The real me

The real me

MADALINA

I didn't have much time for a deep-dive analysis. The mind quickly summarized the facts and calculated options for successful survival. If that was an option in the first place.

There was a feral rogue baring his teeth at my face. Driven by hunger, his mouth was already salivating. Starvation must have been a long-term state for him, judging solely from his visible ribcage.

I was in my underwear. I was injured. My dagger was next to my clothes, which were, of course, on the opposite side of the firepit. The distance between the weapon and me was wider than the distance between me and the enemy.

In addition, and to my horror, the so-called mate was nowhere to be seen. Was he still on the hunt? How long was I asleep? Either way, his whereabouts were irrelevant. Speculations were no longer in place because the outcome was crystal clear. I was majorly fucked. If I wanted to survive this, I needed to work fast. Showing the rogue my back could be fatal. He would jump at