Gentleman that he assured himself he was, Wilson could hardly stand to see Willow in as much pain as she was. The poor girl had suffered rather severe wounds at the legs (for they lacked hands) of spiders. The bites she had taken to her chest and side had been substantial, but had luckily not damaged any organs, and would surely heal with time and treatment. But the bite Willow had taken to her leg… that was the real danger. It slowed her pace, causing her to limp painfully, a handicap that would surely bring about her death should she encounter any more unfriendly creatures.
Of course, this, too, would heal. Though it was brutal, Wilson's realm exhibited many mysterious properties, one of which being the tendency for wounds to heal at an extraordinary rate. Before he had become trapped on the throne, Wilson had suffered many injuries that would surely have proven fatal in any sane world. However, with enough to eat, even the gravest of wounds would close, leaving nary a scratch. Wilson had a few theories as to the reason behind this, but had not been able to test them. He was tempted to use Willow as a guinea pig… but if anything happened to her in the process, he would be back to square one.
Willow glared at Wilson as her stomach grumbled. "Now, don't look at me like that," Wilson chided, "you wouldn't have wanted to eat the meat those spiders provided. Think of your health!"
"Believe me," replied Willow in a snarl, "it's all I can think about." Willow had been sore with Wilson ever since she had recovered enough to move foreword. He thought it likely that she was really just sore, physically and emotionally, and needed someone to take it out on. "Yes, well, I'd say I deserve it. Considering the circumstances." Wilson was often unaware that he spoke his thoughts aloud, and while Willow would normally have rolled her eyes or made a sarcastic remark, she was not in the mood at the moment.
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The golden land of the savanna yielded little in the way of food, or really any plant life aside from long, reedy tufts of grass and the occasional flower. After much prodding from Wilson, Willow had started to pick the lovely little things wherever she found them. Wilson had adamantly professed that the picking of flowers was intensely therapeutic, gesturing wildly in his passion for this assertion. Willow had ignored the advice at first, believing such an activity to be too frivolous to be bothered with when one's life was at stake. However, when Willow eventually gave in to Wison's incessant badgering, she found that just holding those precious petals soothed her immensely. At first, she hadn't wanted to admit that Wilson had been right about the flowers, but collecting them felt so good that eventually she gave in and searched them out as she went. Even without looking at him, Willow would bet her blouse Wilson had an annoyingly proud smile on his face.
A sharp, high scream from Wilson sent Willow stumbling foreword in surprise, the sudden jolt paining her injured leg. She whirled about, ribs clamping tight around her fluttering heart. "Road! There's a road! You can find it!" Seeing the joy apparent on Wilson's face, Willow wished she could punch him. She scowled at the man who was hopping excitedly, completely caught up in whatever he was so excited about. "You didn't have to shout!" she snapped, "you gave me a heart attack!"
"Of course I didn't, you're fine," Wilson said, before correcting himself, "actually, you're very far from fine. Never you mind, though! Just follow the cobblestone road!" Willow's exasperated gaze followed the direction Wilson's finger pointed. Sure enough, a rough cobblestone path wound shakily into the distance, where Willow could see barren yellow begin to fade to a promising green.
"Okay, a path's good," she said slowly, "but what are you talking about? What can I find?"
"Tsk, tsk… have you forgotten already?" Wilson gave Willow an expectant smile. "No," Willow replied coolly, "I haven't." Of course, with all that had happened recently, the reason for her traveling, beyond avoiding hostile creatures, had slipped her mind. She was playing some sort of game, if you could call it that. She was supposed to find Wilson; the real Wilson. Not this apparition that shadowed her every move. But before that, she was supposed to find something called an eye bone, and would perhaps be prompted to undertake similar challenges as she progressed toward her main goal. Whichever option a cobblestone road denoted, Willow would find out soon enough. She hoisted her pack higher, its straps digging into her shoulders with all the weight it carried, and set off toward the mysterious road.
