Scowling, Wilson watched his fire burn itself out until there were only ashes left. His relief at the arrival of the dawn had passed, and now he just felt irritated. Is this really what I've been reduced to? he asked himself. Cowering next to a simple campfire through the night, too afraid of the dark to even think? He shook his head. I need to get out of here, he thought, with much more conviction than before.
A gentle breeze blew the ashes from the fire into the air as Wilson gathered his remaining twig and grass bundles and stuck them all back into his magical pockets. Then he took out his axe and cut down the nearest tree for some logs, in preparation for the likely event of him needing to build another fire soon. He got three logs and two pinecones out of the one tree, and this time he decided to keep the pinecones, figuring they'd probably make good tinder. He looked around one last time…then sighed, bent down, and pulled up another carrot, which he stuck in his pocket. That should be everything, he thought; I need to keep moving.
He continued walking in the same direction he had been headed before. His head felt a bit odd - he didn't quite have a headache, but it felt like there was just the tiniest bit of pressure on his brain, and he couldn't shake the feeling away, making it hard for him to feel as optimistic as he had the previous day. After a minute, he remembered to keep gathering materials, and he expanded his list of things to collect to include carrots and berries. He gathered everything automatically, his mind consumed by various theories and solutions regarding his predicament. Unfortunately, in the verdant land, it was somehow easy to mistake a flower for a carrot, or vice versa, at a glance, and more than once, Wilson got a lungful of the flowers' foul stench. It didn't take long for him to notice that all of the flowers smelled exactly the same, despite their varied appearance. They don't even make sense, he thought grumpily as he was repelled by a flower for the seventh time that day, his almost-headache not at all helping his mood.
After the tenth time, Wilson had had enough. Regardless of their smell, pretty flowers are meant to be picked, he thought, and he grabbed the flower that had just offended him - a simple white flower, almost reminiscent of a daisy - and yanked it off its stem. He smirked at the now-dying plant in his hand, his head feeling a bit better. I showed that flower who's boss, he thought smugly. I am the most powerful thing here, and nature will bend to my will.
Out of pure curiosity, Wilson smelled the flower again, wondering if the stench would fade after death and, if so, how quickly.
He didn't smell anything.
Interesting, he thought. Maybe I'm better off picking these after all.
From then on, he did. Somehow, the act of picking flowers, while not an activity he had ever actually engaged in before, made him feel better about whatever was going on, and helped ease the tension in his head. I'm not a wildman, he thought as he picked them; I am a gentleman, a refined and dapper fellow who can appreciate things at a far higher level than animals can. I am also a scientist, and a brilliant one at that. I won't let being stuck in the wilderness turn me into some sort of savage; I will conquer it all with the power of my mind!
…Even if I have to eat raw carrots.
He still hated that.
It was about midday when Wilson noticed a trail worn into the ground a few feet away. At the sight, relief surged through him. I'm not alone here, wherever here is! he thought, elated. Whoever made this path…
…or whatever made this path, he amended, deflating, realizing that it could simply have been worn into the ground by animals. Still, that would mean that there were at least larger animals to be discovered here. What was more, a path would give him an actual direction - surely, it had to go somewhere.
Wilson started following the path, choosing the direction closer to the way he had already been going. The ground was much more even, and Wilson felt comfortable walking a bit faster while still being mostly lost in his thoughts. He also felt more at leisure to cut down some more trees to gather more logs and pinecones - of course, he very much hoped he wouldn't need them, but he didn't want to be caught unprepared. He only cut down the biggest trees he saw, wanting to get as much wood as possible. After he cut down four, he started to feel like he was about to figure out what bothered him about the trees. When he cut down the fifth one since finding the path, however, his makeshift axe shattered, having lasted just long enough to bring down the last tree. I can always make another, Wilson thought as he gathered what he could from the felled evergreen; I'm just glad that it worked as well as it did while it lasted. Unfortunately, the shock of the tool breaking in his hand had derailed his previous train of thought, and whatever it was about the trees that bothered him went back to being a mystery.
After walking down the path for about fifteen minutes, the ground beneath him changed from grassy to rocky; around him, the various plants gave way to gigantic boulders.
Wilson approached one of the huge rocks. This is too big to fit in my pocket, he thought. Still, if I could break it down somehow…
He thought for a moment, then got an idea. He pulled some of his twig bundles and sharp rocks out of his pockets and studied them closely. It will require more weight than an axe, as well as a sturdier handle, he thought as he began arranging his materials on the ground. A pickaxe is what I need…Perhaps the same shape would be more efficient as well…
It took two sharp rocks and two bundles of twigs - the extra twigs being needed both to secure the extra stone and to reinforce the handle - but Wilson managed to put together a makeshift pickaxe with just a few minutes' worth of work. Again, he grinned at his creation, feeling very reassured by his ability to make full use of what nature had to offer.
He took a swing at the boulder he had approached. Rock met rock with a loud crack!; though the boulder didn't look very damaged, Wilson knew that its structure had to be at least partially weakened.
He took another swing, and then another. After being hit three times, large cracks appeared all over the boulder's surface. Wilson grinned and struck harder. Two more blows, and the boulder started to crumble…
Bang!
