The spider paused, her red eyes narrowing.
"She brought... warm blood," Siss wheezed, his pale claws digging into the dirt. "Thousands of merchants... soft, fat, ripe for the taking. She banished the darkness. She boils the water. She will eventually burn this marsh to expand her precious market."
He looked up, a twisted, horrific smile breaking across his scarred face. "Help me take back the canyon... and the Free Clan's meat is yours. A feast of two thousand... for the taking."
The Rot-weavers clicked their mandibles in unison, the sound echoing like a thousand dry bones rattling in the dark. They had lived in the shadows for a century, starving, feeding on scraps and toxic frogs. The promise of fresh, warm blood—of a fortress filled with soft merchants and unarmored recruits—was an intoxicating lure.
The massive female spider bowed her grotesque head. "We will weave the web in the dark, Lord of Scars. The human will not see us coming."
