Fleegle and I hear a bang in the distance, loud like a firecracker but with the distinctive echo of a rifle. Fleegle’s gaze darts to me as he freezes, eyes wide, body tense, ready to flee.
“Hunters,” I say. “That’s why you’re wearing that ugly orange vest, so some hunter with his beer goggles on doesn’t mistake you for a deer.”
His body relaxes as his mind makes associations. “I have a friend named Hunter.”
“Yes, you do.”
“He likes to hump me.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“Are these hunters going to hump the deer?” Fleegle logic.
“Oh, look,” I say and point at the nearest tree. “Squirrel.” Human logic. When uncomfortable, obfuscate.