"I've, definitely, had better days," Clara thought while she examined the wound that had not healed yet, on the right side, between her abdomen and ribs. When she had come down from a tree two weeks before, her body swayed, and in the fall, a stick had gone deeper than she had expected. She struggled with a bleeding that persisted for a few days until finally, it diminished. But the injury brought her another problem: due to the pain, she could not move nimbly and to find something to eat was getting harder and harder.

So, after a few days walking through the fields and forests of the area, she thought it was better to find shelter, at least until she got better. Walking through what had once been a dirt road now taken by the bushes, she saw a small house hidden behind some trees. She hid amid the bushes surrounding the house, to check if there would be any movement or sign that someone would live there, but after half an hour she concluded that the place was abandoned.

It was a simple house, "country", as many people say. Built with clay bricks that after years without maintenance were now exposed in several places where the plaster had fallen. The windows were closed as well as the door. Clara circled the small house, moving away from the bush and watching where she stepped searching for any snakes hidden there. She saw that somebody had nailed wood into the windows of what seemed to be the living room and the kitchen. The place seemed uninhabited for a long time so, with little resistance, she opened the back door and stepped inside.

The place was covered in dust, and although it was a little twisted, she was surprised to see that there were some furniture and kitchen utensils. Perhaps due to it was so hidden by the trees and bushes, the place had not received many visitors from eventual thieves. She crossed the kitchen where there was only a table, a chair, an old gas stove that now would be useless and some pots and cans scattered on a shelf. She went into the next room and found only a bed and mattress, a luxury for someone like her. And no matter how her head said no, her body was so tired that she threw herself on the bed without even bothering to see if there were any spiders or scorpions hidden there and fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.

When Clara woke up, she noticed that it was late afternoon by the light pouring through the window's cracks and although the unusual heat to that time of the year, she felt a cold that made her tremble involuntarily. She sat on the bed and lifted the T-shirt, removing the bandage with an herbal ointment improvised around her abdomen; the wound had not yet healed. Clara frowned, worried: she knew she would have to act fast before fever and infection got worse. She restored the bandage and got up, yet a little dizzy, to search something of value he could exchange in the village she had passed through.

Attempting to stay upright, she reached the village that was only a couple streets where a cluster of small structures had survived the action of time. Amidst the rubble, debris and still frame of old vehicles, some inhabitants lived there. There also was a small shop and by the noise that could be heard outside, a bar where some people were gathered. She went there and after a long time arguing with the owner of the dump, she exchanged an old wristwatch and a pair of glasses for a bottle of the strongest drink he had there.

With a slow pace and unsteady steps, Clara went down the street. Chills were going down her spine what made her close the worn and torn jacket, focusing to not let the bottle fall to the floor. Her vision insisted on shuffling and blurring making the simple act of walking even worse until she bumped into someone on her way. She apologized, glancing quickly at the figure standing before her, but with a blurred vision, she could not distinguish if it was a man or a woman. She only prayed that he would not be a bum making a fuss or... something worse. Lowering her head, she dodged the stranger and kept her way, focusing on taking one step at a time.

After a long and painful way back, she finally reached the house with the late sunlight. Clara left the bottle in the doorway, cleared an area in front of the house with leaves and other twigs, separating the larger and drier ones. She stuffed them into a pile and then lit a fire. She watched the flames increase slowly, and then she stood still with the feeling that someone was watching her. She scanned the trees around, listening carefully until a flock of birds took flight from a nearby tree, causing a slight jolt and a sense of relief at the same time. Weak as she felt, the last thing she needed was to fight for her life with a stranger. She shook her head convinced that the fever wasn't let her think straight and continued the task.

Clara entered the house and came back holding her knife whose blade leaned against the flames that now consumed the wood in a light crackle. She watched the thin spiral of smoke rise toward the sky and, sitting at the door, opened the bottle she had brought. She took the first sip, feeling the bitter, hot liquid burn all the way down. That made her wanted to throw up the little-left lunch she had, as tears rolled involuntarily into her closed eyes, trying to control her breathing and avoid puking everything out. She could not manage that. After another sip and noticing that she had already consumed almost half of the bottle, Clara felt comfortably numb.

