There was no point at which he sensed a change. One moment he was descending a steep slope towards a landscape he did not know, the next he was heading back down into the Fold. He could see the river following its familiar twisting route, the rocky terrain where his cave waited for him, the woodlands in the north. He did not feel his direction alter, nor his perception of where he was heading. It would almost have been better if he had felt a dizziness, and a sense that his reality was being changed and distorted. Better than this. Better than knowing for sure there was no escape.

It wasn’t at all like being turned around or misled. It was simply as if this was the whole world, and there was nowhere else to go.

* * *

Disappointed once again, he walked back down into the valley. It was there that his day changed. It had been some time since he’d witnessed Grace hunting, but now he saw the results of one of her attacks.

The Kin was cowering beneath a tree at the edge of a small pool in the woods. Vince had chosen to walk back towards his cave through the woods because he wanted to collect some berries, and to see if any of the small snares he’d set had caught something more substantial he might cook. The valley was home to rabbits and voles, as well as a species of flightless bird he had not been able to identify. So far it was only rabbits he had been able to catch. The other creatures seemed aware of him and his intentions, and he was worried that the rabbits would eventually grow more cautious too. There was fruit and some nuts, and a few of the roots he’d dug up were palatable, if not pleasant to eat. But he must already have lost thirty pounds since he’d become trapped in the Fold. If he started losing out on an occasional meat meal, he feared he would waste away.

He wasn’t sure what the Kin was that sat hunkered and moaning beneath the tree. He thought he’d seen it before from a distance, although most of those in the Fold kept themselves to themselves. He sometimes spoke to a few, but never to this one. It was small, slight, and it might have been graceful if it wasn’t twisted by pain. It was holding onto its shoulder and keening, rocking back and forth and pressing its hand to a terrible wound.

It would heal. They all healed, in time for Grace to make a meal of them again.