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The land through which Willow and Wilson walked quickly became more pleasant, if only for the bountiful bushes and gleaming ponds that were dotted across it. Willow plodded heavily alongside the stone path, keeping it in sight while she searched the grasslands for resources. Willow stopped beside one of the stagnant ponds, which flicked rays of sun against its rustling surface, propelled by a light breeze. The morphing refractions were compounded by flashes of mercury light that bounced off the scaled of fish that flitted about within. Willow noted that, although there were dotted films of lichen bobbing near the pond's edges, it was much clearer than she would expect from such a small body of water, lacking any visible rivers. There must have been a spring feeding it from below.
"You haven't made a fishing rod yet, have you?" Willow jolted as Wilson spoke, suddenly less that a foot from her. She pushed a huff of air from her lungs angrily, wincing as the pain of overfilling her lungs shot a lance of pain through her chest. She glared at the peaceful water, smoothing her tattered skirt uselessly. "What, you haven't been watching well enough to tell?" she grumbled. "Hm? Oh, yes, I have. I know you don't have one. I was just being polite." Straightening, Willow wondered what definition of the word 'polite' Wilson was using.
Wilson's face was smooth as he watched the fish dart about, a light smile clinging to his lips as he spoke. "They're quite useful. As we've happened upon these bodies of water, I'll teach you how to craft one this evening. You should have all the materials necessary… oh, but if you prefer me to be direct, you are definitely carrying said materials." A growl rumbled in Willow's throat, adding credence to the pinched fold of her brow. Wilson craned his neck to inspect her, surprise not dominating his expression. "Dear me, what was that? Are you possibly going feral?" Willow's teeth clacked, her jaw clenching in indignance. Before she had the chance to form her vitriol into words, a wide smile split Wilson's face, and he exclaimed, "I am kidding! Don't look so sour!" He flounced off, dismissing whatever remark she may have been brewing. Willow rolled her eyes and continued along the edge of the path.
Pockets of water continued to sprinkle the land as Willow and Wilson skirted the rough path. Willow attempted to empty out excess items from her backpack and solve the ever-present issue of hunger at the same time, eating stores of food that she had been sacking for emergencies. Many of the carrots and berries of which she partook looked to be on the edge of spoiling. This appearance was confirmed as Willow ate, nearly spitting out some of the particularly mushy substances. However, these stale staples calmed Willow's hollow stomach, and provided some much-needed room for fresh food and supplies. Willow also noticed that she not only felt her strength returning to her, but the pain from her wounds seemed to be dying down, as well. She reached beneath her shirt and rubbed her finger experimentally against the bite she had received from the spiders, and found that the previously open wound had been sealed by a surface of craggy scabs, and was no longer bleeding.
Willow's body moved numbly, separated from her mind in purpose. Although she was collecting berries from a springy, emerald bush, she was more focused on the miracle of her recovery. She had never been seriously injured before, but she had felt the sting of that bite keenly only a short time ago. Not only that, but her leg was beginning to feel better as well. It was if she had undergone a sudden spurt of regeneration. Her leg still ached as she moved to the other side of the bush to comb through its eastern leaves, plucking out the sweet, red jewels of its berries. She was sure that it had suddenly become a much lighter burden, and like the bite on her chest, the blood that so recently seeped from the wound had halted its flow, now forming a glossy slick over the gash in the limb.
Willow gasped as her focus returned to the world outside of herself. Her eyes locked with a singular eye; a pearlescent orb from which two ridged horns curved upward. The bottom of the sphere sprouted a tuft of squash-orange fur, which in turn topped a bone that stood upright, despite not seeming to be partially buried, or held aloft in any visible way. "Oh. Eye bone. That's… really obvious." Willow moved away from the bush with a smooth slowness, still hampered by a very light limp. She approached the object like a predator sidling up to a creature stiff with fear, that might bolt at any irregularity in movement that could break the transfixation of mortal terror. The deep coal of the eye bone's pupil followed her movement, but aside from that, it did not move. When she was safely within range, Willow's arm lashed out, retrieving the bone. She held it up to get a better sense of the thing, its gaze still meeting hers. "Dunno why, but I thought the name was figurative," she mused, "like silver pike, or wisdom teeth." Willow's observation was cut short by Wilson's sudden and delighted cry, "Chester!"