I need to go.

It had been good for his head to settle for a day and do more science, but as soon as the sun rose again, Wilson switched out his tam o'shanter for his warmer winter hat and ran for the second bridge, homing device held out in front of him, as the sound of the approaching Deerclops rattled the cold air around him. As he started crossing, the monster's stomping was distant, and by the time he was across, there was no sign of the beast, but Wilson was not going to stay put again - his momentary base was probably already smashed to pieces. Instead, he followed the shoreline to his right, hoping to pick up on a new thing.

To his surprise, he quickly came to another land bridge, this one bearing piles of bones, like what he'd seen the last time he'd thought he was in an endless winter. Here again, there were hounds, but Wilson ran past them, beating back the ones that followed him across. Another savannah met him on the other side, and the homing device was barely humming, but there wouldn't be a bridge to nowhere, he was confident in that much.

Come dusk, once again, he saw the unmistakeable figures of the walrus hunting party, and by now he was getting more annoyed than afraid. His chipped wooden armor was still protecting him, so though he tried to keep his distance, he was not going to be deterred. At least the walruses went home when night fell, and he passed the darkness by a fresh campfire. He'd used a lot of wood on his new alchemy engine and boomerang, but there was enough for another campfire or two after this.

He waited only as long as necessary, and before dusk of the next day, he had found the farmland surrounding the metal potato thing. Relieved, Wilson took the bulbous metal device and stuffed it in his pockets, then turned to pick the carrots…only to discover that there were none.

A pit opened in his empty stomach, and he looked to the cloudy sky. "Really?!" he shouted. "You broke your own rules just to keep me from eating?!"

No response came, and Wilson scowled, trying not to appear worried as he reassessed his options. He could go back to where the Deerclops had been rampaging - no doubt it would pick a fight with the herds of Beefalo, and the walruses would pick a fight with it, so there would certainly be meat, and probably a lot of it at that. On the other hand, he only needed to find the wooden thing before he could move on to the next world, one that possibly might not be trapped in winter, where food might be more plentiful. Then again, he recalled Maxwell's anger the last time he'd heard from the malevolent being, and found himself doubting the next trial would be any less of an ordeal than this.

I must not rush, he decided. I've come so far, I can't throw all this work away.

Checking his mental map, he turned around and headed back, killing every bird he could along the way so he would have a few mouthfuls to eat next time he stopped.

The hounds and walruses between the farmland and the second bridge were impossible to entirely avoid during the trek, and Wilson was getting hurt through his badly-damaged wooden armor by the time he got there. He killed the hound following him at the line of small pyramids, then cut down some trees for more wood to light a fire. The Deerclops had stayed on its side of this bridge, at least, so waiting out the night wasn't as dangerous as it could have been. Even so, he was starving, and the bites of bird meat were barely enough to tide him over until morning. Worse, his winter hat was beginning to fall apart, and he wondered if turning back had been the right thing to do. Meat, he reminded himself. So much meat. Good meat. I need to eat.

Clutching his stomach, he nonetheless carefully edged his way towards where he'd last heard the titan of winter stomping around. Soon enough, the ground was shaking, and he came in sight of the beast smiting four Beefalo with one ice-backed punch to the ground. It hadn't seen him, and wasn't facing his direction, instead stomping off towards the walrus camps; Wilson gave it a wide berth, waiting until he could harvest the dead animals, his mouth watering.

At least one of the dead Beefalo could have been harvested for a horn, and of course, their wool was easy takings when they were dead, but Wilson had to walk past the shattered remains of his alchemy engine to get to the carnage safely, and his pockets were full; even with him having dropped every tool he didn't immediately need whenever he finished using it, he simply did not have room for a horn. If nothing else, though, the wool would be good fuel for fires, so he collected it all the same, along with piles of meat.

Just as he finished harvesting, a growl made him look up, and notice that the Deerclops had spotted him. Giving up the debate on how to organize his possessions, he turned and ran for the bridge, even as the beast began chasing him. Luckily, the gigantic brute was relatively slow, but dusk was falling, and the cold was creeping in; if Wilson couldn't find something to distract the monster, he would have to risk freezing to death or being smashed to pieces.

Or…

Veering to the side, Wilson dove into the thick forest, waiting for the Deerclops to draw near as he dropped all the rocks he couldn't use for tools and made a torch. At the last moment, he lit a tree that stood between himself and the monster on fire, then started walking away, baiting the creature forward.

Though it was powerful, the Deerclops was also dim-witted, single-minded in chasing its prey, and it stumbled right into the wildfire Wilson had set off. Wilson was just barely fast enough to outrun the blaze, but the Deerclops was not, plowing senselessly through the raging inferno that also warded off the winter chill. Hunger began to sap at his strength, and Wilson gritted his teeth and choked down a hunk of raw meat in desperation as he ran past the pig house and evil flowers where the crank thing had been. The pig seemed unaware of the fire, and when the Deerclops reached it, the pig ran over to smack the monstrosity. The Deerlops struck back of course, but it stopped to do so, and Wilson dashed to the path between the trees where the fire couldn't hurt him, worried that this distraction might have the unintended effect of keeping the Deerclops safe from the flames, as the pig house was in a relative clearing.

