The four walls of my little hideaway are starting to close in, and I fear I might be going a little stir crazy. This morning, I swore I heard a lark singing a Christmas carol outside my window, when in fact it was just Ravel whistling a Bulgarian folk tune as he performed his morning workout.
My strategy of hiding on the edge of a large forest to avoid elimination by forces unseen appears to have worked. Who-ever was calling the Institute to threaten me has not called since the day I ran away. What has happened? Your guess is as good as mine. I'm not planning to go back immediately though, just in case this is a ruse to lull me into a false sense of security.
You may have read on the main blog that the local paper released two reporters into the wilderness to find me. They returned empty handed, of course, for I am nowhere near the Insititute. Unfortunately for them, the editor was apparently dissatisfied with their efforts and sent them out again. I don't know where they are, and I don't care, so long as they don't stumble on my hiding place.
Ravel has been acting as lookout, guard, cook, cleaner and general companion. We have bonded during our time here. His English has improved considerably, as I insist on teaching him for at least two hours a day. Yesterday he recited the first three verses of Beowulf without dropping so much as a single consonant. I do feel, though, that my loyal research assistant is also beginning to feel a little isolated. He keeps asking me when we are going home. I tell him that we need to be patient. There are forces beyond my control operating outside my sphere of influence, or something like that.