Gus didn't recognize the markers back out of the forest. The hunting trail didn't work, as it branched off at several intervals, because deer don't care. But I did, so I led him, straining my eyes in the darkness. When not looking for markers, I nuzzled my face in the c***k between his armor and his neck, where there was just enough space. Beneath the dry scent of salt and metal, which wasn't unlike blood, I could pick out the old smell of my Gus. He smelled of warm blankets, baked bread, and something like pine. It filled the edges of the empty space in me, soothing the old ache like water to a parching thirst.
"You're big," I said.
"That's what happens to kids who eat their food. They grow."
"Hmm..." I rubbed my nose against the hard line of his neck.
Then, something he said reoccurr
