The spider makes a sound—a faint, fragile chirr. Barely audible, yet it carries affection and warmth.
A farewell.
He presses his forehead to hers, heedless.
"I'm here," he murmurs soothingly. "I'm here."
Aelfric and Garrett exchange a look, uncertain and deeply unsettled. Even Hrolf stands silent, his grip loosening slightly on his axe.
"I'll care for them," Landon promises softly. His hand spreads over the cracked shell. "I swear it. I'll protect them."
The spider exhales, a slow, shuddering breath.
With her last strength, she lifts one trembling limb toward a vast sheet of web strung across the cavern's back wall.
She plucks a single strand.
The web sings.
One clear note hums through the darkness, resonant and pure. Vibrating through stone and bone.
Then she goes still.
Landon remains kneeling beside her for a long moment. Then he straightens and turns to us. "We need to go. Now."
"Why?" Garrett asks.
Landon points to the ceiling.
I follow the gesture and understand.
The stone above us isn't bare.
It's alive.
Thousands of spiderlings cling to the stone above. Pale as bone, no larger than marbles. They cover every surface and they're moving. Descending on threads of silk, drawn by their mother's final song.
"Run," Landon says.
We don't need to be told twice.
The spiderlings swarm toward their mother's body with single-minded purpose. We burst from the cave just as the first wave reaches the corpse. Behind us, the sound of thousands of tiny mouths beginning their grim feast echoes from the darkness.
We stop running once we're far enough away.
"What was that?" Garrett gasps as we put distance between us and the cavern.
"The young eat their mother," Landon says without slowing. "It is the way of her kind."
Branches whip past us as we run.
"It's how she gives them life even in death," he continues, his voice steady, almost reverent. "Her body becomes their first meal and gives them the strength they need to survive."
I surge forward.
Before I fully think it through, I seize Landon by the front of his cloak and slam him back against the trunk of a tree. The impact sends bark splintering.
"Enough," I snap.
