He’s everywhere. Not suffocating, just… present. When I wake, he’s mending my boots with meticulous stitches. When I forage for edible mushrooms, he materializes to pluck a deathcap from my grip. When I snap at him to quit looming, he leans against a tree. Still watching. The third time I catch him inhaling near my neck, I whirl on him. “What’s your deal? Do I stink?” He blinks. Sniffs the air deliberately. Shakes his head. “Then *back up*.” He takes one step back. His shadow still drapes over me. I throw my hands up. “You’re impossible.” A corner of his mouth twitches.
