I’m Arthur. People on my community call me a hero; others call me a menace. I call myself "the guy who’s been stuck in this godforsaken forest for three weeks with a bear bond who farts louder than thunder." That’s Mo, my "trusty sidekick." Except Mo’s trust level is about as high as a squirrel with a gambling addiction.

“Arthur,” Mo growled, his little beady eyes staring up at me, “if we don’t find food soon, I’m eating your boots.”

“You couldn’t even digest my boots,” I shot back. “You’d choke on the laces.”

“They’d still taste better than those mushrooms you keep insisting are edible,” Mo said, scratching his belly. “Last time, I almost saw God.”

“Almost?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. “So what, God took one look at your furry ass and said, ‘Nope, not worth it’?”

Mo snorted, swiping at a patch of leaves with his paw. “You’re lucky I don’t claw your face off.”

“You’re lucky you don’t. This face is the only thing keeping predators from eating us. They look at me and think, ‘Wow, no way he’s edible. Probably toxic.’”

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Mo blinked, unimpressed. “The only thing toxic is your attitude.”

As we trudged through the endless forest, I couldn’t help but marvel at how utterly unqualified we were for survival. Case in point: the time Mo thought he could scare off a pack of wolves by pretending to be bigger.

“How’d that work out for you again?” I asked, grinning.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Mo grumbled.

“Oh, come on. It was like watching a toddler throw a tantrum at a buffet. You puffed up, growled, and then tripped over a log. Classic.”

“They ran away, didn’t they?” Mo snapped, glaring at me.

“Yeah, because they thought you were rabid.” I laughed so hard I had to lean on a tree. “I’ve never seen wolves so confused in my life. They probably went home and questioned their entire existence.”

Before Mo could come up with a snarky comeback, we stumbled upon a clearing. In the middle of it stood a single, glorious apple tree.

“Finally! Food!” I shouted, sprinting toward it.

“Wait!” Mo barked. “What if it’s cursed?”

“Cursed?” I scoffed, reaching for an apple. “It’s a tree, Mo, not a warlock.”

The moment I bit into the apple, the ground trembled. A deep, booming voice echoed through the clearing. “WHO DARES TO EAT FROM MY TREE?”

I froze, apple juice dripping down my chin. Mo, ever the loyal companion, pointed at me with his paw. “It was him.”

“Mo, you little traitor!” I hissed.

The earth split open, and out popped a tiny, angry gnome. “You dare steal my apples?!”

“Steal?” I said, holding up the half-eaten apple. “I thought it was, you know, communal.”

The gnome narrowed his eyes. “Do I look like I run a charity?”

Mo, of course, couldn’t help himself. “You look like you run a daycare.”

The gnome turned bright red. “I’ll curse you both!”

“Curse us?” I snorted. “Buddy, I’ve been cursed since birth. Go ahead. Add to the list.”

“Arthur, shut up!” Mo whispered.

“What’s he gonna do? Shrink me? Joke’s on him, my ego’s already microscopic.”

The gnome snapped his fingers, and suddenly, Mo and I were dangling upside down from the apple tree by our underwear.

“You happy now?” Mo growled, swaying next to me.