Wendy wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't allow it. She wanted to run to help Wilson, she wanted to run to safety, she wanted to run far, far away from this horrible place. However, her legs seemed frozen to the ground as she was forced to endure the sounds of her only living friend dying. Tears ran freely down her face as she huddled and shivered in the bushes.
A loud, high-pitched yelp reached her ears. Wendy chanced a peek between the leaves. She saw the smaller hound turning in circles, whining and limping on one hind leg. Suddenly, the other hound jumped and yelped, biting at its shoulder. The two dogs blundered about drunkenly for a few moments, slowly losing control of their stocky limbs and collapsing in black, hairy heaps on the ground.
Wendy was astonished. What happened to them? Was Wilson somehow able to kill the hounds? They didn't seem to be pierced by any spear wounds, there was no blood that she could see. Did Wilson somehow poison them? Did eating him poison them? Wilson did mention once that since the animals on this island obviously had followed a divergent evolutionary path, that various parts of their biology and immune systems wouldn't synchronize very well with her and Wilson's.
Her curiosity got the best of her, and she carefully emerged from the bushes, keeping her spear at the ready. She slowly, quietly approached the scene. When she got close, one of the hounds kicked a leg and Wendy froze in her tracks, holding her breath. When no further movement was detected, she warily continued, staying close to the tree line and ready to flee at a moment's notice. The swish of sand beneath her feet sounded like thunderclaps as she tried to sneak closer.
She got close enough to see that the hounds weren't quite dead. They were slowly, laboriously breathing and laying in awkward, uncomfortable positions. They seemed to be… sleeping.
She brushed some of the hair out of her face and looked closer. In the shoulder of the larger hound was a clump of feathers. They looked like they were attached to something. It reminded her of a tiny, misshapen arrow.
Wendy turned her attention to the third prone form laying on the sand. Wilson lay as still as the hounds. Wendy quietly skirted the lumbering masses of dog to get to him.
His exposed arms were deeply cut and bitten as if he had been using them to keep the hounds' mouths away from his face, only somewhat successfully. The oozing wounds were staining the ground around him red. His pant legs were slightly torn, and likewise were sticky with blood. He looked like a mess. A horrible, bloody mess.
Wendy carefully knelt beside him, feeling like she was moving in slow motion. It just didn't seem real. Blood spatters covered his face and chest, the crimson almost disappearing amidst the red of his waistcoat.
She touched his shoulder. "Wilson," she said softly, so as not to wake the hounds. She detected a slight bit of movement from him, a shallow breath. Wendy's heart leapt. Perhaps there was still a chance! She quickly glanced at the hounds to ensure they were still asleep, then began to gently shake Wilson.
"Wilson… Wilson! Wake up!" she whispered urgently. He didn't respond. "Wilson, come on! We need to get away from here!" She shook him a little harder, glancing nervously at the hounds. There was still no reaction from him, and her worry grew.
"Wilson! Get up!" she insisted, fighting back tears of panic. "Please Wilson! Wake up!" She shook him harder still, but he still didn't answer her pleas. Tears broke free from her swollen, red eyes.
"Wilson… please don't leave me. I need you! Wilson, please… please wake up!"
Still no reaction.
She grew angry at him. A childish thing, she knew, but she couldn't help it. He couldn't just die like this! Not after all they had been through!
She nearly pushed him over in her efforts to awaken him, ignoring the blood staining her hands. "Wilson!" she cried, paying no heed to the hounds beside her. "Wake up!"
When there was still no response, she sat back on her heels and stared up at the sky, defeated. She could feel her tears dripping down from her face, soaking her collar. She released a crushed whimper, and pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in her arms. Her body jerked and twitched from the heavy sobs, and she angrily rubbed her face into her sleeves to wipe away the tears that blinded her.
"Please, Wilson…please…"
At her last word, she heard a sound. Just a little one, but she raised her head from her arms to look. His throat was moving slightly, like he was trying to say something. She brushed a bit of her unruly hair out of her face and leaned in closer.
"Wilson…?" She whispered.
He slowly opened his eyes, one of them not quite opening all the way due to a bloody, swollen scratch skidding across his eyebrow and cheekbone. His eyes were having a hard time focusing, and had a sightless, glazed-over look.
His mouth worked for a moment, finally forming words. His voice sounded as roughed up and abused as his body looked. "W…Wendy? What are you still doing here?"
She couldn't help but smile. She must look like a mess to him. Dirty, scratched, tears running down her face, and blood covering her hands. He was much worse for the wear however, yet his first thought had been about her.
"I couldn't just leave you," she choked out. She glanced over at the closest dog. "Besides, the hounds don't seem to be objecting to it right now."
Wilson's expression turned to confusion, and with a wince, he turned his head slightly to look at the hounds.
"But…how?" He rasped in wonder.
