>>180,181,183
Displaying, thankfully, some modicum of common sense, you crawl into the meagre shelter you found earlier, curl up on one side and attempt to fall asleep. It is not easy. Firstly, the structure seems to have been built by/for someone of substantially shorter stature than you, leaving your feet outside in the rain and mud. Your ribs are still sore from the corporal punishment you received earlier, back at the camp, meaning you struggle to find any position to lie in which doesn't put weight on at least one of your sore points.
What truly keeps you from sleep, however, is the noises from outside. A few times you hear long, low rumbling noises, as of distant thunder, but which last for thirty seconds at a time and seem to Doppler slightly as you listen, as though the source of the noise is moving. Three times you are shocked awake by the high-pitched chattering and howling of wild animals, once very nearby indeed.
At last, the sky is reclaimed by sunlight and you are forced awake. Through aching eyes and a faint headache, you crawl out of your abode to inspect your surroundings. The rain has ceased at last, only to be replaced by a dull, white haze through which the rays of the morning sun filter, like bad coffee. You begin by reading the crumpled, water stained sheet of paper that had been by your side all night. It is written in black ink, in enormous, looping ornate letters. It seems to be a letter, but the salutation, valediction and much of the contents are illegible. You manage to work read:
--eve--
--inforest. Should be eas--
--irborn--
--econnoitre. We shouldn't be far from one another geographically, but the possibili--
--ffect may last for mere seconds, or it might be permanent; you can never tell with these damn quantum things. Too many variables for my tastes. At any rate, you should make full use of this phenomenon. The initial slate we used was enough to get us here, but no--
--re limits, naturally. You can'--
--ssume was a gift from y--
--ad our differences, I trust that we are past that now. The bird in question is currently doing reconnaissance, trying to locate you, or summon any mooks that we can sacrifice to further ou--
--at you realise th--
--ove y--
--t die in a fire, but I--
--hy you fear the n--
--ow them ju--
--ss--
You aren't quite sure how to interpret your new bible, but interpret it you must. Is this letter addressed to you, as a disciple? What is this "slate" that is mentioned? What is the significance of the bird? Was there some suggestion of self immolation? Suddenly, you aren't so sure about this new religion of yours.
In an act of serendipity, you decide, completely at random, to follow the nearby brook upstream. Unfortunately, you find that it is beyond your ability to carry all the food at once along with the rest of your inventory, so you settle for taking only four each of the foodstuffs. Even this is awkward to manage while traversing jungle.
>>182
Despite a thorough search of your inventory and immediate surroundings, you cannot locate any farmyard animals whatsoever, including donkeys and cockerels. Furthermore, you aren't entirely sure how you'd go about entertaining the chicken in question enough to reach the prerequisite gaiety, nor how you'd then arrange the donkey so as to defecate directly onto it.
>>184
You weren't planning to charge for access to your newly discovered religious text, nor particularly to conceal it from others, but make the conscious decision to keep things that way as far as possible.
After much walking, you reach a faint, poorly defined path crossing the stream, with a makeshift bridge consisting only of a wooden door. To the Southeast, a short distance uphill, there is a two storey building made of red brick. Every visible window is smashed. There is a banner hanging between two windows reading "DO NOT ENTER". To the Northwest, the path continues unabated. As you are standing deliberating over the dilemma, you hear the chattering noise again, from the West.
Enter with a proud strut in defiance of the banner.