"Is your head filled with sawdust?! Your buddies are going to anger the spirits!" Woodie bellowed, as Maxwell's shadow puppets mimicked their master and chopped down some pine trees in the area.
If Maxwell was to be useful during this hunting trip, then it was expected that he would at least have to contribute in some way. If this was to happen, then why was Woodie objecting? Maxwell wondered. He could hardly be expected to kill beasts. That's what Woodie's brawn was for. And his niece? She wasn't bad at killing small creatures herself, he observed with some surprise.
"Calm yourself, woodsman. It's only a few… trees." Maxwell assured his bad-tempered acquaintance. His words trailing off, as the third pine tree his shadow puppets felled, transformed before his very eyes into a towering Treeguard.
"What did I tell you?"
"Silence, you fool! My puppets will take care of this."
Turning their attention to the newly spawned monster, the shadow puppets began hacking at the Treeguard's lumbering, but deadly limbs. Until a few well aimed slashes from the treeguard, made them dissipate into thin air.
"Wendy, get behind me." Maxwell ordered and hastily flipped through the pages of the Codex Umbra to find the spell that would summon shadow puppets once more. But the chaos of hearing Woodie's cries as he hacked away at the treeguard with Lucy, the fear for Wendy's life and his own and the pressure of having to read the spell proved too much of a distraction for Maxwell and he failed to notice the swipe from the approaching treeguard. Which sent him smacking into the trunk of a nearby pine tree, rendering him unconscious.
"Maxwell!" Wendy let out a cry. As she watched her former protector fall to the ground, with a sickening thud that made her usually cold heart sink.
With some assistance from her ghostly sister Abigail and most of Woodie's strength, the two survivors finally defeated the monster. But the end of the battle did not bring relief. It only brought concern for their fallen ally, who looked like he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon, thanks to a nasty gash he sported on the right side of his forehead.
"I suppose this means I have to carry his sorry hide back to base, eh?"
Once Woodie had slung Maxwell's unconscious body over his shoulder and Wendy carried their meagre harvest of logs and rabbits in her arms, the two began making their way back to base.
Too focused on returning home, Wendy and Woodie never said a word to each other. The only noise she ever heard from the lumberjack being the occasional grumble, from having to carry a moderately heavy load. After a certain amount of time, Wendy sensed from the heavy breathing that Woodie was beginning to tire. So she asked him whether he could continue to endure the journey.
"Strength eventually fades from the body. Do you need to rest?"
"No need, he's a featherweight." Woodie told her, even though he could have done with a break. There was no point stopping now, they were getting close to the base. They needed to press on.
It was during this time that Maxwell began to wake. The sight of the ground, as the person carrying him moved forward and the blood rushing to his head was enough to make him queasy.
"Would you mind letting me go? I feel like a ship at sea during a storm." Maxwell protested being carried over Woodie's shoulder, like a piece of luggage.
"Feeling sea sick, eh? Alright." Woodie set Maxwell down on the ground. A little too fast for Maxwell's liking, since his vision blurred and he began swaying. It was a most unfortunate state for Maxwell, not being in full control of his faculties. He preferred it when his mind was at its sharpest. Luckily, he didn't need a sharp mind to stay in control this time, since Woodie offered him his shoulder to lean on, to steady his balance.
"We're nearly back at the base. Can you make it there? Or do I have to carry you the rest of the way?" Woodie asked Maxwell, if he was up to the job of returning home.
"That would be most undignified." Maxwell retorted. Telling Woodie everything he needed to know.
As dusk came and as they approached the base, Maxwell spotted the carcass of a fish, laying on the ground by the side of a pond. A discovery also shared with an opportunistic catcoon, eyeing the piece of seafood.
"Scram! This is mine. I'm not returning empty handed." Maxwell shooed the catcoon away and picked up the fish by the tip of its tail, as if he was holding a smelly sock. A concussion may be the only thing he had to show, for this hunting trip, but he'd be damned if he appeared to be useless to the others.
When the three travelers returned to base. The defeated looks on their faces and Maxwell's bloodied forehead prompted Wilson to ask for an explanation.
"What happened?"
"That hoser over there spawned a monster by angering the spirits of the forest!"
