Summer? Wilson thought, almost dumbly, taking off his threadbare winter hat and replacing it with his tam o'shanter. How? Why?

The signs had been there, of course: the Deerclops appearing, the pengulls dying. But the weather itself had given no indication that this would happen, and Wilson wondered if he dared believe it would last more than a day. Weather patterns mean nothing here, so long as Maxwell is making these worlds, he thought. I'll take this blessing for what it is, but I won't get complacent. Perhaps the world is simply resetting to prepare for a new chance for the Deerclops to appear. For a new one appeared every winter whether the previous one was killed before summer or not.

In any case, he now had only one more odd thing to look for before he could leave, and he took out his homing device out of curiosity. To his surprise, it was humming faintly, indicating that the last one was nearby. To be sure, Wilson checked his mental map, and confirmed he was nowhere near the wooden thing. With no reason not to, he continued in the direction he'd been going, the device encouraging his every step.

Before long, he found yet another bridge, this one littered with what looked like traps similar to the kind he'd learned to build from hounds' teeth and logs, only with a more dangerous design - from what Wilson could observe without touching the things, these were composed of spiked balls that would strike like a mace upon triggering. I definitely don't want to step on those, Wilson thought, skirting the devices carefully, and luckily, none of them were packed closely enough together that he had no choice in the matter.

On the other side was more grassland, and what remained of a walrus camp. Lucky summer came on this particular day, Wilson thought, eyeing the campground, and he continued on past some spider nests, following his beeping, shrieking device to the bit of farmland that housed the metal potato thing.

It's always in the least convenient place it could be! Wilson thought angrily, but it didn't matter - all five things were now accounted for, he could move on, there was no need to grow crops. Still, he took the five carrots and the shovel, and picked the saplings and tall grass, before turning around and heading back.

With the way all but open, Wilson realized he had a choice to make: he could proceed to the next world now, or he could stay and prepare, maybe learn some new crafting recipes and ready the supplies he would bring with him, assuming he could take four different things through the device again. Salve was something he definitely wanted to bring, but it would take some work to make enough to be worth bringing.

Day lasted much longer than it had before, but dusk still fell what seemed to be a bit sooner than it normally did in spring or summer, and night certainly wasn't short. By the time he got back, it was dark, and he realized he could now use his mining helmet, though he lit his fire pit and sat down with Otto von Chesterfield for the time being.

"Hey, pal," he said to his sleeping friend, which perked up to acknowledge him as he stroked its fuzzy head. "Looks like summer came after all." He sighed. "That doesn't make this less dangerous, though. I don't know how long it will be before winter comes again, and…to tell you the truth, I just want out of here. Out of all of this, you know? And maybe, if I can get through enough fake worlds, Maxwell will just give up, and I can go home."

Ever loyal, Otto von Chesterfield gave a little hop before settling back down to sleep, which Wilson interpreted as encouragement.

Then it dawned on him: could he bring Otto von Chesterfield through the teleportation device?

It might be worth a shot.

For now, he decided to make a sewing kit to fix up his winter hat and tam o'shanter, the latter being only slightly worse for the wear, but which he already knew he was going to bring with him. What else would come along? His mining helmet, certainly, and the heat stone to be safe…If he could make salve, that might be worth bringing along, but if he could bring the Eye Bone, that could prove incredibly useful.

In the morning, he put his backpack back on, took everything out of the chest, and picked up the Eye Bone. "Come on, pal," he said to his friend, and the living chest hopped after him as he hiked towards the tallbirds.

I still need to contend with the clockwork army, he thought as he walked, and as he reached the bridge, he stopped. The Deerclops never survives summer, maybe I should go back and get those pig skins now.

He had time, and it would be foolish to go in unprepared. "I'll be right back," he told Otto von Chesterfield, and he dropped the Eye Bone, not wanting his friend to have to contend with the tentacles, before turning to change course, crafting a hammer for himself along the way.

It was strange for it to still be daylight by the time he got to the swamp and began breaking the staked pig head. Out of morbid curiosity, he went a little further, to where he thought he had seen the Deerclops wreaking havoc; there was no sign of the titanic monstrosity, but the smashed huts and piles of dead things were unmistakeable. Among the carnage was a decent number of spiders, and Wilson started gathering their venom glands that mysteriously healed instead of harming, mashing them up with piles of ash to make medicine. When he ran out of ash, he gathered more glands anyway, just in case.

The trek back to where he'd left Otto von Chesterfield was uneventful, but it was dark by then, and he used his mining helmet to gather some more grass for a rope to hold the pig skin together into a shape that would protect his head. Though he could have gone on in the dark, he instead chose to let his companion sleep, and not continue through tallbird land until morning.

In the light, it was clear that all of the tallbirds had laid eggs, though that was of no use to Wilson now. Mercifully, it was still summer, and so the walrus camp that had been pitched not far from the stronghold of the wooden thing was empty. As always, the tallbirds attacked Otto von Chesterfield, but Wilson led his friend away, and eventually the towering abominations left them both alone.

"Alright," he told his injured but ever-cheerful companion, dropping his backpack and donning his log suit, "you stay here." Helmet on head, tentacle spike in hand, Wilson ran onto the marble flooring, giving his foes as little time to react as possible.

This time, he started with one of the bishops, and it didn't rise in time to do much. The knights came charging, but Wilson wasn't intimidated, and he stood his ground and swung his weapon until they collapsed, suffering only a few minor bruises for his efforts. The other bishop was blasting him, but was as slow and clunky as any shoddy robot would be, and Wilson chased it down and beat it into scrap.

Sighing, Wilson returned to the wooden thing and picked all the evil flowers in the vicinity so he'd have room to think, then returned to where he'd left his backpack and walking chest.

"Come on, pal," he said, picking up the Eye Bone, and Otto von Chesterfield followed him to the wooden platform.

Assembling the teleportation device was the same this time as it had been the last time, and it was up and running within minutes. Wilson placed his tam o'shanter, mining helmet, and heat stone in the metal mouth of the mechanical Maxwell, then healed his injuries while he weighed his options. It only took a few batches of salve to patch his body up to full health, he had a fair amount to hand still, but…but the Eye Bone…

"What do you think?" he asked Otto von Chesterfield. "Do you want to come with me to the next challenge?"

A hop was the rotund creature's only reply, and whether it was intended as a yes or a no was anyone's guess. Either way, Wilson had a feeling he would have his friend's support.

"…I want you to come with me," he decided out loud, and he filled the rest of the compartment with the Eye Bone. "Let's go, pal!"

With that, he pulled the lever. As before, shadow hands reached up from below and dragged him into the ground, and he closed his eyes and braced himself, his last moments of consciousness chased by the sound of mechanical laughter.