As ever, happy in my own company, I lay low knowing that the death sentence issued by the Brotherhood was in force and my whereabouts could be denounced at any moment. Although the days seemed endless left to myself, I used them to deliberate on a strategy to combat the imminent planned assault on Nature. For hours on end, I pondered in vain until, at the beginning of November, on a day when the sky couldn’t decide whether it was white or pale grey, I had an idea. I glanced out of the window at the wind-driven rain thrashing against the pane and basked in the warmth of my room and the pleasure of emerging from mental paralysis.
Among the limited belongings I carry with me when away from home, lying beside my regulation issue Glock17, was a statuette of the Anglo-Saxon goddess, Freya. It h
