Data and Magic

He set off, his injured leg protesting with every step. The initial adrenaline rush had faded, leaving him exhausted and in pain. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, a hollow ache that mirrored the emptiness in his understanding. He hadn't eaten since the charity event, and the meagre meal he'd had felt like a lifetime ago. He needed food, water, and shelter, and he needed to find them soon.

But the most pressing concern was his leg. The goblin's bite was throbbing, the wound inflamed and festering. He'd tried to clean it as best he could with water from a stream. He assessed his ruined clothes, ripped and torn from the fight and his flight. It was a sorry sight, but amidst the damage, an idea sparked. Using a sharp-edged rock, he managed to tear strips of fabric from what remained of his shirt and trousers, creating makeshift bandages. It was rough and far from ideal, but it would have to do to try and stem the bleeding and protect the wound from further contamination.

He walked for what felt like hours, the forest stretching endlessly around him. The ethereal glow of the alien flora provided a dim, otherworldly light, but it was enough to see by. It was a strange habit of William's, normal people would clear their minds and enjoy the beauty of the forest, but for William who lives and breaths data, he continued to scan his surroundings, his analytical mind still working, still searching for patterns, for clues, for anything that could help him understand this place.

As the day wore on, the pain in his leg intensified. He was limping badly now, each step a fresh agony. He needed to rest, to find a place to treat his wound before it became debilitating. He could see signs of the wound festering likely cause by infection from the bite, a shade of yellow and green starting to surround the wound. If the infection does set, William would be in an even more dire situation, as his body starts shutting down to fight the infection. He knew he couldn't keep walking now, he need to look for another option.

Finally, as the light began to fade, he found a large, hollowed-out tree, its trunk wide enough to offer some shelter. He collapsed at its base, leaning against the rough bark, exhausted and in pain. This would have to do as a resting place for now.

He brought out the leaf he'd taken earlier, the one that had released the citrusy scent. He remembered the way it had felt in his hand, the way it had seemed to absorb the light. An idea, a desperate hope, began to form in his mind.

He brought the leaf to his nose, inhaling deeply. The scent was faint but distinct. Citrus. He remembered reading somewhere that citrus had antiseptic properties. Could this leaf, this strange, alien leaf, have similar properties?

He began to rub the leaf between his fingers, just as he had done earlier. The citrusy scent intensified. He noticed something else. Tiny insects, drawn to the aroma, landed on the leaf and began to drink the clear liquid that was being squeezed out. They were small, almost microscopic, but he could see them, their tiny bodies shimmering in the fading light.

And then he saw it. After drinking the liquid, the insects seemed to become more energetic, their movements quicker, more vigorous. They flew away with a newfound vitality, as if the leaf's juice had given them a boost of energy.

A hypothesis formed in his mind, a desperate gamble based on a fragmented memory and a few observations. Could this leaf, with its citrusy scent and its apparent effect on the insects, have medicinal properties? Could it help his festering wound?

He had nothing else. No medicine, no first aid kit, no knowledge of this world's healing practices. It was a long shot, but it was all he had.

With renewed determination, he gathered more of the leaves, ignoring the pain in his leg as he moved. He found a flat stone and began to crush the leaves, using the hilt of the goblin's discarded dagger as a makeshift pestle. The citrusy scent intensified, filling the air, a strange but not unpleasant aroma.

He worked for what felt like an hour, his hands aching, his leg throbbing. Finally, he had a small pile of crushed leaves, a pulpy mass that glistened with the plant's juices.

Taking a deep breath, he removed the makeshift bandage from his leg. The wound looked worse than he'd feared. It was red and swollen, the edges ragged and inflamed. Pus oozed from the broken skin, a sickly yellow-green.

He hesitated for a moment, then, with a grimace, he applied the crushed leaves to the wound. The initial sensation was a stinging, burning pain, worse than the bite itself. He gritted his teeth, fighting back the urge to cry out.

Slowly, gradually, the stinging subsided, replaced by a strange coolness. He watched, mesmerized, as the redness around the wound seemed to recede, the swelling reducing slightly.

He carefully wrapped the wound with the remaining crushed leaves and secured it with the strips of cloth he had ripped from his ruined clothes. It wasn't much, but it was the best he could do.

Exhaustion finally overtook him, the adrenaline and the exertion of the day catching up to him. His eyelids felt heavy, his body weak. He leaned back against the tree, his head lolling to the side.

As darkness closed in, he wondered if he would ever see the dawn. He had survived his first day in this strange, beautiful, dangerous world. But he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that the challenges had only just begun. His journey was far from over. He drifted off to sleep, the image of the revitalized insects, and the faint, citrusy scent of the leaves, the only comfort in the encroaching darkness, hoping his hypothesis was correct.