The Stray

2-4: Weavers in The Night (But Not Night Weavers)

Wednesday, October 14th

It was late night when Timothy's paranoia paid off. His sentry spirit chomped him awake outta nowhere!

He wasn't at his best, and it showed in his reaction: he jolted awake and Mandy flew outta her sheathe in sympathy. A moment later it hit him that he could have "stayed asleep" and kept the element of surprise. Sloppy, sloppy. His eyes flashed around. The door wasn't open. He didn't smell or hear anything. Huh? He glanced slowly at Sentry, who nodded slowly. Okay, so something was up. He drew himself up, as unconvincing as that was, and called into the darkness <<"I know you're there.">>

There was a pause, the kind of pause that had Timothy itching to start casting something nasty. Then, motion— and he realized what he wasn't seeing. A trio of spiders, webbing down from the celing! The wolf's glare melted away instantly. <<Oh, weavers!>> He didn't recognize their breeds, but a spider was a spider, so he gave the formal greeting. <<Let us stand in peace, upon dry webs.>> He didn't have mandibles, so he clacked it with his teeth and claws.

The traditional spider greeting caught them all off guard, the three pausing their descent and rapidly chattering to each other. He politely sat back to let them figure out what to do with the fastball he'd just hurled at'em. Anyone can fake a hat, but not just anyone can speak in tongues— or know the spidoleth.

Kinda hesitantly, a spider with a pale goldish furry body gave the traditional answer. <<May the rain and wind not rattle us.>> Timothy nodded, happiness bubbling up inside him.

Timothy smiled.<<And may what we weave here bring us bounty.>> Three parts: A promise that this wasn't going to become a 'business lunch,' a blessing upon their safety and that of their homes, and a wish that they all leave better off. It was just ceremony, of course, but it meant a lot back home. After all, with two cunning predators? It's important to let everyone know nobody's leaving in a stomach. Supposedly, spiders across the land knew it.

They definitely did here, at least. It was enough to convince the three to silk their way down, landing on the bed (but pointedly away from his legs.) Timothy carefully slipped from the covers, sitting cross-legged on top of the sheets and looking down at his guests. He didn't recognize their breeds. The one who'd spoken up earlier had a silky soft coat of corn-colored fur, and oddly flat mandibles. Another was covered in fluffy, dark feathers, which turned white to match his bedsheets as soon as it landed. The third was stout, with a jet-black carapace marked with a red... some kind of instrument. A guitar?

That's the one that spoke first. <<Guess the rumors were true. You've made a hell of a stir, witch.>>

The homey feeling of spider sayings clashed with the discomfort at how fast he'd been made. The witch tried not to grimace at that. <<Have I, now.>>

<<Umm...>> The feathered spider mumbled. Yep, that sounded about right, considerin' he'd flown into town with the Voltcage. The wolf grumbled softly, but let it pass.

<<Well. To business, then. Who'm I talkin' to?>>

The blonde one took his grumpiness in stride. <<I am Rishta-12, witch, of the Cornhusker kind.>> She curtsied in the spider fashion, flattening herself briefly.

<<Akkala-17, Banjoback.>> The dark one grunted. <<Pleasure, I guess.>>

<<Triska-13, w-witch. Featherstar.>> The downy spider bowed awkwardly.

<<Alright.>> Timothy took a deep breath. <<I am the adoptive son of Abikh-15, high mother of Deadhall, and keeper of the Wolfsburn. Wolf by birth, spider by bond, and witch trained by The Great Sage who Lifted a Mountain, I am Timothy Weaver, Witch of the Deepshadow.>> He bowed his head briefly. It was definitely boastful, as greetings went; most spider names were a simple name and number, since names repeated so often in large colonies. In spider culture, to have a 'shining name,' or epithet, meant he was someone who'd earned the right to uniqueness. It was a lot like how names worked back west, really, and he was banking on this landin' just on the safe side of rude.