I am being hunted.
There is a deerfly that lies in wait for me outside. As soon as I set foot outside the cabin door, I hear his wings beginning to warm up, and I grow uneasy. By the time I'm outside the screen door on the porch, he's in full action. I am constantly dodging barrel roll attacks and nose dives from the offending fly—though that is only the warm up.
I practically expect small explosives to be going off around me as I ward off these attacks with my wash cloth, though he seems to have skipped to biting. Sometimes I even find him waiting for me outside of the Anex, where we hold the day camp. Usually then I am largely defenseless as I speed-walk back to the cabin.