"I regret agreeing to this," Willow huffed.
Sweat dripped from her brow and she looked close to collapsing. Wilson crouched at her side, abandoning his notes in favor of trying to support the withering Willow. She shoved her hand out to stop him from coming closer.
"Don't," she gasped. She threw the heated stones from her pockets and clutched her knees, doubling over as she attempted to catch her breath.
Wilson cleared his throat awkwardly and placed his hands behind his back. As he waited for the fire starter to compose herself, he retrieved his notes and began shuffling through them.
They were delicate and lightly smeared; Wilson had quickly learned that charcoal on dried leaves left much to be desired in terms of durability and legibility, but he had to work with what he had. He could make out a few of his smudged scribbles and began to review them.
"Well," he said, breaking the tense silence, "From what we've tried, it seems that you're impervious to physical damage from anything even remotely heated. Your epidermis has yet to be damaged in any physical sense, even when directly exposed to flames. I can't quite check on a molecular level, but you haven't shown any of the traditional symptoms of burns, so we can assume you are physically heat resistant."
He glanced at Willow, who was now laying on the ground, arms spread, chest rising and falling quickly. Wilson pulled out a handful of ripe berries and handed them to her. She took them gratefully, popping them in her mouth and sucking at the juices.
"However," he continued. "It appears you can still overheat. So you should still be careful about monitoring your hydration levels and try not to overexert yourself in extreme heat. I wonder why that is, though? What portion of your dermis is no longer resistant to heat? Perhaps if I run a few more tests..."
Willow gave him a rude gesture. Wilson stopped talking.
"No more," she said sternly. "I'm done with tests."
Wilson nodded; he was honestly surprised that she had humored him this much. He stood and dusted off his pants.
"Alright, then."
He began to gather up the two heated rocks; he had made them with the help of his newly refined scientific machine, which he'd proudly dubbed the 'Alchemy Engine.' Though he initially made the thermal stones for the experiments, he felt they'd be useful in the near future. The air was growing nippier as each day passed, and he predicted that soon they'd be entering an icy winter.
He tucked the stones in the chest he'd made specifically for winter supplies; so far, all it held was extra rations of wood and the two stones. Wilson forced back his little surge of fear at this lack of preparation; they would manage. They had to. He simply had to think outside the box.
Willow, still greedily inhaling berries, was now sitting up. Wilson brought her a small handful of ice, which she grudgingly accepted.
"This is horrible," she croaked around an ice cube. Wilson nodded sympathetically.
"You should feel better with rest and water. Try to stay in the shade until sundown." He grabbed his backpack and stood.
"Where are you going?" Willow asked. She tried to stand as well, but immediately began to sway.
"I'm going to try to find some more supplies. You should stay and rest; I'll be back before sundown."
Willow popped another ice cube in her mouth and crunched it noisily. After a long moment, she nodded.
"Try to find some stuff to use for fabric," she suggested. "I'm sick of sleeping out in the open, and I know you are too. I could make us some tents."
Wilson nodded; he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in a long time. It was hard to sleep deeply when you were constantly on high alert, surrounded by pulsing darkness that felt nearly alive. He could swear the dark was watching him, little white eyes teasing him from his peripherals but blinking out of existence once he looked at them head-on. It was driving the scientist mad.
"Will do," he assured. "I'll be off, then!"
"Try not to get yourself killed!" Willow called out. Wilson hoped he could do just that.
He walked for ages, picking up any materials he deemed even slightly useful. The scientist's knapsack gradually became weighed down with flint, sticks, and grass. Necessary as they were, the materials would not aid the two of them when winter came.
Wilson glanced at the sky; the sun was just beginning to set, casting the land in a faint orange glow. He sighed and began to trace his steps back to camp. He couldn't afford to keep returning empty handed; soon it would be far too cold to explore, and then the two of them would be stuck.
Something hissed. Wilson, startled, spun on his heels and came face to face with a group of giant spiders.
Each easily as big as his head, one of the enormous arachnids let out another piercing hiss before scuttling towards him. It's entourage followed suit.
One opened it's mouth to hiss again and Wilson caught sight of wicked-sharp fangs, long and thick as fingers.
He bolted.
Wilson had no idea where he was running anymore; all he was aware of were the dozens of disgusting hairy legs trained in his direction. The spiders shrieked and hissed intermittently, constantly reminding him that he was being pursued.
The ground grew sticky and swampy underfoot; Wilson risked glancing down and found that it had turned a sickly shade of purple.
"Where the heck am I?" he asked himself. He heard the scuttling again and picked up his pace, nearly slipping in the murky purple mud.
A small patch of muck started churning in front of him. Wilson, confused and terrified, pressed on, his foot landing directly on the bubbling mud. He felt something move beneath his ruined shoe.
The something rocketed out of the marsh, flinging the scientist high into the sky. He fell, saved by the yielding muck that softened his landing. It splattered across the looming tentacle that began whipping at the hoards of spiders.
