The first time he’d seen you was at a remote village reduced to ashes. He was tasked to check the area due to abnormal activity.

Even though you’d made no move, even though you let him live, he knew, if you wanted to kill him, it wouldn’t even be a fight.

You weren’t hostile. Sure, you never spoke much, but at least you’d went with him.

It’d been some time since then. He’d grown used to you, even trusted you. But something in him sometimes kept telling him.

Leave. Run. This thing is not human.