Zahra, Ilham, and Hanna

It was pride that turned angels into devils

The spiderling had grown quickly (undoubtedly faster than any regular arachnid); warm against the body of the foal, protected beneath frills of young mane, drawing endless nourishment from the rampant array of lice who called her bonded’s skin home. Occasionally she was treated to feast on the blood of ignorant insects who ventured too close to view the shining silk nest she had woven between hairs – the instinct to string together brilliant webs was growing, and so too was her courage evolving. Shy and introverted (practically so, she was still smaller than the flies she lured), Ilham seldom strayed into the world beyond Zahra’s neck, but she had done so enough, to catch the interest of the perceptive filly. Though neither truly understood their unlikely romance, both felt the tightening heartstrings, as the spent every waking day together – the connection was similar to that held with Bird, and the foal quickly adopted the tiny spider into their intimate little family.
“Ilham,” Zahra trilled one morning as she and Bird lounged in a shaft of early sunlight, still deep within the forest - it was a brief reprieve in tumultuous, icy weather as the season turned evermore bitter. The spider had been named aptly by the girl, inspiration, intuition – the silken marvels she created were quite incredible, and they were rather an innovative hunting technique. “To the tree this time!” The little kitsune raised an eyelid lethargically as the voice of her sister shattered the cool silence of the forest. The filly lifted her chin in turn, gesturing towards the interwoven timber overhead, but the speck-sized spider standing upon her bunched knee dithered timidly. Each thread Ilham released, relied heavily on the wind for transport, but she had no way of explaining this fact to her eager, older-sister. Four puny eyes glanced towards the canopy overhead, but the air around them this moment was quite eerily stagnant.

There was no way.

Instead, the spider inched nearer to the descending chin of the foal, drawing all the while a thin silvery string of gossamer from her grey abdomen. The ball grew slowly, glistening in the soft light, and after an hour or so it readily attracted Zahra’s attention.

Curiously, the filly held her breath and brushed the strange bundle with her thin, careful lips – it was soft and smooth as she caressed it. Beautiful, she thought quietly. A strange yearning within compelled her to linger so near, and she began to concentrate steadily, like perhaps she had never done before; certainly she could not explain the overwhelming urge which consumed her. The silk began slowly to unwind before her eyed, to thread together with such intricacy that she almost lost her focus – at that moment the thread her mind held wavered and began to slump. Thoughts steadied promptly, and the filly’s tongue slipped out from between surrounding, clenched teeth. Even as Bird stirred concernedly from her rest, Zahra did not sway.

It took her a rather long time to create the supple white ribbon – it was only half a legs length from end to tapering end. Her skull lifted at last into the thick shadow which had long since crept across the trio’s position, and she gazed down upon the crafted item with a look of unmistakable bewilderment. So too were her sister’s amazed. Bird rose steadily to her feet (she had been watching unwaveringly, fixed to the spot), and her nose lowered towards it. The little spider returned quickly to her silken cocoon in the filly’s fine mane, confused, but equally impressed. “That’s so cool!” Zahra whispered at last, ghosting her trembling nose along the puppy’s furry back until she too was poised above the ribbon. Gently she took the end item between her lips. Swiftly she drew her skull to one side and the fabric rippled and snapped, trailing her movement. “I love it,” she hummed, eyes closed as her face hurtled then suddenly in the opposite direction.