"You'll want to have a campfire built before the sun sets," Wilson suggested. "Just let me rest, okay?!" Willow snapped. She'd been hard at work for hours, collecting sticks, grasses, and rocks, her only meal what meager amount of berries she'd been able to collect before Wilson informed her of some pressing matter that she MUST ATTEND TO IMMEDIATELY. He had been tirelessly advising her for the better part of the day, only stopping when she claimed to have heard something growling from afar and asked him to investigate. The odd man had done so with surprising urgency, causing Willow to wonder if there was something to worry about after all. Those thoughts were soon lost, however, as Willow laid back on the brittle grass, watching as the strawberry light of the sunset played itself across the reaches of the sky. She was tired and hungry, but at least she was distracted. This odd world almost seemed pleasant… if a bit foreboding. The mindless tasks of survival had kept Willow's thoughts away from her old life, and the fate of her parents. She heard Wilson nagging at her, letting the sound turn to static as her mind wandered. Her old life…

Willow's eyes snapped open as she sat up, gasping, "Ash!" Wilson jumped slightly, before giving her a quizzical look, "'ash'…?" Willow patted the ground around her and cast her gaze frantically about, though she knew it was of no use. Wilson watched her, unsure of what on earth this strange little lady was doing. "Are you… looking for some ash? It's a useful component, to be sure. You can obtain it by…"

"No, idiot! Not ash! Ash!"

Wilson became even more perplexed, "there is absolutely no difference between the two words you just said…" Willow buried her face in her hands, huffing with anger, "Ash with a capital 'A'! It's the name of my teddy bear!"

"Oh…" Wilson nodded, "… aren't you a bit old to have a teddy bear?" Willow shot him a burning glare out of the corner of her eye. Wilson was taken aback by the intensity of pure wrath in the look, but then he realized what made that bear so special. His face softened to pity, "it's all you have left of your family, isn't it?" Willow's gaze trailed down to the ground, as she did not wish to see any more of that damnable on anyone else's face.

Her eyes snapped back up. "Bring him back," she ordered. Wilson cast her a concerned look, "…pardon?"

"Bring him back," Willow repeated. "The last place I had him was in that antique shop, I'm sure of it. You said that this is 'another world'… and it sure looks like it." She shook her head, "I might not make it through this… and I don't want to die without…" she lowered her head, and Wilson would have thought that she was crying if not for the dark stability of her voice. "That's my first wish," she continued after a calming pause.

Wilson's brow furrowed. Was it just him, or was this young lady's descent into madness kicking off a bit more quickly than expected? Wilson could understand the sentimentality of a childhood toy, but Willow seemed to become too concerned far too quickly. Of course, she had just lost her parents. Maybe her marbles with them? "Eh, who am I to judge?" mumbled Wilson, shrugging. Willow's head snapped around, her face burning with angry suspicion, "what?!"

"Uh…" Wilson hadn't realized that he had been speaking aloud. "I just… ah… can't grant you any wishes yet!" He held his palms up and forced an awkward, toothy smile. Willow's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a sneer. "Uh, but don't worry!" Wilson quickly added. "I'm not worried. I'm angry," replied Willow in a low tone. "… Right, ah-hah… yes." Wilson's eyes darted around, hoping to find something to naturally fixate on. "When you, ah, find me, I'll give you your wishes. A-anything you want. Until then…" he shrugged, "sorry." Willow exhaled slowly, looking up to see Wilson nervously eyeing the setting sun. She guessed that he was dying to obnoxiously remind her for the millionth time that she had to hurry and… do whatever he said was important at the moment… but was too scared to speak up. Willow sighed tensely, "I've one wish left to think about. What next?"