With the bottle in hand, she stood up at the same time a greater force tried to pull her back to the floor, making her cling to the door leaf. She headed for the bonfire and sat down as she tried to focus on the flames that insisted on mixing, forming a sea of lava. She was ready and took a piece of wood she had separated, placing it between her teeth. Clara laid down, pulled back her coat, lifted the T-shirt and removed the bandage. For a few seconds, she watched the wound as a tiny trickle of blood ran down her back. She took a deep breath and poured drink over the injury as she felt a faint burning. She removed the knife from the flames and with a deep breath, put it over the wound, pressing it.

The steel burned into her skin, causing an almost unbearable pain that made her clench the teeth around the piece of wood in her mouth. Her cry came out muffled and tears streamed down her face. The stabbing pain lasted only a few seconds until she was unconscious, whether it was by the suffering, the drink, fever or all the three.

With a start, Clara woke up later with the black pitch wrapping her. How long would have passed? She was on the bed but how did she get there? 'The drink was good', she thought, putting her hand to her forehead. Moonlight streamed through the cracks in the window, producing a soft light in the bedroom, Was that real or just a dream? These questions were the last thing she thought before going unconscious again...

The next morning, Clara woke up with the birds singing. Rubbing her eyes, she sat on the bed, lifted her T-shirt and checked the wound: the blade's mark had been drawn on her skin still red and tender. She tied the T-shirt up to her stomach to leave the burned area free and slowly picked up her backpack she'd dropped beside the bed along with her bow.

From inside, she took out a bottle of green-looking liquid and shook it vigorously taking almost the half in a single gulp. One tea she was taking a few days for the wound...

Although having passed well during the day, that night Clara felt feverish again. She sat in front of the bonfire she started again but even so close to the flames, she could not feel warm. Her eyes landed on the bottle she brought from the village the day before, next to the fire, but it was empty. There was no single drop left to keep her warm. With a sigh, she decided something against all her survival principles: she would go to the village to eat and drink something in that bar. With a little luck, no one would notice her there and she would quietly leave.

The bar was crowded, not only by the people who seemed to live in the village, but others coming from elsewhere also seeking for fun, refuge or comfort in that place.

With a blurred vision and a nagging headache, she sat at a table in the far corner of the bar: The place was declining, lit with torches hanging from the walls where the bricks were visible in several spots. The plaster that once hidden them had fallen a long time ago. The ceiling was not in a better condition, with stains of damp and mold on the corners, and in another distant side, the ceiling simply had fallen, letting the moonlight enter from a cloudless black sky. On the ground below, there were water puddles of rain that had fallen earlier, and which gently stirred with the breeze.

Men and women huddled around improvised tables and benches, drinking, talking, or even arguing under the light of candles that disputed space on the tables with mugs, glasses, and cans. Everyone had a scruffy and dirty look: most of the men wore beards, mustaches, and badly cut hair, while women had filthy hair and smile with yellow or missing teeth in many cases. Everyone had dirty, worn out and torn clothes, some of them had tattoos and piercings.

In the half-light, after blowing out a candle that was on the table, she just watched. On the other side, a group played some game started a fight. That should be usual once the other goers did not seem to notice the people punching each other, kicking or fighting with knives. She tightened her arms around herself, trying to keep warm when a bowl of steaming liquid showed at her table, left by the employee's place. She eagerly threw herself on the bowl and took the first sip. The liquid was thin and tasted horrible, but the sensation of warming her guts was all she needed. When she finally finished it, she set the bowl back to the table with the unsettling feeling that someone was watching her. Someone in black clothes, in the middle of a table in the center of the room, almost unnoticed by couples making out. His thick coat was somewhat unusual for a place so crowded that it even looked like hell. Was he sick like her? She could not see his features, hidden the shadow cast by the hood, but somehow, she could feel the weight of his gaze straight to her. That disturbing feeling from the previous day took hold of her again, and due to the fever or just for precaution, she decided to leave the bar.

