The sound of crackling embers from a fire, with the smell of roasting meat assault me. Yes, I must be dreaming about barbecue. But the already regular growling of my stomach rings like a bell. Well, it's night, there's a fire, there are two pitchforks on which a stick rests, going through, what I can call the biggest iguana I've ever seen. Either that, or it's a mutated radioactive lizard.

The iguana is releasing a fat, which raises an unmistakable smell when it hits the embers. I have not seen how the accelerated emergence of the "stove" happened, but this is already a summer camp.

My new owner, rescuer or rescuer of animals; He surprises me sitting on the other side of the fire. She is sitting, with a thin branch, which I deduce is to fan the flames. He stares at me in complete silence. I could swear he sees me as prey.

She begins to move her lips, where I see her tongue running from right to left her mouth, but nothing more. Followed by another long look, which lasts forever for me, he opens his mouth again.

This time I see that along with a few words, his gaze now points towards my body, looking down from my head to it. The first thing that comes to mind is “ma'am, my meat is very old and not tasty at all”. She repeats again, whatever she said, this time pointing the thin branch at me.

I tell her, "Good evening, ma'am, the first thing I want to tell you is that I am very grateful for all your help," I answer gently and try to make my words clearer than anything I have ever said in my life.

The look I give him, which is more precise than tracking a missile, sees an eyebrow rise. Well, I have to spread more honey on this woman. I then add – My name is Keto , it is a pleasure to meet you. I hope not to be a great burden for you.-

A slight snort comes out of his mouth, also shaking his head. I already knew from a young age that I had to improve my social skills. The envy was my co-workers, who always had an easy tongue to please and always knew what to say at the right time.

I notice how he gets up and starts to walk around the fire between the two of us. That's not what's worrying. What makes every hair on my skin stand on end is that the left hand goes to his back. I know there's the knife.

My consciousness is divided in two: one part curses, the other wants to run into the forest. This multitasking thing is pretty strenuous. Neither train of thought is going to get me out of this mess. If yelling for help were possible, he'd be a consummate veteran by now.

I don't know how, but I see without moving, how she crouches over me and points the knife at my chest. My one eye follows the movement of the knife.

I hardly see into that position, but I feel my chest tighten and something presses down on me. With the sound of fabric ripping, I deduce that a makeshift bandage I have is itching. In two minutes I see that he begins to throw to one side, bloody rags. Well, at least he's checking out my wounds, and not looking for a half pound of fresh meat for dinner.

Silently and with occasional grunts, I watch as he smears me, what looks like a pretty gross cream, and re-dresses the wounds. I guess it's a "very traditional" first aid.

She sits back at her place by the fire. A few more turns, to keep the “iguana” meat browned on all sides and it remains in its world for as long as possible.

If my nose was not so "fine" before, now I know that this meat is more than ready to serve. Using the knife, the lady takes out some good slices of meat. He puts them in a wooden bowl, which, judging by its appearance, is thought more of its usefulness than its visual presence. It does not even have a good base so that it does not turn and spill the content.

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I see that she spices up her freshly served “plate” and begins to eat. Well, "what the hell". Where is the patient's food? Not only does there seem to be no intention of giving me something to chew on, but I have to see how the fat drips from the edges of the lips.

My stomach agrees with me, because the increasingly frequent protests do not draw the slightest attention to my tormentor. If I was hungry before, now I feel like my belly sticks to my backbone. I suppose that reducing the volume of the stomach is a tactic to deceive the little that is inside me.

Damn, I'm not going to give pleasure to this "old woman". The way I refer to the lady is a sign of how bad this situation is for me, so I barely change my eyes towards the foliage.

After a while, I feel like two pieces of wood resonate. Out of "curiosity", yes, it's out of curiosity and not "hunger", I see how he shakes the bowl and the wooden spoon. As if it were a rehearsed dance, he starts cutting meat again. This time he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. They will be my ideas, but I think there is a certain satisfaction in that look.

He walks over and leaves the bowl of meat next to me. I can feel the delicious smell of meat better than ever. The lady turns around and is rummaging in a sack, inside which there is movement. Without much trouble I see that his hands make quick movements.