So much for Wilson being able to explain what happened. That wasn't important at the moment, however. She grabbed his upper arm and pulled gently.
"I don't know, but I don't want to stick around to see what they think of it! Come on, can you stand?" She didn't want to be insensitive to his still-bleeding injuries, but if they didn't get out of here fast, the hounds might awaken. Or worse. Whatever got the dogs might come after them too.
Wilson groaned in pain as she slowly helped him stand. He was a lot heavier than she expected him to be, with how scrawny he was. She gave him her spear to use as a walking stick, then fetched the black-tipped one he had dropped.
She helped him limp bit by bit to the tree line, away from the beach and the beasts that lie there. They walked carefully through the forest.
Progress was painfully slow. Wilson kept almost swooning from pain and loss of blood, and Wendy was forced to offer herself as support. At steady intervals she heard a loud plip as drops of blood hit the ground, agitating the leaf litter. She knew that if she didn't get him to a safe place quickly, he might still fail to survive this event.
Wendy was so focused on keeping Wilson upright, she didn't even notice a figure step out in front of them.
"You look like you could use some help," a mocking voice tittered.
Wendy whipped her head up to greet their unwelcome guest with an icy glare. She was surprised to find a tall, slender woman in a red blouse and black skirt standing before them.
Wendy had to admit she was quite pretty. Her black hair was pulled back into twin ponytails, and her skin was a pretty olive tone, no doubt accentuated from being exposed to the elements just as long if not longer than she and Wilson had. She seemed to be the kind of person that tanned rather than burnt, unlike Wendy and Wilson, who both currently sported some pretty spectacular sunburns.
One of her most notable features however was her steady, confident gaze, matched with a sassy hand on her hip and a corner of her mouth upturned in a haughty grin.
Her body language alone made Wendy immediately dislike her. Probably a hot-head with a superiority complex… she theorized.
Wendy looked up at Wilson to gauge his reaction to the newcomer. Despite his hazy condition, she found him gawking at the woman with a stupid, open-mouthed crooked grin that enraged Wendy for some reason. She stomped sharply on his toe, yanking him back to reality, and his slack jaw snapped shut.
When neither of them said anything, the woman scoffed and shook her head. "Fine, if you don't need any help then I'll just be on my way," she said a sing-song voice and began to turn away. She stopped after a few steps, as if struck with a thought. "You know, you really should thank me. If it hadn't been for me showing up when I did, you guys would be dog meat." She tipped her head toward Wilson. "Especially you. Heck, I may have been too late to protect you from that. But since you two are so obviously in no need of my assistance, I'll leave you be." She did a teasing cute wave with her fingers, and turned to trudge off.
Wendy looked up at Wilson again, who listlessly watched the woman walk away. Wendy knew he was in bad shape. She grit her teeth in frustration. As much as the woman irked her, she had to do something for Wilson. If that meant enduring her sassy attitude, she would just have to accept hit. Wilson risked his life for her, the least she could do is put up with an attitude in return.
"…Wait," she called out, and the woman stopped and spun around. Wendy could she was holding back a smile. "We… er, Wilson does need help." She glanced pointedly up at Wilson, who didn't even seem to be hearing the conversation. She saw his blood still running down his arms and dripping from his fingers. "…Please."
The woman came closer to get a better look at Wilson. Her smile faded into worry. "This is worse than I thought. Quick, do you have a camp nearby?"
Wendy nodded. "Over that way, but I don't think Wilson can walk that far."
The woman looked in the direction indicated, and grunted in acknowledgement. "Here, take this. Hopefully it's not too heavy for you," she took off her makeshift backpack and handed it to Wendy. Wendy noted with grim satisfaction that the weave work was hardly better than Wilson's clumsy crafting.
The woman quickly maneuvered Wilson onto her back, piggy-back style. He was too dazed from blood loss and shock to protest, and without any more delay she jerked her head toward camp. "Lead the way."
Wendy quickly led her through the forest, lugging two backpacks and two spears, while the woman carried Wilson. Her imperious demeanor had all but disappeared, replaced now by grim determination, ignoring the blood that was slowly staining her pretty red blouse.
They had been walking for a while when the woman spoke up once more. "Wilson, huh?"
Wendy nodded.
The woman pursed her lips slightly and nodded her head slightly a few times. "Nice. Well, I'm Willow if that matters any. What's your name?"
"…Wendy," she replied warily, still unsure if she could trust this strange woman.
"That's cute. How long have you been here, Wendy?"
Wendy was growing quite tired of talking to her. She responded with short, clipped words. "Few weeks."
"Have you been with Wilson that whole time?"
"No."
Willow made a face. "Not much of a conversationalist, are you?"
Wendy didn't respond.
Willow harrumphed and blew her bangs out of her eyes in exasperation.