She walked hastily down the dark street that led out of the village, bordered by several buildings and half-destroyed houses that rose by their short extension until ending up in a huge open country where there was only debris. Some buildings had black walls and others, windows and doors also shattered with black edges, probably due to a fire. Bathed by the pale moonlight, these buildings looked like ghosts with their scorched eyes and mouths about swallow anyone.

Clara's instincts were sharpened, attentive to any movement or noise that might come from the rubble, but also, she felt weak and cold as if ice emanated from her soul. By one puddle that dotted the path, she saw somebody's shape behind her. After, someone was clutching her tightly to immobilize her movements.

Clara bent down trying to unbalance the attacker and with her left arm partially free, hit a punch in his groin area. While taking advantage of her opponent's bending, she whirled around and struck him with the little strength she still had, believing she would throw him on the ground. But to her surprise, he only swayed; the hood dropped and now she stared into a pair of eyes as black as the night.

For a few minutes, neither of them said anything, just staring each other in silence. He was handsome, Clara thought, and he did not have the bad look of the men inside the bar. He could have any woman he wanted with zero effort. So why would he attack her? What was his interest in her? His eyes looked at her with a mixture of feelings she could not identify due to the headache that now increased. She saw when he lifted one arm to touch her, looking as frightened as she was. Clara instinctively gave a step back, moving away from his reach. And then, new arms immobilized her, while a voice with a sour breath said in her ear:

"Relax, baby. We'll have a lot of fun tonight!"

A second shape emerged behind the black-eyed guy, pounding hard on his head with a piece of wood and throwing him to the floor, unconscious. Clara saw a tall man with shaved hair and a cruel glare at her. That moment she recognized the black uniform he wore with a huge blank C in the center of his chest: The Citadel troops.

"What's wrong, princess? Am I not as attractive as your boyfriend?" asked the soldier, coming toward her and with a wicked grin. Clara turned away, looking instinctively at the other guy who laid still on the ground when the soldier held her face tightly, forcing her to stare at him while murmuring close to her ear. "I bet you'll enjoy it. And after my friend and I have fun, I promise your death will be fast." he slid a finger down her neck to the neckline of her T-shirt while showing the gun on his waist.

The man pulled her while Clara struggled and screamed trying to escape, but she was too weak due to fever and unable to coordinate her movements in strong strokes. They dragged her into the woods, one man still holding her tightly around her waist. Clara saw the other guy approaching again, looking at her with lust and bringing his hands to the zipper of his pants. With all the strength, she kicked him between his legs causing him to bend in pain on the floor. The other one loosened her waist, turned her around and slapped her, knocking her down.

"Bitch!" he shouted, coming over to Clara who had turned and now crawled with her elbows on the ground.

He pulled her arm violently, turning her back on him, and at this moment Clara saw someone coming up, grabbing the soldier by the waist and throwing him to the ground.

"Run!" shouted the black-eyed guy while he fought with the soldier he had overthrown.

Clara got up and when she ran, a hand grabbed her ankle, knocking her back down onto the ground and the soldier she'd struck first raged over her.

"You slut!" he yelled, dragging her through the hair.

Clara screamed and kicked trying to break free. After a few yards, he stopped and positioned himself on top of her, his eyes consumed with hatred. Still struggling, she groped the ground until she found a stone. She struck her attacker on the head, unbalancing him while she got up and ran again. But he was faster and grabbed her by the coat, punching and throwing her away causing Clara to slam the back of her head hard on the floor. Clara saw when the dark-eyed guy attacked the soldier who had struck her, and then... just dark.

Amid the darkness that surrounded her, she felt one's hand held hers making small circles:

"No, no, no... please, no! Please no!"

It was such an anguished plead that even with all the darkness trying to embrace her, Clara opened her eyes to meet black eyes staring back at her in anguish, and which quickly reflected relief when she murmured:

"Than... ks."