Entry #7

Woke up to a hot plate of food this morning. I think it was some sort of rodent, but I was too hungry to care. I asked the big owl what I should call it, rather than saying "it" all the time. It said it was a she, and that I could call her the Limerickist.

She told me she collects works of literature from anywhere she can find it (probably by scaring off the poor souls the books belong too.) She says she also wrote those poems that hang from the ceiling. As far as her origins go, even she seems to be unsure, though I don't think she really cares either.

She asked my name, and I told her who I was, just a humble explorer who lost his way. She offered to help. She said when she went out to find more books, she'd look for a map as well.

I hope she can keep her word.

Hoping cautiously,

Owen Grantly