She seemed to be alone in a strange, stark landscape, but still the ugly, gray fibers led her on. Finally, when she could hardly take another step and the great skein threatened to pull her arms from their sockets, she reached the end. She secured the web in a notch on the stick and laid it all on the ground. Then, she turned and walked away, leaving it far behind before she sank down and fell into an exhausted sleep.
Fran awoke with a start. The fire had gone out and through the smoke hole, the sky turned dull gray with the approach of dawn. Within the damp, clinging tunic, her skin felt sticky and wet. She shifted, sitting back when she found she could not move her legs. Her feet came awake with prickly agony. Slowly, she struggled up. By then, she could see streaks of rose through the
