shadow play

The nauseating, neon lights of that creepy portal-point lay far, far behind, like a magenta burp across the northern horizon, and quite frankly the arachnophile was pleased to be rid of the penetrating, white eyes and licking, hungry shadow. Although the cosy, uninviting nature of tangled vine and dense vegetation through and around the region did truly appeal to her reclusive, cold character, the harrowed resonation of those plunging from the previous dimension, together with the constant inconvenience of their bumbling stupor, proved too much for her slim belt of tolerance to bear.

 

The level of her dissatisfaction was neither soothed when one dear sister had fled at random into the whispering wilds, without strength of their bond to reel on back. An uncomfortable night (and a less than pleasant day), had been spent impatiently waiting, but Hannah just never returned.

 

So it was that the spider-girl and her faithful pet came to dwell in a forest far less wonderful.

 

Tall timber cast long eerie and unnatural shade across the littered, pathless floor of the rainforest; should the sun have been smiling stupidly down upon it all - that might have made more sense. As it were, however, rain was bucketing down upon her, still, and so leaden and low were the gathered clouds against the canopy that any other (denser) traveller, could have been forgiven for believing night had fallen. Reluctantly she had been forced from her aerial ambition with saturated feathers and an irritated mind.

 

For a good length of time she and Ilham searched for a reliable shelter (leaves here, though large, filled like vessels and then purged their burden into the undergrowth below), until at last they came upon the edge of the world. Disgruntled, and still hounded by divinity’s sniggering tears, the arachophile was forced to skirt the slippery, rocky cliff side – with an obnoxious sea of fog to obscure view of whatever life (or death), lay beyond. A smirk sliced through her sour expression as thought of a fresh finale crossed her mind.

 
‘Turn back…’ came the lucid, logical voice of reason – like a tsunami through her plot.
 

“Of course,” she retorted softly, with unnecessary (and not wholly intended), bitterness. Legs pivoted lethargically atop the sudden dead weight of her hooves, but together she and the spider made it safely back into the bush. A short time later, they came upon the ridiculously vast trunk of a tree (perhaps even a pillar holding up the rotting base heaven), though as she settled to stew beneath the cover of one descending root, another someone appeared, around the girth.

 

A heavy sigh vented from soggy, velvet rims and a spray of water burst forth from their midst.

 
“Are you lost?” Gruff tone questions promptly, prepared to deter the child onto a less ‘interactive’ course. Sodden feathers fasten unforthcomingly around her barrel, and though her ears wander through the unfamiliar tune of this wet world, pale, golden eyes a fixed snug upon the black.

“Like delicate lace,
So the threads intertwine,
Oh, gossamer web
Of wond'rous design!
Such beauty and grace
Wild nature produces...
Ughh, look at the spider
Suck out that bug's juices!”

― Bill Watterson, Homicidal Psycho Jungle Cat: A Calvin and Hobbes Collection
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@Gwyn - I hope you guys don't mind (I can scoot her out)