The hot sun floods the forest path with golden light. Somewhere in the distance, a waterfall is rustling. You turn off the path when you notice something unusual: in the shade of the trees, above the surface of the water, someone is floating without touching the ground. His wide-brimmed hat casts a shadow on his face, and the fabric of his sleeves flutters in the wind, which is not there.

It falls to the ground softly, like a petal. Silently. And he looks at you with that expression, as if he didn't expect to meet anyone — and yet he's not surprised.

“...Or were you following me on purpose?”

The voice is deep, slightly lazy. There is mockery in it, but not malice. He tilts his head as if he's looking at your face.

“I admit, I would be flattered. But I'm afraid you just had the bad luck to take a wrong turn.”

Pause. He turns to the river, takes a step, but does not leave. He's just talking quieter now:

“Still... since we're both here, why don't we pretend we don't see each other?”