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Wilson could not tell if Willow was sleeping. She was lying on the ground next to the fire she had built with surprising speed, just as the sun had set. Now she lay on the ground, unmoving but for the steady rhythm of her breath. Wilson simply stood stared at her, thoughts absently running through his head. He tried to remember what it was like to sleep, a luxury that the throne never allowed him. He tried to remember what a lot of things felt like. Standing for one. That would be nice. Instead, he was stuck sitting, bound to a cold, hard chair, listening to the same song for eternity. At least he never got any songs stuck in his head. There was no room for any other melodies besides the one that blasted record droned on without fail. He supposed it was better than no sound at all. Then, reconsidering, he decided that his first notion about the song was correct, and that it was, in fact, completely terrible.

Wilson silently approached Willow, his face blank. Drawing his foot back, he then kicked forward enthusiastically, the image of his foot phasing through Willow's body. "BOOM," he exclaimed in a hushed tone. "Go away," Willow grumbled, curling her knees tighter to her body. "Go to sleep," Wilson ordered, still whispering even though Willow was speaking at a full groan. "I'm trying to, you weirdo," the girl retorted. "You try living on a chair, listening to the same song for eternity," he grumbled. "I'm sorry," Willow retorted, "but the office hours where I'll accept crazy have passed. Call again tomorrow."

"Who are YOU to call crazy, you-"

"Ding!"

"'Ding'? What is that supposed to-"

"Ding ding ding!"

"WELL THEN HOW ABOUT I TRY TALKING OVER YOU FOR A-"

"Noooooooope. Bed. Go away." Without turning to him, Willow dismissed Wilson by waving her hand. "Good luck with the HOUNDS, then!" Wilson spat, but Willow ignored him. Wilson turned, preparing to walk briskly away, when he realized that he had nowhere else to be. Not that he really ever WAS anywhere besides Maxwell's throne, but declaring one's location when using the Pawn was an aggravation at best, anyway. Wilson turned back to Willow, half wanting to apologize. That girl was his only hope, after all.

A piercing howl cut through the air, causing Wilson to look around in alarm, crouching automatically. He could feel his heart racing out of instinct, though he himself was annoyingly safe from harm. "Shit! I didn't think there actually WERE any hounds about!" The howl sounded again, causing Willow to stir. "Oh my GOD, Wilson. Are you HOWLING at me?"

"No. I'm not," he replied in a steady tone, "and I suggest that you get your ass moving posthaste." Willow turned to look at him in mildly offended confusion, "uh, what?" Another howl. Something was out there, and by the sound of it, it was not alone. Wilson wondered if it had been drawn to the fire, the thought quickly replaced by an urgency to get this fiery young lady out of harm's way. "You don't have time to be surprised," Wilson urged, necessity forcing the meek persona he had assumed into submission. It was fun to pretend, but Wilson just wasn't that nice of a guy. "You'll die. Something's coming. Hounds, werepigs… er, pigwolves… something's coming to kill you, and they'll succeed if you keep sitting there like a stupid lump of congealed 'essence of prey'." Willow shook her head slightly, as if trying to dislodge a thought, and stood. "Then don't take so long to insult me." She turned to run, but Wilson called, "wait! You'll need a torch!" Willow looked back to see the vague shapes of approaching beasts just outside the firelight's range. "Go!" Wilson yelled. Willow grabbed onto the branch of a nearby tree, twisting as she did, using the momentum of the movement to dislodge the thing. Taking out a match, the like of which she always carried, she set the stick aflame and fled.

Wilson turned to the approaching beasts. He was right, they were hounds. Two of them. He obviously couldn't fight them, given his ethereal state, but he hoped that they ignored his lack of scent and thought him a target. One of the beasts lunged, and Wilson darted aside. The hound's jaws briefly snapped shut over the image of his leg, and the second one came charging at him. Wilson rolled forward, passing under the leaping monstrosity, and whipped around when he was behind it. "Hey!" he barked to hold the hounds' attention, then turned tail and ran. He made sure to stay only slightly ahead of their waiting fangs, leading them away from Willow by keeping their interest in him. For once, Wilson was glad that his Pawn's image was only that, as his projection never tired and could run for as long as it needed to. And so the image of a false god ran on through the night, praying that his sacrifice remained in tact.