She Spins.

She lies in wait, a solitary sentinel upon this web she has woven. For hours she has spun, carefully, deliberately, weaving patterns learned by instinct and millions of years of evolution to craft the perfect trap for her unsuspecting prey.

They admire these patterns, even as they fear her. Beautiful, mathematical. Her bulbous body a sight to behold, motionless in the centre of the web hung by delicate threads. Waiting for its vibrations to tell her when she has ensnared her next victim.

She takes her time. She can afford to. Once the trap is sprung there is no escape. The fat wasp struggles to free itself, its wings buzzing angrily in increasing panic, but it only succeeds in winding the sticky threads tighter.

When it has reached the point of exhaustion, that’s when she moves in. Her powerful jaws work swiftly to deliver the paralysing venom and she doesn’t waste time, wrapping, mummifying the still-struggling body until it twitches no more, and she can feast.

Sated, she can now conserve her energy. The ground is littered with the husks of her kills. She is a deadly empress ruling over her domain.

But her rule here is fragile. It doesn’t take much to destroy her kingdom when bigger and more deadly creatures walk the earth. One snap of a wispy thread and her whole palace comes tumbling down, her work in ruins. No matter. She spins and spins again.