Spritelings Chapter 01

BIG MOVE LOUD FAST. COMING.

A spider uses its own heart rate to control the hydrostatic pressure. Fluid pressure determines the speed of the reaction. With a speed and pressure of 1380 pascals, Nemma leaps.

AWAY!!

Nemma lands and scurries to the nearest cover, a large upturned root, hidden but for a small silk tether clinging to the stump.

The beetle jumps at the sound of Mara's impact. They turn to look where their spider friend jumped to, but too late. It seems, to the beetle, that Nemma has disappeared.

"Hello?" the beetle calls out, "Nemma?"

She alights softly, the last yard of fall seeming especially drawn out "I wasn't expecting that approach but it was certainly faster, that stone body is the genuine article. I don't suppose I could get you to draw a map of what we saw for these two since you have more in the way of claws to work with than I do? "

The last note is accompanied by an enthusiastic nod of the head, paused until the note fades away, waited a little, waited a little more, looked around irritatedly and then realised that no one else is up here!

Then Smaugalir makes his way down. Carefully jumping from branch to lower branch, occasionally jumping to a second branch, but never more than that, so that the thin, long legs don't have to bear too much weight.

Despite the good ankle joints, fine for jumping, this is a laborious and slow way to get back down the tree and takes time. It's a pity that the wings are only good for making music and not for flying.

Mara picks themselves up, dusts themselves off, and finds a branch in order to sketch a map in the dirt.

"I'll do my best. One of the rivers went a bit like this into the marsh... and there were mountains way up north, at least two really tall ones..."

The geography is basically correct, but the artistry is as absent as the portability.

"Oh, big guy! I'm Mara by the way. Who's Nemma?"

New word. Mara. Bad word for stupid thing.

Unfair. Word did nothing wrong.

Nemma thinks of scuttling off into the dark roots, burrowing far away from loud things. But she hears scritching in the dirt, feels vibrations in the ground. When she pokes her head out, she can see the fallen one (not dead?) drawing in the dirt. And it looks terrible.

Nemma scuttles back up the tether, giving Mara four stink-eyes (the other four still on the skies, not stupid like Mara-thing and not care. Careless). At least other things are more sensible, moving slow and predictable. Nemma doesn't sense danger, but that doesn't mean it's not there. However, the drawing. The drawing is WRONG.

The spider begins weaving, beginning with an image of a large tree, a stump, and what looks like a squashed marten. It is very dead.

The beetle covers their eyes, shaking. This is a new fear, unfamiliar, but innately understandable. Social anxiety. The spritelings are being awkward with each other.

"Um..." But that's all the beetle can croak out before their anxiety seizes their voicebox.

The snake approaches the giant beetle and addresses them "We could approach the calamities immediately, but I've been thinking that perhaps they're far enough away that it might be necessary to build up supplies of things like food first. What do you think?"

"Food?" And the beetle's stomach roars.

"I like food! We can get food! Yes!"

The beetle begins scanning the area with their eyes, as if food might already be here, waiting to be uncovered.

The area is not the most abundant. The dead trees bear no fruit, even before accounting for winter barely being over. There do seem to be a few rooty plants to be dug up here and there, but nothing too fancy. With the right knowledge, one might be able to pick some mushrooms, though one should probably be careful to stay away from the Elder Mushroom Ring.

The river though does look more promising, as occasionally a fish can be seen hopping out of the rapid waters. And perhaps the lands beyond the island might provide more opportunity to hunt and gather.

Once on the ground, looking around, Smaugalir notices a certain excitement, a readiness to set off. The direction is still uncertain, it seems.

"Where shall we go?" the spiritling asks. In stag beetle, but with a peculiar softness in the final consonants.

"The hills look interesting to me, but perhaps there is a practical argument for a direction?"

"Um...maybe, we go towards hills, and try to find food? Good food, lots of food... And the beetle zones out, drooling, thinking of delicious snacks.

"I have no idea how we're going to get across the water. Does anyone else feel that?"

With a casual gesture, Smaugalir shows complete ignorance, so the others would have to know.

"I could glide over it, but that doesn't necessarily help the rest of you. Those branches extend pretty far and we also should go see how deep the river is. If nothing else, maybe we could do something with the small trees."

The beetle snaps back to attention. "Oh! Um, do you think the trees are long enough for a bridge? Maybe I could knock one down! Ooo, what if we tied to trees together! With, um..."

The beetle turns to look at Nemma's image. It's very pretty, ignoring the subject matter. But more importantly, it's fashioned out of a sticky thread.

"Um, Nemma, do you want to, um, tie some stuff together with me? As friends? I-I mean, um, coworkers? Unless you want to be friends?" Then, to no one in particular: "I like friends."

The snake goes to the river to inspect its depth and speed of current

The nearest riverbank is perhaps a hundred yards away from where you all have awoken. The river has varying width, perhaps 10-20 yards at the narrowest sections. The flow speed is a bit over two yards per second in the normal sections, going up to perhaps five or more in the narrowest sections, and slower in the wider sections. Its water is cold, with remains of ice still clinging to the banks, but apparently soon to break off and be carried away and melt thanks to the efforts of the spring sun and the current.

Nemma's chelicidae rub together as she ponders the deluge of words.

Friend is hardly a new word, rather one with many definitions, many reflections, many memories attached. A few spider species work together and experience sociality, building massive webs, raising young together, and perhaps most pertinently, banding together to swim across water.

Memories of working with other species is rarer, but still there. It takes some unearthing to bring it up through the layers and strata of solitude, of prey and predator, but finally it is dragged into the light. Other creatures can be.... useful.

They want to tie things together. Useful. Smart. Maybe not "friend", but close enough.

Nemma doesn't respond to this part, some part of her knows not to clarify the difference in meaning. Instead, she abandons her weaving of an increasingly realistic depiction of a thoroughly desecrated marten corpse and crawls to the nearest tree trunk.

"Tie!" she says with sincere enthusiasm, wrapping thread around the tree. Both the bull beetle and the stupid marten seem substantial. Many threads will be needed. Also, someone will need to take the thread to the other side. Or throw Nemma and her attached thread to the other side.

Nemma decides not to mention this.

Balancing on long legs, Smaugalir looks between the artful webs, the other spiritlings and the area towards the river.

"How is this bridge to be built? Does anyone have experience with such large and sturdy objects? After all, we are very different in size and footing."