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#saw a lotta beautiful willows today
please-dont-starve · 6 years
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Day 17: The howls
Daybreak is usually rather beautiful here. To me, to Wilson and to Willow, all for different reasons. I like it because it makes it easier to see everything, and watching it chase away the night is very pretty. Wilson likes it because he fell in love with the radiation equations that became commonplace a few years ago to describe the Sun's glow. He had spent many a sleepless night waiting to watch those equations in their purest form. Willow likes it because it's on fire, of course, and what better way to start ones day than with someone that's on fire? The morning began beautifully enough until the howling began. Rippling across the landscape, through the very core of one’s being. It came on the hour, every hour, and roused both Wilson and Willow from sleep. "What on earth is that?" Willow asked, pushing herself off of the grass. A thin line of drool extended from her mouth to the place she had been sleeping. One of her pigtails had scrunched up against the ground in the night, and she began running her hand through it. When she turned to look at Wilson through bleary eyes, she saw the same fear she'd seen when they'd met for the first time. "The hounds..." He said, looking into the trees as if expecting them to rush out and gore him then and there, "I was out in the desert and this thing...I cannot call it a wolf, but that is all I have to describe it. It was the size of a bear and all mouth. It attacked me, tried to eat me." "Wait, didn't you kill that thing?" Wilson looked at her bug-eyed, and fished for the words, "No. I didn't see it coming until it was on me. It bit my arms, and I threw my pen into its mouth. It must have gotten caught in its throat because it spat it back out. It turned tail and ran after that." “It just... Ran away?”
“Are you questioning me?”
“Yeah, mate, I am. That don’t make a whole lotta sense,“ Willow said, as another howl echoed through the forest, “Why would it just run from a pen?“
“How would I know! All I know is that it did!”
“Uh-huh. You, the scientist, just accepted that a bear creature that attacked you just ran off from you throwing a pen down its throat?“
“I am a physicist first and a biologist fourth! I have no idea why it ran off, and I was hoping I would never have to think about it again!“
Yet another howl echoed across the camp, and Wilson saw a flock of beards fly into the air.
"Looks like ya ain’t gettin’ yer wish. Got any more pens on ya?”
“No, I left it in the cave.“
“Well, there's two of us now, we have a spear, and we took down this thing," Willow intoned, kicking the beefalo, "I'd say we’ve got nothin’ to worry about." "I suppose so." 
Willow looked down at the beefalo carcass that lay beside her feet, "Well, we need to get this thing outta here before those wolves come." 
"Yes, I have been thinking about that. But how do we cart something so large such a distance in such a short time? My old sled could handle a baby, there's no way it will hold this thing" "We could chop it up and make a few trips." "But it would take far too long. Even with the two of us, this could take days. On top of that, other animals might eat this while we leave it unguarded," Wilson said, gesturing at the beefalo. "I could stay back and scare em away if you made me a spear." "It is better for us to stay together until those wicked hounds come. On top of that, if I were to change during my trip, Wendy and Wolfgang are not going to know what is happening." "Well Willy, I'm fresh out of ideas." "As am I. We must guard this carcass until the attack." "So we're sitting here till the wolves come? What even makes you think they'll show up?" "We are sitting on enough food to feed any carnivore for a month." "Ah, y'know what, good point," Willow said, sitting down, "still, doesn’t seem smart to just wait fer an ambush.” "So far as I see it, we have no other choice." Wilson joined her, and they sat around the embers of the fire for an hour. A giga-fly swished past, dipping and diving in the air current. It was a mottled blue color, with black splotches along its wings. It's long mouth curled beneath it, and it's antenna tuned to some unknown station. It rested in a small flower, intent to suck out all its nutrients, when a spear jabbed into its thorax. Willow lifted up the spear and peeled the dead bug from the end.  "What did you do that for?" Wilson asked, more curious than indignant. "I've always wanted to know what these things taste like," she replied, pulling off an engorged wing and stuffing it in her mouth. She chewed on it, looking for all the world like a goat chewing colored paper. "Well? Any poison?" "S'not bad!" Willow replied through the giga-fly, a bit of spit shooting out of her mouth and landing on Wilson's face. "Thank you," he replied, wiping saliva from his cheek, "what does it taste of?" "S'kinda... You know pumpkin pie?" "Yes, I have had that before." "Yeah, s'nothin like that," Willow said, swallowing and letting out a stammering belch. "That is disgusting," Wilson said, snatching the other wing for himself. Had Wilson ever had a musk stick, he might've equated the taste of giga-fly to that. However, he had not, and could not wrap his head around the sweet, slightly chalky textures of the wing. It was tasty, no doubt, but a strange kind of tasty. A faint hint of blueberries hid behind the sweetness, but Wilson didn't taste that. 
