Alone in the dark

Spider makes low soothing noises as Wylan cries into their fur, moving to rub wide, sweeping circles across his back with their tail. as heart-breaking as it is witness, they understand the emotional catharsis of a good cry. “absolutely,” says Spider, “there’s no one else i’d rather be denmates with.” they think of their current den, the one they’ve spent time making their own. it’d been a hard change after the move from the treehouse, but they’ve spent time making it their own, incorporating a handful of potted plants and a sheepskin rug. but is it big enough? “do you want to move into my den?“ they ask, “or should we find something bigger?”

"Araneae Fatalis"