One hundred years later. The spiders work quickly, the sound unparalleled. The ship ship slides of clawed paws on old wood floors, meanwhile. The song sound, the worthy companion & her shuffle. The spider's silent webbuilding. Across the drawing, through the air connecting candles. Down in extension of my hair. In my ear marrying music to brain. My own fur & spines distracting, my little copper spikes trailing, & I see them each as little faults mine only. I look for you all the time, o recognisers!