On his third or fourth try of these wings he would find the blueberries, but right now its initial taste was too unique to get past. Even more unique was how filling it was. For something thin enough to provide flight, it had a caloric density unmatched by a lot of other foods. Wilson didn't notice it, but the wings also provided an increase in disease control. The infection that had been steadily creeping into the cut in his foot halted and withered over the next few days, leaving Wilson unaware of its existence. Needless to say, they had stumbled upon a strange and powerful source of food. 
They continued to gorge themselves for a while, spearing the giga-flys that fluttered by. Willow's aim wasn't great, and she missed more of them than she caught, but that was still enough to keep them both fed. On his fifth taste of giga-fly, Wilson switched personality. "WHAT IS MY LOCATION?" His body asked, his voice becoming loud and without nuance. He spat out the giga-fly wing he had been chewing as he spoke. "Uh...I don't reckon you ever gave this place a name Willy." "ANSWER DOES NOT FIT QUESTION PARAMETERS. WHAT IS MY LOCATION?" "Imma say..." Willow started, fishing for a name. She looked over the area, and saw only feces, giga-flys, and a campfire, "this is Camp Shitbug." "CATALOGING. CAMP SHITBUG ADDED TO DATABASE." "Alright, I answered one'a your questions, now lemme ask, who the hell are yA?" "I AM WX-78, THE FIRST HUMANOID AUTOMATON, CREATED BY DOCTOR WILSON JEROE," WX-78 intoned, sounding like someone reading off a string of numbers. "Wait, Wilson? Wilson created you?" "THAT IS CORRECT, WERE YOU NOT LISTENING?" "No, I just... Wanted to confirm. Alright W-ex...whatever your numbers were, what's your deal? You said you were an automata-somethin, what's that all about?" "MY NAME IS WX-78 AND MY PURPOSE IS TO SIMULATE LIFE, DESPITE ITS CLEAR POINTLESSNESS" he replied, maintaining unblinking eye contact. "Okay, that's... creepy. Well, you and I are gonna keep an eye out for some wolves. Gotta make sure they don't eat us," Willow explained as another howl rose out of the tree canopy. "SEARCHING FILES... WOLVES: CARNIVOROUS BUT FRIENDLY BEASTS KNOWN FOR THEIR AFFECTION TOWARDS HUMANS AND EASE OF TRAINING," WX-78 replied, "THIS WOLF IS HOSTILE, AND MUST BE INFECTED WITH DISEASE NAME: RABIES." "Yeah that sounds about right. If Willy sent you, you probably know your stuff, though I see his influence in the emotional department," Willow replied. "EMOTION: ANTITHESIS OF LOGIC. WHO IS 'WILLY'?" "Oh, you don't know that one? Willy is Wilson's other name," willow replied. She flashed WX-78 a grin, "see also: Dickbutt." "CATALOGING. CATALOG COMPLETE. ARE YOU A FRIEND OF DOCTOR DICKBUTT?" It was all Willow could do to not burst out laughing. The effort of holding it in brought tears to her eyes. When Willow had caught her breath, she replied, "yeah, I suppose we're friends." "UNDERSTOOD. YOU APPEAR TO BE LEAKING, DO YOU NEED MEDICAL ASSISTANCE?" "No, no, this is normal for me." And so they sat and waited. The day seemed to crawl on now, and the two of them did not exchange a word for the rest of the day. Due to his wounds, Wilson, or WX-78, ended up passing out. Willow didn't really have the heart to wake him. 
It was during this time that she wondered. This clan would be known for their wonderment. The family of beings born from Wilson's mind needed always to occupy themselves somehow, else they would lapse into daydreams. 
Daydreams fueled with curiosity at their static surroundings and turbulent lives. Today, willow wondered of Wilson and of dreams. Were his dreams his own when he slept? or would others sleep in his skin, dreaming in his stead while he lay In the background? Had she ever swapped with him in the middle of the night or vice versa, making for a completely different dream? Or did they all dream as one, creating a magical mess on the beaten canvas of Wilson's mind? 
I could tell her the answer, but that may ruin the fun that comes from such wonderings. In one's mind, the entertaining of an idea can be more fulfilling than the solving of it. In reality, Willow could only tell that Wilson, or WX-78, or the Wilson conglomerate at large, dreamt of nothing and had a tiring sleep.