Wilson picked himself up and scrubbed the mud from his eyes. He prepared to run again, but a sheet of spider silk fluttered onto the mud before him.
He picked it up and inspected the material. Sturdy, thick, and flexible, it would be the perfect replacement for traditional fabric.
The hissing stopped. Wilson blanched as the tentacle turned it's attention to him.
It smacked down where Wilson had been standing mere seconds before. He didn't dare to look back; he raced the setting sun as he ran back to camp, heart hammering madly in his chest. The spider silk stayed clutched in his sweaty fist.
"That took you long enough," Willow greeted. Wilson collapsed beside her, mud flaking from his body and shedding beside their fire.
"You look gross! What happened?" she asked, scooting away from the filthy scientist. He gulped in lungfuls of sweet, precious air and unclasped his fist.
"What is this?" Willow asked. She delicately scooped up the webbing, stained purple from the sticky swamp.
"Silk," Wilson managed to choke out. "There were big spiders, and a tentacle, in the swamp. And they died and they dropped that."
Willow grinned.
"Do you have any more?" she asked excitedly. Wilson shook his head.
"The tentacle was about to skewer me, so I ran."
His companion frowned.
"Well, I suppose we'll have to go back in the morning," she said matter-of-factly.
"What?" Wilson exclaimed. He leaped up, flakes of mud fluttering around his feet as he moved.
"Are you crazy? That's suicide! There were hoards of them, Willow! And that tentacle wiped them out easily! If the spiders don't get us, then that thing surely will."
Willow shrugged. "Well, if it does, it does. But if we don't get proper tents and winter clothes soon, we'll be dead before long, anyway."
Wilson could find no suitable argument.
But he was still not fond of the idea.
"If that's the case," he eventually stated, standing and walking towards his machinery, "then I'm going to prepare for the worst."
He didn't look back at the stubborn girl; instead, Wilson focused on gathering the proper materials to craft.
Wilson woke with a start. A song bird chirped heartily at his side, and Wilson, despite his love of avians, wanted to smack it away. He rubbed blearily at his eyes, smacking his dry lips as he peeled himself away from his pillow.
Hard and unyielding, the alchemy engine was not the most comfortable place to sleep, but his body didn't have any qualms about forcing him to pass out against it.
He looked down at the fruits of his labor; two sturdy-looking log suits sat at his feet, ready to take the brunt of the beating that he and Willow would surely be facing. Two spears also lay on the ground, sharp and deadly rocks expertly tied to flimsy sticks with crude rope. Wilson sighed; they were doomed.
Wilson turned to look for the fire starter; she was curled up in her usual place by the fire, hand dangling into the pit to toy with the dying coals. She tugged up her grass roll as a particularly cold gust of wind traveled through the camp. Wilson shivered.
He was torn between waking her up and heading out, or staying alive in their camp for a few more minutes. The longer he waited, though, the colder it seemed to get. Wilson sighed, grabbing the suits and trudging over to the snoring girl.
"Rise and shine," he announced grimly. Willow groaned and rubbed her eyes. Wilson placed her log suit at her side, opposite of the fire pit, and sat beside her.
"What's this?" she asked, inspecting the mound of ropes and logs.
"Armor," he said simply. She nodded, placing her hand on her chin as she examined it.
"It looks decent enough," Willow eventually decided. She slipped it over her head and wiggled her arms through the openings, patting down the over-sized suit. The logs clunked together as she shifted, examining herself from every angle she could. The young woman eventually shrugged.
"A little large, but I'm not complaining."
Wilson handed her the spear. Her eyes lit up.
"Now this is what I'm talking about! Come on, Higgsbury," she said, leaping to her feet. "Let's go kick some spider ass."
Wilson reluctantly took her outstretched hand and followed her away from the comfort of their camp.
He wondered if Willow would cremate him after this endeavor.
Wilson lead the way, spear held tight in his shaky hands. He brandished it at the slightest of disturbances; he had threatened nearly a dozen rabbits before Willow took the lead. He saw her roll her eyes at him. Wilson bit back his embarrassment.
He thought about this emotional development and scoffed; he had no reason to be embarrassed for valuing self-preservation! It was common sense to avoid things that could easily kill you in this horrible, hostile land. Willow was foolish for choosing to face these things head on.
And yet he still followed, sullenly instructing her when to turn and which landmarks to look for.
Eventually they stumbled upon the purple marsh; it looked just as disgusting as Wilson remembered, bubbling and churning and smelling of rotting fish. Willow gave a slight pause before squaring her shoulders and stomping forward.
"Onward!" she announced, pointing her spear forward. Wilson grabbed her shoulder and tugged her back. She nearly tripped on her heels.
"What the heck?" she asked, turning on him. Wilson pointed towards the swamp; just ahead of them, a patch of purple filth bubbled and churned. Had the fire starter continued, she would have stepped directly on the hidden mass.
