Wilson scurried out from the edge of the forest, skirting around the spider's den between him and the sweet relief of his sheltered base. The mass of silk twitched violently for a moment, freezing Wilson in his tracks. His heavy breathing mixed in with distant bird calls and leaves rustling. After a few moments, he bolted past and collapsed in the opening of his wooden walls.
Dusk settled over quickly, the sun sulking off behind the trees. Wilson's eyes were still closed shut. He felt blood dripping out from behind his ear, but he ignored it, trying not to remember the vicious fangs that had ripped open his skin.
"Dammit! Why did I have to put my camp so far from the touchstone?"
A rough tongue swiped over Wilson's forehead and through his hair, leaving a thick trail of saliva. The panting creature then settled its furry snout into the crook of Wilson's neck. Chester snuggled in close, whining at his master.
"Sorry I had to leave you for a while, boy. Those hounds are tough," Wilson said as he sat up and patted the living chest. Chester was slobbering over Wilson's pants, as usual, but neither could be bothered to care. Wilson couldn't see any fresh tracks from Chester outside of the fire's vicinity. Resting comfortably in Wilson's lap, Chester licked a small scar on his owner's hand.
Somewhere in the eastern direction, Wilson heard a long, angry howl.
"It seems the brutes are still around. Come on, Chester, we've got a lot of preparation," Wilson got up and started rummaging through the real chests scattered throughout the camp. Chester bounced up to him, spitting out a near-mint spear and a torch. Wilson stared at the saliva coated items and then at Chester, a smile growing on his lips.
"Those demons won't stand a chance so long as I have a companion like you, Chester."