As she approaches, I see what she is holding away from her body. As if it were a group of reeds, it has its legs tight, like those of a spider. Well, the iguana is not the only mutant around here apparently.

Before I realize he wants a cat-sized spider, I see him pull out his knife. With a quick movement, he makes a cut under the abdomen of the spider and begins to come out, entrails. If this isn't weird, it is how he starts letting them fall into the bowl with the meat.

It's already clear, my diet is going to have a dramatic turn. An increase in protein and fat. Almost out of breath and in view of my possible future, I say to my captor:

-No no thanks.-

-I am a strong weed eater. I have declared myself a vegetarian, ever since I saw my first burger!-

The lady is now smiling, from ear to ear. While we both know we don't understand each other, my face is all she needs to know what I think of her dinner “dish”.

Throw the knife next to the cheek. I can see the gleaming edge, and the black metal of the multipurpose tool. Yes, because now it is a statement what the tool does.

Nothing like receiving from the hands of a lady, a "feast" of full repugnance. I swore to myself that I would never cry during my meals again, I am no longer 4 years old. I can't give you that pleasure.

I fell asleep quickly. I want to forget even my name. If I'm lucky, even the forest disappears!

I woke up in the morning with the sun's rays hitting my face. I didn't notice right away, but I was already noticing something out of my right eye. A hazy, out-of-focus light was all she got for him.

Compare both views of the eyes, looking to compare eye damage. Everything indicates that I am recovering some sight. That is always a good sign. Happiness lasted so little. Breakfast was served. Yes, one of the ingredients was furry, with legs and many eyes. “Where do you get them from?” I thought. Because they are fresh.

After three days, I noticed something important. Spider protein shakes are one remedy. Thanks to these and the suspicious nothing, ointment; they were making my body respond quickly to the natural process of healing itself. He could see with both eyes now, and he could feel the pain in his entire body diminishing.

I tried the movement of my parts several times, feeling how more sensitivity was gained. I was careful not to make my full-time caretaker, the spider juicer, suspicious.

On the night of the third day, the lady said another set of unknown words while being fed. Since I don't understand anything, except for the threatening gesture of “open your mouth wide”, I ignore it.

At dawn, on the fourth day itself. I am surprised because they bring me a present. A cane in the shape of a pitchfork. The ropes are untied, except for the one around my waist, which makes me look like a package tied in the middle. I'm pretty sure I shouldn't have aroused suspicion, but she already knows I can move.

With a know-it-all look, he throws the cane at me. My treacherous body moves, clumsily picking up the cane. A few pulls of the rope around my waist is all it takes to know I have to do the pet walk when they take her out to the park.

From there, it was hours of limping through the woods, stops to eat, sleep, and then more hiking. The only good thing is that now I have to eat alone, so I try not to eat the grossest parts of my nutritious diet. My improved vision doesn't help in these cases...

It's hard to measure time, since you're more concerned with not tripping over tree roots. It has already dragged me a couple of times by falling and not wanting to walk. Well it seems my options are that of a forced march. I've been in the woods for almost a month now. The exercise has worked its magic. I hardly need the makeshift cane anymore. I still use it, because it allows me to control what is under the leaves. I've learned the hard way, that this forest is not at all healthy with strangers.

Several vipers have appeared. The lady has not even been nervous. He has simply knocked over one of his jars, and once the smoke has lifted, all the animals leave the area. An example of homemade pomegranate. I don't know what's in it, but from passing snippets, I've seen various herbs.

From time to time he forces me to crouch down and not make noise. I feel in the distance how trees and branches break. Whatever it is, I prefer snakes. An animal that can break branches is only trouble for me. I'm not sure they let me loose to run, more like an appetizer.

I know what "you smell like a wet dog" means. All these days, my body has not seen a soap. I'm sure not even animals see me as food anymore.

I'm getting good at this walking through the woods. I no longer get angry looks, for making noise, dragging my feet, not staying still when there are noises, and above all, I no longer complain about the food. I feel like something inside me is broken.