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Ford Pines hikes up the mountain invigorated by the simple fact that knowledge is just within his grasp. He stares at the mountain wall in front of him, the only thing keeping him from new secrets. While he does visibly swallow his own saliva at the sight, he keeps on, the promise and call of the unknown truly too much to bear.
He grips onto rock, testing it for a moment to determine whether or not it is safe. And, ultimately he decides it is safe enough for him. He pushes himself upwards, using every foothold he can get ahold of.
It’s difficult, mostly due to him not even stretching beforehand, but who is he to give up when answers to his questions are within his grasp. If this is how he learns about the creatures he is researching, so be it.
He feels the wind whip past his face. His fingers are starting to turn raw. Ford is simply ill equipped to make such a journey yet he simply refuses to give up. He goes further, not daring to look down. Perhaps that is his mistake, not looking down. Perhaps his true mistake is not observing his surroundings.
His foot hold fails, the rocks tumbling down along with his own body. Ford gasps out in shock when he falls, hands flailing as he attempts to grab onto anything to slow his fall, yet nothing succeeds.
Stanford Pines hits the ground with a loud, quite painful, thud, any breath left within his lungs exhaled immediately. It hurts so much he cannot move. He feels it, his leg bent the wrong way. His head feels light yet it’s throbbing. His vision is starting to fail.
Every moment of Ford’s life flashes before his eyes. The fact that he has not yet apologized to his brother, that the portal is not yet finished, that his muse is unaware of the circumstances. He can’t even lift his hands…
Is this where he will die? In some area of the woods in which no mortal will come across his body for days? Will woodland creatures get to him before another person? Will his body be buried?
He coughs, the distinct metallic taste of blood coating the inside of his mouth. It's starting to pool…he can’t breathe. Black splotches fill his vision before finally overtaking it, his body seemingly taking pity on his consciousness one last time.
Ford gasps as he sits up, the uncomfortable feeling of a familiar sofa making him realize that he is not in his world. He looks around, no longer pained by his physical body. Bill is floating, seemingly distracted. Ford clears his throat.
His muse turns, seemingly happy that Ford has arrived, but otherwise surprised. “Sixer! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I think…I died?”
Bill narrows his eye, not liking such a statement one bit. “Well you’re here aren’t you?”
“But I-“
“You’re dying, big distinction there Sixer.”
Ford buries his head in his hands, sighing. “I failed you.”
“Oh Sixer…” Bill floats toward him, putting a hand on the human’s shoulder. “We’re not done. I’ll just get your body to safety!”
“Bill,” Ford says, staring at him with pure, unadulterated admiration. It is like his eyes are sparkling as he refuses to sway his gaze from his muse. Yet, he doubts him. “My body is basically destroyed. You can’t make the trip.”
“Oh please,” Bill says, patting Ford’s head as if Ford was a puppy, a pet that he keeps around for his own enjoyment. Perhaps that is what Ford is…but he cannot bring himself to care. This is his muse…he deserves such devotion. “A little bit of pain won’t stop me.” Bill grabs Ford’s face, dragging him closer. “You’re far too important to lose, Sixer!”
And Bill disappears, leaving Ford to fall forward, finally realizing just how much he was leaning forward.