similar, but it’s hard to decipher. After thinking about it for a moment, I realize something.

The message is too long for a simple notice about finishing a meal, unless this language is very wordy, which it doesn’t seem to be. This princess here saves her words like they are national treasures. If that’s the case, what else could the screen be telling me?

I look at the young lady I’m escorting and entertain some foolish notions. Does she see blue screens? Am I the only one who sees them? How would she react if I write down on the ground what I’m seeing? Would she read it for me? Can she read?

I must have stared at her too long, and the young missy turns around and stares back at me. I meet her gaze without flinching, knowing the importance of holding a woman’s gaze and its implicit meaning.

Several seconds pass, and her cheeks redden before she looks away, breaking eye contact first.

I’ve got a shot. I smile and let my eyes feast on her form.

She’s a little dirty, her clothes torn, but you can still see the elegance and beauty, which are a single bath away. She moves her head back to face me, and I avert my gaze, pretending I wasn’t looking. Saliva pools in my mouth, but I stop myself from gulping.

I rub my face and swallow inaudibly while pretending I’m sleepy. A genuine yawn escapes me, and I realize just how freaking tired I am.

“Little Missy, there’s still an hour or two before sundown. Would you like us to search for a safe place to sleep, or should we continue ahead and sleep out in the open, like last night?”

I catch her shudder in the corner of my eye. Her fear is reasonable, stemming from experience, but last night’s exchange of blood for food was well worth it in my book, assuming I don’t get rabies or die of gangrene. I feel like the meat supplement is helping me recover and grow stronger, but it’s hard to say after one day.

“Let’s find a shelter,” she suggests, and I agree. We stick close to each other this time, and half an hour later, we stumble across a fallen tree. Its trunk snapped a meter from the ground, the rest of it toppled over.

We approach to check it out, and I see the remains of a fire pit. The ashes look dry and fresh, but try as I might, I can’t make out any footprints.

I touch my finger to my lips and point towards the tiny stone circle. The young miss covers her mouth and pales, but it’s too late. We’re already out in the open, and if any scouts had remained in the camp, they would have seen us by now.

I know all that, and yet I duck, and she follows my lead as we both turn our heads left and right, like meerkats looking out for hawks. There’s no sound, nor movement, so I approach the campsite.

I smell nothing odd, and the ashes are cold to the touch. I turn around and motion the young miss to approach. She hesitates for a spell before half crouching, half stumbling towards me as she keeps her head below the bush-tops.

“Whoever they were, they are long gone.” Faced with my two options, I hesitate. “We could stay here or keep searching. What do you think?”

I know it’s unfair to have her shoulder the burden, but, with my nonexistent wilderness survival skills and the utter lack of knowledge about this world and this particular forest we’re treading, both options lead to unknown results. She clenches her succulent lower lip between her teeth, deep in thought.

She draws a deep breath and sighs despondently.

“We…” she hesitates again, drawing out the word. “Stay here. At least we have cover.”

I nod in agreement, understanding an important facet of this young woman’s personality. She plays safe and prefers not taking any chances. That’s not bad.

I check our supply of wolf steaks. Unfortunately, no new ones magically appeared, and we’re down to twelve.

“Little Missy, we should ration our food. We ate what we couldn’t carry—”

“No sign of ‘er today, either.” An unknown male voice interrupts my whisper, and I freeze. The speaker slurs, and he is close. I’m not that worried about him, but how many companions does he have?

I wave the miss to pass me her dagger, but she doesn’t move a muscle.

Shit. She’s completely paralyzed with fear.

“You know our luck, Tusk. There’s no way we find her. Boss said whoever gets her can have their fun with her, and they keep her coin purse. Anything goes, as long as we bring her head back.”

I clench my teeth and clutch my club, ready for the burst of violence about to erupt.