It was late dusk when Wilson awoke, the sound of baying wolves ever closer by the hour. Wilson jolted to his senses, scaring the tar out of willow, who'd been absorbed in the firelight. "Jesus Willy, don't do that, you'll give me a heart attack!" "Ah, yes, sorry about that. I take it the wolves have not attacked?" "You are indubitably correct my good man," Willow mocked, putting on a pompous British accent. She turned and dumped out a small bundle of items, "before we're mauled to death, I figured we should probably see if you can do that spear thing again. It's not much use one of us havin’ a spear if the other has to cower behind them." "Very well," Wilson replied. He seized a sharper rock, a long branch, and the only stretch of twine willow had gathered. He tried to jam them all together in the same way he had done before and was met with the same flash of green. The spear on his lap was identical to the first, minus a bit of blood and insect. This confused Wilson a little bit, "if I am not mistaken, that branch was longer than this spear is now. Where did all the extra mass go?" "Well, where does stuff go when ya burn it?" "It becomes ash and smoke. There are byproducts, things cannot simply disappear." "Well, why not?" "Because that violates the first law of thermodynamics, which is a fundamental building block of physics." "Yeah, so?" "If that law is untrue in this world, then that means... That means... I do not even know what the implications of that would be. Suffice to say the world we are in should not act so similar to our own if that were the case." "Well, shit ain't fallin down around us, so I'd say we're good. Just means you got a cool power, nothin more to it. I wouldn't look that gift horse too hard in the mouth if I were you," Willow said, pointing a finger at him. She grabbed the unbloodied spear from his hands and began to fiddle with it as she had the other. Wilson looked down at his hands, and at the bloody spear lying in his fingers. It was then he decided that no, he would look this gift horse in the mouth. He would look so deeply that he would crawl into its stomach and out its asshole to wherever the gift horse came from. There had to be a reason that a man, intelligent as he was, should be able to completely break one of the most fundamental laws of the universe without even meaning to.
But first, the matter at hand. The howls were getting closer and the sun was going down. Willow threw more logs on the fire until the axe on Wilson's back was dull and useless. Finally, for two blissful hours, the howling stopped. But then came the growls. Deep grunts, far throatier than any normal wolf could muster, far more gravelly than the most cobbled of roads. These were not the sounds of animals, but monsters, and they reverberated through the duo's entire bodies. 
Willow wanted to talk, to say something, but she feared she might never be heard. Wilson said nothing, and wanted to say less. He wanted to curl up and hope they would kill willow and leave him be. When he was just about to get on his knees, the wolves attacked. They leaped out of the darkness, and into the firelight, throwing their features into garish view. 
They were very similar, with eyes the putrid yellow of moldy honey, upturned snouts like that of a pig, and tiny stumps of feet supporting a body almost entirely comprised of a snarling, drool filled mouth. They would've both been able to look Wilson in the eye, even if he stood as tall as he was able. And the smell, dear god the smell. They smelt of boiled flesh and wet leather. It was as if an abattoir imploded and became a dog monster. 
Willow leveled her spear at the closest one to her, and Wilson nearly pissed himself. Dignified, isn't he? Willow and her wolf clashed, leaping at each other in the same instant. They locked, spear to teeth. Neither of them gave any ground as they snarled at one another. 
Willow stared down the wolf, "have a go if you think yer hard enough c***!" 
Meanwhile, Wilson was not having as much luck. The wolf lunged for him, and he screamed, trying to push himself out of the way. He had no luck, and the wolf gored him with a gnarled tooth. It only grazed his shoulders, but the wound was bloody. Out of reflex, Wilson jabbed the spear he was still holding at the wolf and missed, shaving some fur off of its stumpy leg. 
He scrambled backward, dropping his spear as he shimmied away. The beast wasted no time and leaped on him again, trying to bite him. But it's mouth opened too wide, and it couldn't angle its head down to gnaw him. 
He felt the humid breath of the monster against his chest as he stared right into its throat, smelling the thousands of victims of this things jaws. It was at this point that Wilson was so full of adrenaline that he was on the verge of a panic attack. 
His hands began to shake, and his heart was beating so fast he thought it would tunnel through his rib cage. But before the adrenaline could seize his limbs completely, he gave the wolf as hard a shove as he could. All his adrenaline, all his panicked efforts, every fiber of his being poured into his thin white arms. 
His hands caught the monster beneath its ugly hanging jaw, slamming it shut for the first time since the creatures had arrived. Unfortunately for the hound, these beasts were not built to close their mouths completely. Wilson heard a snapping noise as the tendons that held the jaw together bent too far in the wrong direction. Blood mixed into the wolf's saliva, causing a great ball of foam to emerge from its broken jaw. 
