The vegetation has been decreasing with the passing of days. It is not obvious, but more and more the trees are further away from each other. It is also noticeable that the roots are less prominent.

I have also been able to notice that we have crossed some kind of mountain range. While we haven't braved a mountain, I know we've been through some kind of select pass. We have a lot of information about nature in our minds, but living in cities, we forget where we come from.

Identifying where the sun rises, by the moss or the roots of the trees has become natural. The field experience has been first-hand. The blisters on the feet are a testament to the long hours of maneuvering through the trees and how many stones there are on the way. I miss feeling under my feet, the solidity of a road.

Clean air is a blessing. My lungs brim with energy with every breath. I'm not hunched over anymore, and I've gotten used to hearing the sounds of the pager. At first everything was silent, but I can already recognize the pattern of “everything is fine”. Birds are an effective detector of danger.

I have not been allowed to do anything but look for firewood or carry the bag. During the journey, I suspect it was part of the route, going through a small stream. It was fun to fill some clay bottles. It seems silly, but so much time without being able to communicate with another human, other than looks and gestures, make these little jobs a pleasure. How far do we have to be from civilization, if we don't even have a plastic canteen.

That day I was able to do a quick little swim. There was no soap, but the water cooled my armpits. I could swear that the churre came out by flakes, floating in the water, downstream. Who cares that the water was cold, this was a chance.

The next day he should have had a good cold, but not even a sneeze. Let's say that the species in the protein diet had a high content of vitamin C.

At the end of the brush, one day I saw a fence. A fence of posts and boards laid out awkwardly but firmly. Every 5 meters there was a street lamp, which emitted a bright red light.

What left me staring at the light, was that there was no room underneath for a fuel container. It couldn't be electricity either, because the light was being emitted from a crystal. Well, the bulbs are on the surface, covered in glass, but this was definitely different. I know enough from my work that this wasn't a commercial lamp, or anything I've ever seen before.

A cackling brought me out of my dream with the garden lamp. It's been a long time since I ate chicken. A delicious fried chicken, with a cold beer, accompanied by French fries. Yes, that excites me at the moment.

But the chicken had hair. Wait, the “chicken” has a wide beak filled with a row of teeth on the inside. There were only feathers on the wings and tail, the rest is with fluffy hair. This is an abomination. Cackling doesn't mean anything. The rooster was twice the size of the hens, but with red hair.

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I must continue with problems in the head due to the blow. That, or I get water in the coconut, when I bathe in the creek.

Inside the fence, there was a house, it was raised on stilts, half a meter from the ground. Next to it, what appears to be a barn, was twice the height of the house. The construction was with logs, typical traditional English European house. Everything seemed rustic.

Between the house and the barn, there is a stone well. It has its conical roof, with its pulley, rope and wooden bucket. All roofs are thatched.

As if it were feeding time, the chickens ran towards the entrance gate. A door for people and another door, double-leaf, which should be to allow the passage of a cart, by the almost indistinguishable marks on the ground.

The chickens were excited, apparently the arrival of the lady was quite a celebration. She started rummaging through her bag. What he threw to the ground to his chickens was something with which he had an almost anatomical familiarity: the waste of several bodies of dead spiders.

My face contracted into a grimace. I was no better than those chickens, but the fact that they pounced on the waste told me that they were used to that diet. He wasn't sure he wanted fried chicken anymore.

A tug on the rope reminded me to move inside the fence. The lady's wait was for her to close the door. Which was not lost on her.

One of the chickens pounced on me, if it weren't for the fact that the forest had made me almost a wild animal, it would have taken a good bite. A step back was what I needed to avoid injury. That was when he was ready to counterattack with a kick to the chicken. It must be clarified that if you do not show him who is boss, you will not see the end of harassment. So when I was contracting my muscles to jump on the assailant, I received a scolding yank.

The sweet old lady didn't want me to retaliate, so I got up and fell, on all fours like a cat ten feet away. I don't know how to explain physically, how to be able to move with the rope in this way, but it was already indisputable knowledge that as long as the rope was in his hands, I was his yoyo.

A cackling came out of the old woman's mouth, which seemed to calm all the animals, because they began to move more smoothly and no longer looked at me. Except for the attacking hen, what a sidelong glance. Yes, he already had a "good friend" in the patio of the house.

They tied me to a wooden beam. If there were mules, that's where they'd put them. Apparently I have neither the strength nor the intelligence to escape. Well, something is very clear, "this place is increasingly suspicious."

The next 3 days were spent sleeping in the barn, on top of a pile of straw. Drink water from the stone well and food three times a day. At least the arachnid entrails diet wasn't on the menu.

At that time the suspicion, had more and more tendency to a truth: "this was not my world". Farm animals and vegetables were the proof, which is right under my nose. Not even the craziest scientist, through genetic manipulation, would have these results. They would have put him in the asylum under seven locks. Unless the military got their hands on him first.

But what gave me the final push were the lamps on the fence. I approached one, to see the stone inside. A shock wave was created, sending me flipping and landing on my own butt. I know enough about technology, to know something that is out of the terrestrial technological level, from wherever they have made that "garden lamp".

I force all the air out of my lungs and make my body go rigid. A brilliant idea comes to mind, one that makes my smile, under strong tremors of my lips, awkwardly form. "My friend the chicken just volunteered to test the limits of the lamp." Nothing like a good kick to stimulate their curiosity. Hahahahahaha .

My next few days were a test of wits. Yes, let's see who lowered their guard first: the chicken or me. Trying to bribe her with food, that was a good kick she gave me. Trying to push her: I only earned some sharp claws on my knee, like a fork to a steak. A noise to divert attention elsewhere, while I try to push her: a peck on the head.

"damn hell hen"

At this rate not being able to test the limits of the fence. If I need to make a sudden escape, I wouldn't know where to start. The gate is out of doubt. The closure of it lit up when I tried to grab it. It didn't take me long to feel the old woman's gaze at the time of the attempt.