With one last blow from Wilson's makeshift pickaxe, the entire boulder broke apart, almost explosively. Wilson allowed himself a small whoop of victory before gathering what was left.
Some of the rocks left behind were sharp enough for Wilson to use to make more tools later on; others were simply rocks, not useful for making tools but, Wilson thought, possibly useful for making other things. Along with those, there was a handful or two of a yellowish substance that Wilson couldn't identify. I'm not a geologist, he thought, almost sadly. Still, I could probably find some use for this stuff, whatever it is, somehow…
Dusk came as Wilson continued breaking big rocks and gathering the pieces. After just a few, he discovered some boulders that were larger and different in color. Curious, though not particularly hopeful for something groundbreaking, Wilson smashed one of those, too. No yellowish powder came out of it, but among the rocks that were left behind, Wilson found a single nugget of pure gold, about the size of his two fists put together.
He stared at the unexpected treasure for a minute, then walked over and picked it up. Back home, this would be incredibly valuable, he thought, but out here in nature…well, I can't eat it, so it isn't very helpful. It sure is shiny, though…
Its shininess was fading right before his eyes as the sun set, however, and Wilson decided to make another fire without doing any more mining.
Once he had a fire going, Wilson pulled out all his supplies, hoping to find a way to keep his mind occupied through the night this time. Now-odorless flowers, berries, carrots, twigs, grass, logs, pinecones, sharp rocks, not-sharp rocks, yellow powder, a gold nugget, and his makeshift pickaxe (which was probably about to reach its durability limit, too)…He had a lot of stuff, but he wasn't really sure what to do with most of it.
He ate a few handfuls of berries and a carrot. Seriously. Carrots. He shook his head. Eating roots straight out of the ground like an animal, he thought; disgusting. He glanced at his fire. I could at least cook my food…
He took a minute to figure out a way to safely roast a carrot, then did so. The result was mushy, and somehow even worse-tasting than before, but at least it was a bit less primitive.
At last, the sun set, and once again, darkness swallowed the strange world Wilson had been trapped in. Just as it had the previous night, the darkness awoke some primal instinctive fear in Wilson, though he still wished he could get some idea of what exactly he was afraid of.
He tossed a pinecone on the fire every now and then to keep it going. He didn't feel too much like sleeping, and the ground was far from comfortable enough to rest on, anyway. That was okay - he'd gone weeks without so much as a real nap before; he'd last.
He looked through his collection of flowers by the firelight. He'd gathered about a dozen or so. They were varied, and very pretty, but they weren't useful in any sort of practical way. About halfway through the night, Wilson found himself weaving them together by the stems, out of a combination of nervousness, boredom, and his enjoyment of creating things with his hands. Before he knew it, he'd made a full circle of flowers, like a garland. Somehow, it started to give off a faint smell, though this one was almost pleasant in a way. It smells like prettiness, he thought, unsure whether to be disgusted or amused.
He considered for a moment, then put it on his head. How about that, nature? he thought smugly. I'm wearing you! I turned you into something I can wear! And it looks pretty!
He grinned.
After that, though, he really had nothing else to do but wait. The oppressive darkness felt no less malevolent than ever, and having nothing to do wasn't very helpful. Wilson studied the other materials he'd taken out of his pockets, trying to think of something else he could do with them. His eye kept being drawn to the shiny lump of gold…
Then, mere seconds before the dawn, Wilson got an idea.
It was a crazy idea. It was a stupid idea. But Wilson had never let facts like those keep him from trying something - he'd taught himself not to discount possibilities long ago, and he wasn't about to start now.
He barely noticed the sudden sunrise as he cleared a space in the middle of his inventory. If I can put these together the right way…
Well, he didn't know what it would do, but it wasn't unusual for him to go into a project blind.
He tinkered with his materials for a while, muttering fragments of his thoughts to himself out loud, as wasn't entirely unusual for him when he was trying to build something:
"Put that like that…and then if that could…No, no, more like…Yes, and then…No, but if this could…and then…yes…No no no, let that…Okay, good…and then put this here…Hmm…no, more like that…Maybe if I could…No, but what if…There we go…and then let this sit like this…and put that together there…and now if I could just…No, not like that, but…more around like this…Yes, there we go…and then…yes…Yes!…Yes, yes, yes! Haha!"
He stood up and stepped back, admiring his creation. It had taken four logs, a bunch of rocks, and the nugget of gold beaten out into several shapes, but he had managed to create…some sort of machine. It was functional, clunking away in front of him, the moving parts moving as they were supposed to when it was idle.
Now to test it, he thought. Assuming this doesn't blow up in my face like everything else I invent, it should break objects down into their scientific components - I should be able to see things in materials that I wouldn't have understood before.
He decided to try it on some grass first - grass was harmless enough, after all. He tossed three bundles into the top of the machine, then pulled the lever.
Clunk, clatter, clatter, clunk, ding!
With a puff of smoke, the machine released the grass. The pile was broken down in a way that Wilson felt like he could replicate on his own from memory…and which he could easily see how to weave into…
Without even thinking, Wilson grabbed the grass and wove it together, and within minutes, he had some very sturdy lengths of rope.
He looked at the ropes. Then he looked at his machine. Then he looked at his ropes again. A knot in his gut that he hadn't even noticed before released, and a triumphant smile spread across his face.
Science.