Whispers clawed at Wilson's mind as the moon made its way across the sky. He clutched his tam o'shanter, letting go only to fuel onto his fire to try to keep warm, focusing on the solid craftsmanship of the article of clothing and trying to think of home. When morning came, he chopped down a couple of the surrounding trees to keep his fire burning, wanting only to rest, though he didn't have enough grass to make a sleeping mat.

As the ache in his head slowly abated, he looked over at the wall of black stone. It would be so much easier to do this with a Shadow Amulet, he thought, and he reflected on all the purple gems that had fallen from the clockwork bishops he'd killed. But he couldn't make a Shadow Amulet without a Shadow Manipulator, and he hadn't even made a Prestihatitator.

Sighing, Wilson sat down at his fire and rubbed his temples. What the heck has happened to me? he thought. I used to take such pride in the scientific method, in trying things and experimenting, taking my time on one task before moving on to another. Here, I've been rushing, and now I have so much that I didn't do but could have done that might have helped me. Granted, he wouldn't have had the supplies to make a Shadow Amulet by now even if he had re-learned how to make one in a previous world, but it was the principle of the matter that gnawed at him. I am a gentleman, and a brilliant scientist; this whole time since finding that portal in the first fake world, I have been neither. My imprisonment here has turned me into a savage…

He clutched his tam o'shanter again, his whole body tensing at the whispers, the shadows, the color draining from his warped vision.

No more. The next time I can make any kind of machine, I will take my time. If I'm going to get home soon, I will not return as someone other than myself.

Drawing a deep breath, Wilson stood. Dusk was already arriving, but his heat stone was so hot it was glowing, so he didn't need to put on his winter hat just yet; instead, he folded his arms under his massive beard and walked into the woods.

Within minutes, the land opened up into a massive savannah, grass as far as the eye could see under the blanket of snow. The day-and-night cycle hadn't changed still, but Wilson knew that didn't mean anything anymore. When he took out the homing device, the signal was noticeable, but getting fainter the way he was going; he turned around and around, until he found that left and backwards a little was his best bet.

Gathering all the grass he came across, though he didn't have a machine to tell him how to make a sleeping mat, he soon came across a herd of Beefalo. I've done nothing with these since coming here, either, he thought, and his stomach growled. But herds of these beasties are dangerous, and I don't have a weapon yet… Frowning, he made a note of them and kept walking, passing yet another herd along his way.

Then, at dusk, he saw the shuffling form of MacTusk.

More of them?! Wilson thought, alarmed, and he quickly doubled back. Maybe if I distract them with Beefalo, they'll leave me alone. It was a long shot, but worth it at this point, especially considering how hungry he was getting. Making a wide circle, he hopefully led the walrus family to prey that wouldn't run away from them, then went back again from a different angle.

He got further this time, far enough to reach the origin of the hunting party: a camp of three igloos. There are more, he thought, swallowing hard, but the homing device was beeping and vibrating vigorously now, and he stuck to the ocean shore, as far away as possible.

Naturally, this wasn't enough, and another hunting party spotted him.

Drat! Wilson turned away and ran back towards the Beefalo herds, walrus and hounds in hot pursuit. There was only so far he could get before nightfall, but he needed to be able to rest safely, if nothing else, and he didn't stop until he was far away from any creature.

A fresh campfire, a fresh point of view. Right now, Wilson needed food, and though he planned to go back to see what might have happened the previous day, he couldn't afford to be picky. His headache had eased somewhat - though not nearly enough - and he felt fairly fit; he could eat one monster meat steak if it came to it.

Come daylight, he started throwing his boomerang at the birds that fluttered past; half of them were too scrawny to get even a mouthful off them, but a couple were edible, and he pocketed the meat to cook the next time he settled for the night. Catching the boomerang was as tricky as ever, but it was worth the couple of smacks he got for the chance at food. When he reached them, he searched around the Beefalo herds for any signs of carnage, but it took him until after dusk to find one dead walrus, from which he was able to get one hunk of meat and a blow dart, though the tusks and tam o'shanter had been trampled by Beefalo hooves.

Proceeding past again, he was lucky enough not to see any more walruses, and before long, he found the rocky patch that bore the box thing. He took it, and the free spear, bereft of a weapon as he was, then ran back to the Beefalo herds. Naturally, his luck didn't hold, and he took a blow dart from another walrus by the time he was able to hide behind the passive herd animals.

Even so, he had another thing, as well as a hunch that he should probably keep going in more or less the same direction as the first bridge had led. He took a night to rest and eat, then crossed the savannah, and sure enough, he found another bridge. This one also had walls of pointy stones, but these were already in small, pyramid form, the rest of their substance intangible to his sane self. Relieved, Wilson crossed, and found another forest.

Across the new bridge, Wilson started following the homing device again, and it quickly pointed him to his left; he followed it through thick woodlands until eventually finding the pig hut that marked the location of the crank thing. I need to find the metal potato thing, he thought; those carrots that are always growing around it will be a lifesaver. There had been a single berry bush in the forest on the way here, but he was scrounging for scraps at this point, proceeding like this wasn't sustainable. I can go back and kill a herd of Beefalo with my new spear, he thought; he'd already had the idea of making a spear for that anyway, but now he had one without the need to make it. Then again, those horns will shatter this wooden armor before long, and then they'll gore me. There are too many of them for that kind of risk, even with armor…but…I need food…

Groaning, he settled down for another night, hoping for clarity in the morning. When the light returned, he decided to keep going the direction he'd been following, as there was a path worn into the ground here that made walking easier.

Then the forest opened up to another rocky area, with gold-veined boulders standing everywhere.

Gold! Wilson made a fresh pickaxe and started mining, gathering rocks and gold nuggets in heaps before returning to the forest to cut down as many trees as he could before dusk. I can stop and take my time now, he thought; that means I should go somewhere where I might be able to get food and reassess.

He hurried back to where the Beefalo had been herding, not sure if he was going to kill them yet but prepared to do whatever he had to. With the hounds that came along with the MacTusk hunting parties, he could probably get fangs from which to make tooth traps, and charcoal for a crock pot would be easy of course. He set up a fire pit and a fresh alchemy engine just across the Beefalo herds from the walrus camps, and began making things he didn't even need - a razor, a pitchfork, hay walls, each random recipe reminding him of who he was and what mattered to him, the shadows and whispers abating as color returned to his world in full. Night fell, and he was starving, but he felt better, and he had a plan.

Wanting a crock pot, he made a beeline for the forest by the first bridge the moment light returned, and he burned it all down with a torch without hesitation, using up the last of his twigs for one more axe. As he explored around the tiny forest, he even found a small spider nest, and killed all three inhabitants quickly, getting two hunks of toxic meat and one gland from the bodies before breaking open the nest to collect two pieces of silk, which he quickly used to make another boomerang. By the time he got back to his new base, he had three chunks of bird meat, and he relit his fire pit, made a crock pot, tossed in the bird meat and one hunk of purple meat, then cooked the other piece of purple meat and ate it - it made his stomach hurt, but he had been nearly dying of starvation, all too familiar with the weak feeling that meant he wouldn't last long if he didn't get something in him. A fresh batch of meatballs soon followed, and he felt elated. An alchemy engine, supplies, time to make all sorts of-

A low, raspy growl shook the air before the next sunrise.

No.

Not again.

And that, he remembered too late, was why staying put for too long in winter was never a good idea.