A Small Herd, set in Chap­ter 41 in 1969, presents a deeply emo­tion­al chap­ter where Kya grap­ples with the after­math of a trau­mat­ic con­fronta­tion with Chase. After escap­ing from him in her boat, Kya reach­es the rel­a­tive safe­ty of her lagoon and shack. How­ev­er, her emo­tion­al and phys­i­cal pain inten­si­fies as she reflects on the dis­turb­ing promise Chase made—his attempt to pos­sess her, a threat that is as psy­cho­log­i­cal as it is phys­i­cal. Over­come by a sense of dread, Kya is unable to reach out for help, fear­ing that the soci­ety around her, already alien­at­ed by her iso­lat­ed exis­tence, would not believe her. The respect and sta­tus that Chase holds in the town—compared to her rep­u­ta­tion as the “Marsh Girl”—means she has no chance of receiv­ing fair treat­ment. With nowhere to turn and the haunt­ing thought of Chase’s obses­sion con­stant­ly loom­ing over her, Kya makes the deci­sion to seek refuge in a seclud­ed cab­in that once stood as an aban­doned log struc­ture but has since been refur­bished by Tate and Scup­per. While this cab­in offers lit­tle more than basic shel­ter, it pro­vides Kya with a fleet­ing sense of safe­ty, far removed from the threats and judg­ment of the out­side world.

The weight of the shell neck­lace, still worn by Chase, casts a long shad­ow over Kya’s thoughts. Ini­tial­ly a sym­bol of their con­nec­tion, the neck­lace has now become a painful reminder of Chase’s delu­sion­al claim over her. Each time Kya thinks about the neck­lace, she feels the invis­i­ble chains that bind her to him, a con­stant reminder that, despite her attempt to dis­tance her­self, he con­tin­ues to hold sway over her life. The idea of being per­ma­nent­ly marked by Chase, both phys­i­cal­ly and emo­tion­al­ly, fills Kya with dread and a desire for auton­o­my, but she knows that in her cur­rent posi­tion, achiev­ing that auton­o­my seems impos­si­ble. The nar­ra­tive reflects Kya’s strug­gle against both exter­nal forces—the threat of vio­lence from Chase and the soci­etal judg­ment she faces—and her inter­nal bat­tle with the fear that she will nev­er be tru­ly free. As she jour­neys toward the cab­in, the ter­rain mir­rors the tur­moil inside her—a vast, untamed land­scape that sym­bol­izes her resilience yet also under­scores the pro­found lone­li­ness she feels in her fight for inde­pen­dence. The wind-swept jour­ney to the cab­in is not just phys­i­cal, but deeply sym­bol­ic of Kya’s emo­tion­al iso­la­tion and her attempts to pro­tect her­self from the forces that threat­en her peace of mind and body.

When Kya reach­es the cab­in, the small improve­ments made by Tate and Scup­per bring her brief com­fort. Though the cabin’s bare neces­si­ties pro­vide shel­ter, it is the iso­la­tion that height­ens Kya’s sense of con­fine­ment. The fear of Chase’s pur­suit hangs over her like a dark cloud, mak­ing the cab­in feel less like a sanc­tu­ary and more like a prison. As she sits qui­et­ly by the creek, observ­ing the small rip­ples in the water, Kya reflects on the soli­tude that has defined much of her life. In this brief moment of peace, Kya looks up to see a small herd of deer in the dis­tance, grace­ful­ly mov­ing through the land­scape. Their pres­ence stands in sharp con­trast to her isolation—here is a group, a com­mu­ni­ty, liv­ing in har­mo­ny, an image of togeth­er­ness that Kya has long yearned for. The deer, unaware of her gaze, embody the sense of belong­ing and con­nec­tion that Kya desires but feels dis­con­nect­ed from. Their peace­ful exis­tence, in the midst of nature’s beau­ty, is a reminder of the world she used to be a part of—a world now painful­ly out of reach. This moment of observ­ing the deer stirs a long­ing with­in Kya, a deep desire for com­pan­ion­ship and con­nec­tion, but she remains painful­ly aware of the emo­tion­al walls that sep­a­rate her from oth­ers, and the alien­ation that she con­stant­ly bat­tles.

The chap­ter poignant­ly explores the inner con­flict that defines Kya’s emo­tion­al land­scape. The exter­nal ele­ments of iso­la­tion, rep­re­sent­ed by the cab­in and the wind-swept ter­rain, mir­ror the inter­nal strug­gles Kya faces as she con­tem­plates her past, her fears, and the pos­si­bil­i­ty of reclaim­ing her life. The pres­ence of the deer, though brief, under­scores Kya’s strug­gle between her desire for con­nec­tion and the deep emo­tion­al scars that keep her from ful­ly trust­ing oth­ers. This contrast—between the qui­et uni­ty of the nat­ur­al world and her own soli­tary existence—serves as a stark reminder of the per­son­al bat­tles she faces. Kya longs to feel con­nect­ed, to be part of some­thing larg­er than her­self, but her past expe­ri­ences have left her fear­ful of trust­ing those around her. The deer rep­re­sent a world where Kya feels exclud­ed, unable to ful­ly embrace the con­nec­tion that is so eas­i­ly found in the nat­ur­al world but seems just out of her reach in human rela­tion­ships. The chap­ter del­i­cate­ly bal­ances themes of iso­la­tion, resilience, and the long­ing for com­mu­ni­ty, show­ing how Kya’s emo­tion­al jour­ney is one of both self-dis­cov­ery and the yearn­ing for some­thing she feels she may nev­er be able to have: belong­ing.