|
Obeying your evolutionary instincts from the days when apes
were hunted by ravenous hoards of spiders, you wriggle through
the webbing and break into a run, on a gossamer cloud under a
perfect starry sky. The sticky webbing continues to bring you
to your knees and a bitter taste to your lips, while the
shadowy form of the beast easily picks its way forward, showing
a mocking smile with its row of sharp fangs. Perhaps
running harder will save you,
though it is becoming more and more likely that the only escapes
from being made into an ape-wrap are to
jump to your death, or fight
mano-a-spido.
|