Wild Berry Meadow You're not gonna make it.

He sucked in breath after breath, and the feeling of his terror didn't entirely abate but the adrenaline began to slowly ebb, enough to allow him a moment of unfettered calm before he rolled over again. As he did this, his body shuddered. He felt the sharp sensation of bruises forming. The hunger in him — for food and for life, for the safety that his rescuer represented.

She spoke, and he listened mostly because he was physically present and could not avoid it. Then he tried to stand up and, well, that wasn't destined to work out all that well — everything quaked, from his legs to his spine and back again, and he fell against her with a trembling weakness reserved for those that were new to the universe.

Perhaps he was new. Perhaps he had died and his body  lay within the earth, forever entombed, and the pit merely spit out what little soul was left.