To Wendy's delight, they arrived at camp soon after. She motioned Willow over to Wilson's grass mat, and left her to arrange him on the bed as she went to set down her own burden. She reached into her backpack and retrieved some of the silk and spider glands that she and Wilson had restocked a few days before.
Willow had just finished coaxing a very confused Wilson to lay down when Wendy dropped her stuff down by them.
"Oh, good, you've got spider glands!" Willow exclaimed. "Do you have any salve prepared already?"
Wendy stared at her in silence.
Willow quirked her mouth to the side. "I guess not. How about something like a bowl?"
Without a word, Wendy retrieved Wilson's gold bowl and handed it to Willow.
"Hmm. That should work." Willow quickly popped open a gland and squished the goo into the bowl. She cast her eyes around camp, and went over to the fire pit to scoop out a handful of ashes, which she promptly sprinkled into the bowl. She grabbed a small stick and knelt down by Wilson, vigorously mixing her strange creation.
Wendy stood off to the side, watching. What was she doing? For all Wendy knew, she could just be wasting and ruining their supplies. Sabotage. Wendy's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Willow didn't seem to notice, or at least not care.
Once Willow seemed satisfied with the disgusting looking mixture, she scooped it out and applied it to the worst of Wilson's wounds. They almost immediately stopped bleeding, and the wounds seemed to be held together by the strange salve. Wendy was rather surprised. The stuff was working far better than the plain old goo ever had! She imagined that if Wilson were in his right mind he would be going haywire with excitement. He had talked a great deal recently about how he desired to refine the goo to be more potent.
Willow finished spreading the salve and wiped her hands off in the grass. "We'll need to properly clean those out later, but I figured that the most important thing for now is to stop the bleeding."
Wendy looked down at Wilson. His eyes were closed, and his arms were arranged on his chest so his wounds were exposed upward. This position was strikingly similar to that of a corpse in a coffin. He looked deader now than he had sprawled out on the beach. The only thing convincing her that he wasn't actually dead was the steady rise and fall of his chest.
"He looks ready for his own funeral," Wendy mumbled, not taking her eyes off him.
"He kind of does, doesn't he?" Willow agreed. "All he needs are some flowers to hold…" A mischievous grin spread across her face, and she jumped up and ran off into the forest.
Wendy sat down next to Wilson and started playing with his hair, carefully pulling out sticks and other debris that had gotten caught in it. Hopefully Willow was gone for good. Wendy could take care of Wilson just fine on her own. She had been doing so for a few days now anyway.
Unfortunately, Willow did come back, a handful of flowers in her grasp. Still smiling, she approached Wilson and began carefully arranging the flowers in his hands, putting a few extras around his body and in his hair for decoration.
This served to make Wendy rather angry. Sure, she had teased Wilson mercilessly herself plenty of times before, but never in a situation where he couldn't defend himself. Willow's joke was downright inconsiderate.
"Aww, he looks so cute when he's sleeping!" Willow gushed in an annoying baby-talk voice.
"Sleep is but a preview of death," Wendy muttered darkly, standing up slowly.
"Well, aren't you just a little ball of sunshine," Willow retorted, giving her a sharp, disappointed look.
Wendy returned the glare, then turned and walked out of camp, grabbing a spear as she went. She made her way over to the stream to wash Wilson's blood off her hands. She smiled at the sight of the red swirling in the gentle currents and eddies. Blood was such a lovely thing. Pretty to look at, but its true beauty can only be appreciated when it's unseen, pumping through a body and giving it life. However, death isn't any less charming in its own way. Rivers of crimson flowing as the inevitable approaches… It was… poetic.
Wendy broke from her morbid thoughts when the blood had been washed away. She stood, and continued on her way, collecting rabbits for dinner. She reveled in the terror in the rabbits' eyes as she snapped their necks.
She wasn't normally this brutal, and her actions and thoughts made her feel somewhat nervous. I'm just stressed, she assured herself. I almost saw another friend die, I'm stranded on a strange island somewhere, and to boot I'm left with a maniac with a motor-mouth. She also noted that hear head had been hurting quite a bit since the hound attack.
"Definitely stress," she said out loud, rubbing her aching forehead.
She walked back to camp, discovering Willow going through her backpack.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, her voice slow and deadly.
Willow jumped at the sound. "W-Wendy? I didn't hear you come back. I-I was just seeing what kind of supplies you had."
Wendy narrowed her eyes.
"I swear I wasn't stealing anything!" Willow cried, sounding genuinely scared. Seeing Wendy with a sharp spear and an armful of dead animals was likely no help.
Wendy simply motioned her away from the backpack with her spear, and Willow complied, crawling a short distance away. Wendy dropped the rabbits on the stump that served as a table, and went over to check the contents of the pack. Ensuring everything was still accounted for, she carried the backpack over to her mat by Wilson and sat down, pulling out Abigail's flower.
Her mood lightened considerably when she saw that the flower had fully bloomed.
Abigail was ready to come out and play.