"It could have happened to anyone. Did you salvage anything at least?" Wilson remained patient and asked how they'd fared, hoping it wasn't a total loss.
"We got some logs and a few rabbits."
"And a fish. I found it by the side of a pond." Maxwell added. Not allowing his contribution to be unheard.
"That's nice, dear. Now come along so I can tend to your wound." Wickerbottom praised Maxwell and lead him to a log to sit on, so she could treat his injury.
It was all so easy after that. Letting Wickerbottom wipe the dried trail of blood on his face with a damp cloth. Feeling the pain diminish as she wrapped the bandages around his head. Relinquishing his hold on the fish, Maxwell let it fall to the ground as he slowly slumped forward, feeling sleepy from the day's endeavours.
"Sit up straight!" Wickerbottom's orders stopped Maxwell's from falling sleep. "The dressing is becoming undone." She finished. Tying the bandage tightly, so it wouldn't get loose again.
"If you don't mind, I'm going to retire for the night." Maxwell excused himself and crawled into his tent. Which Wickerbottom understood to be the closest thing to a thank you, that Maxwell could muster. He then collapsed on the bed roll inside, without closing his tent. Finally succumbing to his exhaustion.
Sleep had come easily to Maxwell the previous night; his fatigue had made sure of that. Getting up was an entirely different matter.
Rays of the early morning light flooded the inside of Maxwell's tent. Making his eyes narrow, to shut out the glare attacking his senses. His head ached and his forehead was itchy. How had that happened again? Maxwell wondered. The events leading to those injuries, patchy in his mind.
Chopping trees. The monstrous treeguard. Shouts from Woodie and then nothing. Those were the few memories Maxwell could piece together before they had made it back to camp.
It was almost not worth getting up for.
He was sure the others would understand if he stayed in the tent for most of the day, but his grumbling stomach argued against it and he exited his tent.
Outside, the others had convened around the campsite. As if they had been waiting for him, by the looks of things. And the smell.
"Here, we thought you'd want to have this." Winona approached Maxwell and offered him a stick with a piece of grilled fish stuck in it. Winona would often give Maxwell a hard time, making her offer of food a pleasant surprise.
"I didn't pick it up myself, if that's what you mean." Maxwell defended his actions against the perceived insinuation. Not wanting to appear selfish.
"There's only enough meat for one person. So, go ahead." Winona assured him, prompting Maxwell to accept the stick.
But before he could take a bite out of the fish, rustling in the nearby berry bushes gave Maxwell cause for alarm.
"What was that?" Maxwell nervously glanced around the base, looking for any potential intruders. Maxwell knew there was no need to be so apprehensive, when he was surrounded by a base full of capable fighters, but his encounter with the treeguard had left him with a feeling of persistent anxiety. Like a bad case of stage fright that never went away.
Thankfully for Maxwell, the source of the sound soon revealed itself in the form of catcoon, sitting at his feet looking at him with big, pitiful eyes.
"What are you looking at? You won't be getting any." Maxwell sneered at the animal, hoping to discourage it from begging for food.
Sitting across from him, Webber and Wendy tried to suppress giggles as they observed the catcoon's attempts of persuasion by poking Maxwell's leg.
"Go away!" Maxwell barked. Finally tiring of the creature's irritating game and threw the stick with a small remainder of fish into the bush, that it had used to sneak its way into the base. That would get rid of the problem. And the laughing.
"We better get a move on before the day is done." Wilson announced, drawing attention to more pressing matters and organized the group into teams of three for the day's foraging.
Three people remained at the base. Wickerbottom, Webber and Maxwell. Wickerbottom read books to Webber, teaching him about plants and horticulture. Webber seemed to enjoy learning about different types of flora. Maxwell on the other hand, was beginning to suspect that they had only stayed behind so he wouldn't be by himself at the base.
No matter. He could use the company, since sitting on a log and staring at the scenery was currently boring him out of his mind.
As if answering the call to break Maxwell's boredom, the catcoon who had previously bothered him returned to the base and stared at him once more.
