The gloves dangled from Fulcruchen’s hands as if he too wished to drop them. The men looked startled, then alarmed. For all their frivolous ways, they were experienced outdoorsmen, and the implication of Creath’s statement was not lost. Perri, the falconer’s nephew, started to wail. 

            “Shut him up,” growled the King to Garrion. “Or I’ll have him stripped and flayed alive when we reach Ursaulis.”

            Garrion shot his nephew a warning look. Perri was his sister’s boy and he’d promised to look after him. The crying tapered off, replaced by sniveling.

            “We’ve been circling for hours.” Gerlatch stated the obvious.

            “We are lost,” said Creath, stating their fears.

            “How can that be?” asked Dinnisee. “We haven’t been on the same path. One of us would have noticed!”
            “There are rumors of roads such as these near the Nevers,” began Anjhest. “They’re called Twinning Roads. It is said a man will meet himself again and again, but he’ll never come to an end. Nor will he ever die.”

            Garrion caught his nephew’s eye and shook his head in warning.

            Fulcruchen flung down the gloves, rubbing them in the dirt with the heel of his boot. “We aren’t lost or enchanted. We’ve simply gotten ourselves onto a circle track without noticing. That is all.”

            He looked to the King for confirmation, but Rand was staring at the gloves, his jaw popping as he worked on a blade of grass. “If there is enchantment here, it’s slight. Fairy magic, I’ll wager. There are fairies in Saundris Cove and some of them must have wandered here. We can think our way out of this.” He paused, helping himself to a generous swig of Frennin White. “We must think clearly.”