On the way to the cabin a fox stops at his feet. He drops a Milk Dud for the fox. The fox devours it. In fact, the fox finds here the most wonderful tastes he’s ever tasted, knows he will never in his life taste them again. Tragedy. There will be chocolate and caramel only in dreams thereafter. The Kid takes the fox by the scruff. The fox wriggles in his grip as they glide. He pries the fox’s jaws open, pulls the Milk Dud out with his third hand. He stares into the fox’s eyes. The fox’s body goes limp. Once limp, the Kid sets the Milk Dud back on the fox’s tongue, closes his jaws. Only then does the fox spit the Milk Dud out.

THE CAMERA: Poor fox.

THE KID: This is what they’ve done to me. I’m the fox.

At the Old Swede’s cabin, he lies on the cot, the cob’s saddle blanket over him. He can’t rest, planning his next move. He rises and ties the tassels of the saddle blanket to the tassels of the crocheted blanket. He stitches the untasseled sides closed with strips of burlap from the bags in the outhouse.

THE CAMERA: Are you having a breakdown?

THE KID: Call it a metamorphosis.