"You again? What do you want this time?" Maxwell asked. Wondering why the catcoon wouldn't leave him alone. Its intentions however, were far more affectionate as it hopped and curled itself up on Maxwell's lap, flicking its tail with contentment. For a moment, Maxwell didn't know how to react. Should he be shocked by this intrusion of his personal space? Or pleased that this animal deemed him worthy of being trusted? Maxwell chose the latter.
"Make yourself at home, why don't you?" Maxwell couldn't help but smile, as he patted the catcoon's soft fur.
Yesterday had only been filled with bad luck and injuries that made his spirit fall. But when he patted the catcoon, his heart filled with warmth and happiness. It was a welcome change to his usually bleak outlook on things.
While Maxwell passed the time patting the catcoon and watching it try to catch butterflies, the others returned from a successful foraging trip. Arms filled with vegetables, twigs, pieces of meat and logs.
As they stored their provisions in the proper places, Wilson approached Maxwell and noticed a catcoon resting on his lap. It seemed Maxwell had been quite comfortable recuperating back at the base, so he made a friendly suggestion.
"You know, on our way back I saw some berry bushes up north. It would be good if someone brought them back."
"I want to pick berries, too!" Webber exclaimed, having overheard the conversation.
"Then it's settled." Wilson declared and said something to Webber in a hushed tone, that Maxwell couldn't hear.
"Don't I get a say in this?"
When Maxwell and Webber found the berry bushes, the two split up to gather berries as fast as possible. Having earned its loyalty, the catcoon had accompanied Maxwell and was currently rubbing itself against his pants. He hoped its fur was not as sticky as a cat's, since he had no intention of spending all day picking fur off the fabric.
While Maxwell's attention was occupied by picking berries, Webber carried out his secret plan.
"Rarrh! I'm a vampire." Webber roared, as he jumped in front of Maxwell. His arms raised up and his fangs covered in a red substance.
It was enough to make Maxwell clutch his chest with fright, but not enough to give him a thorough scare.
"How frightening. Did someone put you up to this?" Maxwell remarked nonchalantly. Keeping a calm appearance, while his heart was still pounding.
"Wilson said you'd get the joke." Webber shrugged. He'd enjoyed eating the berries to cover up his fangs and scaring Maxwell, but sensed that the joke was intended for Wilson and Maxwell.
Of course, he'd do something like that. When the joke had yet to be completely bled dry. Maxwell thought.
Now where was that catcoon? Maxwell asked himself, noticing the absence of his furry companion. He then turned around and looked for it. But it was nowhere to be found.
"Fickle creatures those catcoons. And here I thought, it was here to stay." Maxwell remarked with disappointment in his voice. He had begun to grow fond of the animal. The possibility of it leaving, blissfully hadn't crossed his mind.
"Maybe it stayed as long as you needed it to. Now that you're better, it can go home." Webber suggested innocently.
I seriously doubt that. Was all that Maxwell wanted to say to the boy. But when the time came, he strangely couldn't bring himself to say it. They'd amassed many berries together. Dismissing the boy's ideas now, would only spoil the good mood that came from a successful harvest.
"Perhaps, you're right." Maxwell agreed with the monster child's endearing suggestion and the two returned home.
"Higgsbury, have you ever been in love?" Maxwell asked Wilson. As the two men sat, watching embers dance around the campfire in the cold of the night.
"I've had no experience in the matter. Why do you ask?" Wilson answered honestly, wondering why Maxwell had asked such a question.
"It occurred to me, these past few days, that what I've been feeling is the closest thing to what I can only describe as love."
"Oh, you mean the critter that came to our base? I think everyone who's cared for an animal, has felt infatuation like that at one point." Wilson broke the news to Maxwell. He was glad that Maxwell had been able to experience such a feeling, but realistically knew that it was a common feeling and not the genuine article.
Realizing that this was not what Maxwell wanted to hear, Wilson thought carefully for a moment and added something that would make him feel better.
"You know, we might not always get along. But I think everyone here cares about one another, in some way. You could say that's love."
"You might be right…" Maxwell smiled, thankful for the thought that the others might care about a monster of a man like him.
I was inspired by two Don't Starve stories and a movie (A Monster Calls just for the antagonist and title) to write a story where the characters interact in a meaningful way, which makes Maxwell realize that people care for him.