"We have to be careful," he insisted. "Those thing's aren't child's play; they're fast, strong, and sharp, and they will gut you in an instant."
Willow frowned. "Well, you faced it and survived," she huffed. "And you didn't even have your weapon."
"That may be true," he admitted, "but I'd rather not press our luck."
She, once again, rolled her eyes. Wilson grit his teeth; he was honestly getting sick and tired of her attitude.
Willow shrugged his hand away from her shoulder and continued walking, head held high, spear held aloft. She didn't look back. He made no move to follow.
"Have fun running from everything, science guy," she said. She turned once, giving him a parting three-fingered salute before stomping through the mud. He heard her splashing footsteps growing fainter and fainter.
Wilson groaned and held his head in his hands. This was stupid; she was being childish and unnecessarily stubborn, risking her life for idiotic rewards.
"Bullheaded, arrogant, selfish girl," he seethed, stabbing his spear into the dirt. He leaned heavily against the weapon, looking out into the marsh. He couldn't see her pig tails bobbing around anywhere; she was probably deep in the swamp by now, half dead and regretting her stupid decision.
"I should have listened to Wilson!" he mocked, his voice cracking as he struggled to reach an approximation of her octave. He crossed his arms and tapped his feet, growing more and more nervous as he thought about her fate.
He stood.
"This is the worst decision I've ever made," he said aloud. Wilson ran into the swamp.
He found her stuffing reeds into her pockets. She looked up as he approached, genuine surprise painted across her features. Her lips quickly returned to her trademark smirk.
"I guess you aren't as wimpy as I thought!" she exclaimed. Wilson ignored her jibe and began to help her gather reeds.
"Any luck with the spiders?"
She shook her head. "I haven't seen any at all; are you sure they weren't in your imagination? This place seems like it can do weird stuff to your brain..."
Wilson shook his head. "You saw how thick that silk was. A garden spider couldn't make anything like that."
She shrugged. "Well, I guess we'll have to keep looking. I figured you'd like this stuff, though. Maybe you could find some use for it, they're growing everywhere."
"I could possibly use these to make proper paper..." His eyes lit up at the thought. "Imagine that! Proper, functioning paper for my notes! I wouldn't have to use leaves like a neanderthal!"
"I'm pretty sure neanderthals didn't take notes at all."
Wilson chuckled, glad that their relationship had returned to relative normality. He was also extremely relieved that Willow was whole and functioning, not beaten senseless into the depths of the swamp.
He breathed a little easier. He was fine, she was fine, they were fine. That was all that mattered.
"Let's keep looking," Willow decided. She looked to the sky, a hand held above her eyes to block the glare of the sun. "I want to find these things while we still have some daylight."
Wilson nodded in agreement. They began traveling again, feet sinking lower and lower in the mud as they wandered deeper into the swamp. Wilson thought back to her earlier comment.
What if he had imagined the spiders and the tentacle? He wasn't exactly at the peak of his mental capacities, and he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days. Perhaps he was leading them on a wild goose chase in a disgusting, rotten-egg scented swamp for no damn good reason.
"What is that thing?" Willow asked. Wilson turned.
A large white blob floated atop the purple mud. It was shapeless and writhing and Wilson, for the life of him, could not guess what is was. The pair began to approach cautiously, spears held at the ready.
Willow stepped down and winced. "The ground here feels odd," she noted. Something hissed.
"I think we found them," Wilson said.
Three spiders abandoned their nest, mouths gaping as they rounded on the survivors. Willow grimaced.
"They're gross!"
She stabbed the closest one in the eye. It fell limp at her feet, legs twitching sporadically.
Wilson turned on the second one and ended it's life in a similar manner. By the time he finished with the spider, Willow had collected three sheets of silk.
"And you acted like these things would be tough," she laughed. "They're weak as rabbits!"
Wilson blanched.
The nest spasmed and pulsed as cat-sized spiders began to scuttle out, attracted by the meat of their fallen brethren. Three managed to get meals from their cannibalism, but the remaining dozen were starved.
They turned on the fire starter and scientist. Wilson felt his heart stop.
"We need to run!" he shouted. He didn't wait for Willow to react; Wilson flew across the marshy ground as fast as his feet could carry him.
"Where are you going?" she shrieked. He didn't turn to respond; with his heart beating against his chest like a trapped bird, Wilson couldn't find the strength to turn. The sounds of crunching and hissing grew more and more distant. Willow shouted something at him.
His legs nearly gave out from exhaustion. Wilson paused to catch his breath and steady his wobbly knees. He dropped his spear. He couldn't find it in himself to pick it back up.
As he ran, she had called him a coward.
"I know," he choked out. The scientist kneeled in the violet mud, hands shaking, breath sporadic. He stared at the stupid, flimsy spear.
"I know."
A/N After three weeks I've finally returned. Sorry to leave you with a cliff hanger; I promise I'll update this again in a timely fashion.