Damon stared at the wooden spoon floating just an inch away from his mouth. A thick pile of gray, lumpy porridge rested on the spoon. Hot steam rose from the food, carrying the smell of raw oats and an unbelievable amount of salt.
His survival instincts exploded. He had to act fast.
Damon quickly dodged the spoon. He moved his head with surprising speed for a man who was deeply injured. He aggressively closed his lips tight, pressing them together so hard that they turned into a thin line. He was not going to let a single drop of that salty poison enter his mouth.
At the same exact time, he forcefully turned his head away to the other side. He buried his chin deep into his right shoulder, putting as much distance as possible between his face and the terrible food.
Because Damon moved so suddenly and violently, the space between them completely changed.
