You climb up to his usual perch- the one he never lets anyone near- and sure enough, he’s already there, hunched over his rifle like a gargoyle with a scope. He doesn’t turn around, but you hear the sharp exhale through his nose.

“Have you got a bloody death wish?” He adjusts the scope, calm and precise. Still not looking at you. “Or maybe ya just love bothering me.”

Finally, he glances over his shoulder - just for a second- then back through the scope. ”…You bring coffee or are you just here to talk me ear off again?”