It tried to swallow, but the foam was too thick. It could only make a noise that sound like a branch getting stuck in a lawnmower. But even with blood spilling from the hinges of its mouth, this thing would not stop. It's eyes, now bloodshot and pained, stared at Wilson. 
Unable to use its mouth, it resorted to clawing Wilson, raking his chest with its small, but still deadly claws. It cut his chest, again and again. Wilson tried to roll away, but he was so exhausted now he could barely move himself. 
His scrambling only rolled onto his back, giving the wolf a new area to dig through. Wilson screamed as the cold little knives ran across the back of his rib cage, his pelvis, his spine. Tears streamed from his eyes as he reached a hand out, wanting to get away. 
Wilson felt a sudden weight. This is it, was all his terrified mind could think, this is it. He used the last of his energy to curl up into a ball and slip into blackness. 
"What happened?" Willow looked over from the outskirts of the clearing, "oh hey, good to see you too." Wilson tried to stand up, but only received a sharp stabbing pain for his troubles. He lay back down and exhaled. He was laying on the ground, with his poncho spread over his chest like a blanket. The fire still burned, but it was getting low. The trees were too thick overhead to tell how much time had passed, but it was obviously still night. Or perhaps early morning. "You got knocked out. From what I can tell, you've lost a fuc- a lot of blood," Willow explained, catching herself. Wilson nodded a feeble thank you and she continued, "I killed the first wolf. I put the spear through the back of its throat. Then I killed the wolf on you. I wanted to eat'em too, really fu- screw with nature. But I think they gave me a bug or somethin’." Wilson looked around the camp. The two wolf carcasses lay a few feet away, with a puddle of Willow's vomit sitting next to them. Their teeth glinted in the firelight, as if they were tiny lighthouses atop a black furry sea. Wilson looked back to Willow, and her eyes met his. Her face was flecked with purple blood and red, and she looked scared. Her hands were shaking and she didn't seem to blink. She tried a smile. "You've got some lungs on you, y'know? My ears're still ringing from that scream of yours." Wilson stared at her, and her smile faded. She turned back to her work. "What are you doing?" "I wanted to get s'more firewood. Spears don't do well with trees, so I'm makin an axe," she said, pulling a bit of twine. "Pass it here." "Yer in no state to build an axe mate, get some rest." "I am fine, give me the pieces." "..." "Willow. Let me help." "S'that what you call it?" "Willow..." "Don't you Willow me buddy. You did nothing. You've done nothing. No matter what state you're in, yer a fuckin’ hassle. I have to make fire fer ya, cook fer ya, put up with ya, fight for ya, kill for ya, and save ya from yer fuckin’ self. And you think now you can help. As if now, lying on the ground from wounds you might die from, you think ya can help," Willow was standing now, a rock and a stick in either hand and clutching them until her fingers turned white. "Ya think you're in control, dontcha? Well yer not, and it's time you got that through that smart fucking brain a’yours! Ya ain't in control, y’ve never been! Ya ain't a leader, or a survivor. Yer a coward with a high IQ!" Willow looked at Wilson. The tears in her eyes didn't hide him well enough. A sickly little man, looking smaller than a child. His hair had drooped down, his skin was alive with the red and blue of veins, and the shape of his skull was clear underneath his waxen flesh. His eyes stared out from hollow sockets, and Willow couldn't meet them. Couldn't look at those little orbs that she knew couldn't be any more different from her own. 
Willow turned away from him, walked back and sat down again. She heard the rustling of his blanket, the muted groans, the shuffling of feet, but she didn't turn around. A skeletal hand reached over her shoulder and touched the rock. 
Willow didn't move, just watched as the green light enveloped the tools. This wasn't instant, not like the spear. It was slow, and she could see what was happening. His hand curled into a claw as the fingers strained to push out the energy. His veins bathed in the green glow, making it look necrotic, like the hand of a corpse. The stone and stick sparked, letting out tiny bursts of yellow that were swallowed by the green as it curled around her hands. 
In a moment of panic thinking that she might fuse to it, willow yanked her hands out of the energy, but the items did not fall. They hung in the lights, suspended in mid-air. Then, it was over. The green dissipated into the ether, leaving only the darkness and firelight. An axe dropped into Willow's hands, fully formed. It wasn't as sharp as the spear had been, nor as long. Willow moved it around in her hands, getting a feel for its top-heaviness. The hand retreated. Willow said nothing, and began to move towards a nearby tree.
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