P R E V I O U S L Y I N
S P I D E R F I N G E R S
“Thanks Miss World. Thanks a lot. Now tell me, what’s been happening in the Oma? Are the Dilfs of village Po still safe?” Hara felt the pang of the Earth Mother, for she could give him no answer. Then, the worm in his hands opened its fanged jaws and said, “Gaia’s connection to the Oma is eternal, but like Hara before you, it would take at least six of your Earth months to learn the sufficient words to interpret Gaia’s quakes. Do you have that time?” Hara distressed at his inability to comprehend the hiss and snap of the creature. She only gained relief when her comrade crawled out of the inner Earth. Even though he is unaware of the troubles of Po’s people, the birthing chamber had given up something that would aid him in his fight against the gods. The Grapple-Worm in his possession can save the garden, but only if he is prepared to sacrifice a few of its flowers. Through the lives of microbes and plant-life, Hara sensed his ascent to her over-crust. She thought of a Dilf warrior’s similar ascendance, his large dragon’s egg firmly within his clutches. She hoped – an anxious, feverish hope – for the journey of her protectorate deity not to end in death. She wished the bad thoughts away, freeing her mind to mutate for new purpose.