Wilson had learned quickly that the best way to get this spirit—as he had been thinking of it—to go away was to ask it a question it didn't like. Rather than answer, it would go silent for anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours. Sulking, possibly. Chief among those questions were variations of "What are you?"
That aside, it did seem genuinely interested in his own survival. It pointed out things that he had missed, and if he asked it a question on the best way to allocate his resources, it usually had an opinion. It had a lot of opinions, actually. And they were… surprisingly shrewd survival tips, for something that had given no indication it could die.
"Your amulet's looking a little worse for the wear. You should be careful with it."
"Yes, I know, it can help heal grievous injury. Quite remarkable." Wilson deadpanned. He'd learned as much after escaping a nearly disastrous fight against more spiders than he'd prepared for with fewer wounds than he deserved. Somehow, this piece of jewelry had restored him to full health rapidly. How it had the power to do so, he did not understand—but his skin, fully healed, spoke for itself.
"Not just grievous injury, Wilson." Yes, he'd told the spirit his name, though it didn't seem inclined to return the favor. "Fatal. It can bring you back from the dead. If you don't break it first."
"I should hope it won't come to that." He didn't enjoy dwelling upon the ever-present threat of dying, instead occupying his mind with schemes to continue living. And, as a man of science, he couldn't help but be skeptical of the amulet's ability to revive a corpse. Still, Wilson removed the object from around his neck and stashed it into his backpack, which he then put on. Today's primary objective was to gather as much grass as he could carry. Most days went a little like this, collecting something or other, with the occasional break to try building something new.
"Well... Just keep it on hand." The voice carried a fretful tone, as if it would be wringing its hands if it had two of them. Wilson headed out without responding. He got the feeling he was being followed, anyway.
"How did you even acquire all of your knowledge about…" Wilson started to ask, pausing to cut a tuft of grass. "Staying alive? I don't think you could even build a fire," Another handful of grass. "Not that you seem to need one—so how would you know about," Another. "About the shadow monster attacking at sundown, or life-giving amulets, or gold? Have you learned from… are you watching others out here?" The idea at once both thrilled and disturbed him. Other people? Imagine it! And yet, more people… would be trapped in this hell. "What of that, spirit? Did I get it right? Is that where you go when you tire of me?" Wilson asked, unsure of the answer he hoped for.
No one replied.
"Another tough question, then?" He was somewhat aware that he was now—probably—truly talking to himself. It didn't bother him as much as it used to. There was a whole grassland left to collect.
It could feel rather futile at times, painstakingly gathering supplies only to burn through them—literally, on occasion—far too fast. but Wilson had to remind himself that he'd made considerable progress. He'd managed to replace his Science Machine with a more advanced contraption, and a trio of wooden chests sat near it to store his stuff safely. He had a crock pot, and though he was no chef he no longer had to subsist solely on burnt carrots. He even had a spot in mind for a tent so he could sleep more comfortably. That's why he'd gone hunting spiders, in fact—he needed more silk. He hadn't gotten enough, but he knew he needed to replace the traps that had broken before he went back for more. In truth, Wilson also wanted several spares to take with him before facing those damn spiders again. Thus, he needed a lot of grass.
It had been a good day—his pack was full. An uneventful day—no monsters had surprised him. A quiet day—the spirit never announced its return. That was all true, until the hounds came. Their savage growling seemed to echo unnaturally all around him, as if they were circling just out of sight.
"Did you hear that?" He asked no one in particular, pulling out his spear warily. Wilson had survived hounds before, but they were a dangerous enemy and victory was not guaranteed. Worse, it was decidedly dusk, and it would be night before long. The scientist's mind raced as he scanned the area, trying to spot the dogs with no idea what direction they would be coming from. He was not far from camp. He could run back and start a fire… and yet, dodging a pack of hounds while staying close enough to the safety of the fire's glow seemed difficult, and he imagined their sharp teeth destroying the few structures he had managed to build. No, he would have to face them in the open.
Chancing a moment unarmed, Wilson dropped his spear to hastily tie some grass to a couple of twigs, serving as a very crudely fashioned torch, and stored it in his pocket to be grabbed and lighted at a moment's notice. If night fell upon their battle, he would be forced to swap. Perhaps, he thought with a grimace, he could use it to light the bastards on fire.
From his left, the first hound appeared, charging forward with its mouth agape. Wilson swung his spear at it, determined to stay out of biting range. His caution appeared to be paying off, and he landed a few hits safely, but as the second and then the third arrived, this defensive strategy became harder. The fight was taking too long, as opportunities to attack were rare, and there was little chance of killing them all before nightfall.
Wilson thrust his spear towards the injured hound, sinking it deep. It yelped in pain and went limp, but another one lunged forward, clamping its mouth on the spear's shaft, snapping the weapon in half. Damn. He tossed the broken end away, reaching for his torch. It was only two against one now, but the torch simply didn't have the reach of a spear, and Wilson found himself regretting the decisions that had led to this deadly close combat as the sun set. A lucky swing ignited one of the hounds, who ran away in erratic circles as the fire burned it. Feeling emboldened, he turned his attention to the other one, determined to do the same to it. But it was hard to make out the hound's shape in the dim light as he thrashed the torch about, desperately trying to make contact.
He didn't even see the now-extinguished second hound circle back, fury in its eyes. He just felt the shocking pain of teeth sinking into his leg, pulling him down. He hit the ground hard, dropping the torch where it laid smothered, out of reach, useless. One thought came through clearly: There was no winning—no, no surviving this fight. Not anymore. The other hound bit down hard on his right arm, and some small part of Wilson's mind, analytic to the end, vaguely got the impression that they were methodically crippling him so that he could neither defend himself nor flee. Another part wondered which would actually kill him: the hounds or the darkness.
He reached his free hand back into his backpack, digging wildly through the grass. Finding the amulet, he grasped it tightly in his fist as the monsters tore him apart. Wilson felt himself dying, his consciousness faltering. But the amulet he still held felt as if it was draped around his soul instead of its usual place around his neck, anchoring him in some metaphysical way. And then it shattered, and Wilson was aware that he was not dead and in pieces, but alive and whole. The hounds were—were sleeping? Knocked unconscious? It was pitch black, but he quickly found the torch where it had fallen. Acknowledging his second chance, and knowing he was unlikely to get a third, he ran.
The race back to camp felt both instantaneous and gruelingly long, as if time had somehow disentangled itself from reality. He noted that his hands were shaking as he re-lit the firepit, and he stared long out past the edge of the light's reach, but the hounds never came. Gradually, or perhaps it was swiftly—again, Wilson could only measure time now by the erratic beating of his heart—the adrenaline wore off, and a sense of incredible exhaustion overtook him.
Willow's DST character refresh/animated short and the upcoming content got me excited! Here's chapter 3 to celebrate! For whatever reason, I can't imagine Wilson being very skilled in combat. I don't think he'd be exceptionally bad at it, but I don't think he'd ever be impressive. I think he'd rely on indirect methods to kill dangerous things? IDK why... maybe because I'm bad at fighting in this game, lol. And technically, if it's following DST mechanics Wilson would have become a ghost and had to haunt the amulet... but let's say that happened without him realizing. Poor guy can learn about spending time as a ghost later.