It only took two blows for the pig to die, and the Deerclops smashed the poor thing's house as well, the remnants of which caught alight from the passing inferno. Standing on the flaming objects, seemingly uncaring for the wounds it was sustaining, the Deerclops roared in triumph…then in pain, as it keeled over, dead.

Panting, Wilson stared at the dead monstrosity as the fires moved on, leaving charred husks behind. When it was safe, he approached, and began taking it apart, harvesting it for even more meat. When his pockets filled up entirely, he lit a small campfire, dumped some of the strange things he'd gathered, and began cooking everything, munching on steak after steak until his stomach was fit to burst, then cooking the rest to preserve it. Night came and went, and at the break of dawn, he examined the dead pig. Amazingly, the tough skin was salvageable, and Wilson took it, then molded it into a helmet for the inevitable confrontation with the mechanical clockwork pieces that would be guarding the wooden thing.

His pockets stuffed full once more, Wilson looked at the massive eyeball on the dead colossus. He'd kept the first one he'd ever managed to win as a trophy in his first world, before eventually being able to combine it with ancient materials and craftsmanship to create a powerful turret to guard his home; here, there was no chance of any of that, and a trophy would not be helpful. And yet…

Is it…edible? Wilson thought, turning the grisly sphere over in his hands. It was the size of his head, so it would be incredibly filling if it was - and of course, organs supplied more nutrients than muscles, there was no reason to think eyes wouldn't be perfectly suitable sustenance. Stuffed as he was, Wilson couldn't eat it now, but he decided to drop his torch and keep the massive organ for later experimentation, depending on how long it took him to get to the wooden thing.

On the way back to the farmland, through the snow, Wilson happened upon a disturbed pile of dirt that could only mean one thing: a Koalefant had come by recently.

No. Wilson smacked his forehead. There were Koalefants here?! All this, and I could have just been looking for - aaagh! Never mind, he told himself, ignoring the buried track. I have all the food I could want right now, I don't need it. And I can't get enough silk to turn its trunk into a winter coat, either.

When at last he reached the farmland and took out his homing device, searching for the path forward, he oriented himself and proceeded. Dusk fell, and then, almost insultingly, he came across a human skeleton wearing a somewhat-threadbare winter coat.

"I can't carry that!" Wilson shouted angrily, shaking a fist at the sky. "Stop mocking me!"

No response came, and Wilson left the equipment behind. While he could always make a new backpack, this world had proven that he needed protection from danger more than extra pocket space.

I miss Otto von Chesterfield.

Come nightfall, he burned as much wool as he could without singeing his own beard off, soaking in the heat as his tam o'shanter fought off the creatures of the night. Morning saw the need for him to walk around a walrus camp up ahead, and he veered right, soon reaching the shoreline, which he followed back left towards the direction his homing device was pointing him. Quickly, he found himself back at the walrus camp, with the hunting party well within sight; even worse, he'd come upon a small patch of grassland, with carrots. Food had been right ahead of him all along.

No matter now, Wilson thought, putting on his helmet and running on ahead, until the shoreline yielded to a path into a thick forest.

The homing device was beeping enthusiastically by now, even as the cold sapped all the extra heat from his heat stone. There was a path through these woods, and Wilson followed it, before he soon came across the patch of marble flooring that always surrounded the wooden thing. Armored as he already was, Wilson took out his spear and charged in, whacking at the metal monsters almost mindlessly, his log suit shattering under the blast from a Clockwork Bishop, though his new helmet still kept him safe enough through the fight. It wasn't even intimidating anymore, and soon enough, the monsters were all dead, himself only somewhat worse for the wear.

All that remained was assembling the things, choosing what to take with him, and moving on. My miner helmet didn't help me here, Wilson thought, but I might as well keep it. The tam o'shanter, too. My heat stone has been invaluable, and…should I bring some food? For he had mountains of steaks, and the eyeball still.

Wilson held the eyeball again. He was feeling a little hungry, and the meat could easily go with him, but this one, singular science experiment would best be performed now.

For science! he thought, bracing himself and biting into the slimy sphere, accepting the expected spike of pain that drove into his skull.

To his shock, it actually tasted fairly meaty, with a consistency like chicken soup, the black eye juices only mildly salty - as long as he didn't think about what he was actually eating, it was fairly tasty. He barely managed to eat every bite, but that was only from how filling it was, and his body felt oddly rejuvenated afterwards; checking himself over, he found that, though he was cold, his injuries were gone.

I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be, Wilson thought, still surprised that an experiment had turned out so unexpectedly well. He placed his piles of steaks into the metal mouth with his other chosen objects, pulled the lever, and braced himself as the shadow hands dragged him away, chased by the sound of mechanical laughter.