He landed in a bush. A spikey bush. The leaves all ended in long sharp points.

Oliver fell down onto the first, feeling his clothes and skin be poked through with the thorns. He fell through the bush, landing into the branches on the end.

He rolled out of it, bent over in a bit of pain from the fall, tiny drops of blood leaving the many places where the bush had poked him.

But he didn’t really care about his pain so much, not right now anyway. The state of his diary was more important.

He pulled it out from under his shirt, checking the cover. It was still umblemished, and he sighed in relief.

But now there was a shout behind him. Someone had realized that he was missing, maybe had seen him jump from the window.

And so Oliver ran.

He ran away from the bush, despite his pain and bare feet on rocky ground. He ran as fast as he could, to the gate.

He climbed up it as fast as he could, moving through the barbed wire at the top, cutting himself.

But he had to get out of there.