Sending a command through the crook usually required a great deal of concentration. A shepherd had to clear their mind of all but the herd and the command before the order could be sent. As such he could only send a single word as a command through the crook to the herd at that time, as he was still heading forwards towards the distressed few: “Run.” And, as the light did its quick dance around his crown, and dissipated through the air and sank into the head of every one of his rams the slow forward meander of the herd became a distressed stampede back through the landscape they had walked just through, weaving around Aethel and Johnathan as the two of them made their way up and over the hill.

Johnathan zipped through with practiced ease, while Aethel stumbled along behind at such a distance where he eventually vanished through the silk strand mists and the clouds of dust kicked up by the retreating herd. He was the first to crest the hill where he had felt that the images had come from. The tail end of the herd trickled down the slope as he slowed to a stop at the windshorn top.

Five of his rams were on the ground, and on each of those was a single spider, about as large as a juvenile wolf and as black as the earth after a heavy rain. Eight onyx eyes symmetrically lined the front of their heads over a pair of fang like pincers that jutted out infront of them like two tiny legs. White streaks ran down each of their eight thick, jointed legs. A painted white wheel with four spokes coming out of a central hollow axle adorned the center of their black, carapaced backs.

Twelve similar spiders stood in a semi-circle around the five currently wrapping up Johnathan's rams with heavy strands of web. Two of them skittered through the grassafter the retreating rams. The calm, southward blowing breeze began to whirl about him, and before the spiders could vanish into the silk mists that clung to the short slope of the hill, he shot a small, concentrated ball of wind towards the two spiders. The weakly spinning ball ripped across the field taking the shards of grass it tore up as it passed through, and it zipped towards its target. The spinning wind dissipated against the first spider it ran into, like waves crashing against a stone at the Rest's lake, or rain dashing against the earth. The spider let out a shrill scream as two of its legs twisted in different directions and the segmented joints that connected them to the fat main body snapped with a loud pop that reminded him of dry bone catching in a flame. It's body continued to spin into the ground until the shattered remnants of it was buried within the upturned earth.

The other strange spider pivoted sharply, ceasings its chase of the retreating rams, skittered trhough the wind shorn grass and sprang through the air towards the shepherd. Johnathan swung his heavy headed crook downwards as it neared him. The iron head connected with a satisfying thwack, and drove the large spider back to the ground. A cloud of dust wafted from the impact and the black, armored body bounced up slightly and shuddered before it attempted to push itself up. He kicked it away from him as it reached out for his leg with its two long pincers. It leapt in the air again, and pushed its spinneret forward. A white strand of web sho tthrough the small distance between the two of them faster than Johnathan could react. It slammed into his chest with enough force to send him staggering backwards and reeling for air. It felt unpleasant to the touch, as if a piece of cloth left too long floating in a scum covered pond on a warm day smacked against his robe and sank into through the jute and into his skin through the many layers.

The webbing attached itself to his chest and draped over his right arm, somehow stretching itself all the way until it reached the ground. As soon as one of the tendrils of web touched the ground it fastened itself like an anchor and pulled him down. A numbing cold washed  through him wherever the web touched and a weariness swept through his body.

 No matter how much he struggled he couldn't tear free of the webbing that held him fast in place. Even lifting his right arm to try to rip it off of him  felt as if he were fighting through a sea of lead. All of the strength he could bring out to bare fled from his body through the white web and into the earth.

Time slowed to the speed of ice creeping across the surface of a lake during a warm winter as the injured spider pulled itself across and over his body. A crack from the impact spread out from the middle of it's back, and reached down to snake across its underside, like the shell of a cracked egg. The spider stopped its crawl right above his face —its hate filled, coal like eyes boring into him from above. The thick pincers on either side of its face parted with a sickening crick. Its jaw stretched until a small needled about twice the width of his thumb shot out; aimed at the space between his neck and left shoulder.

Reflexively, his right hand shot across his body and gripped the length of the needle before it could pierce him. A slimy ichor that coated the entirety of the needle sank between his fingers; his palm slipped against the point and stopped at the base near the creature's face. The spider pushed with all of its weight downward, and Johnathan pushed back with all the strength his waning body could muster. He grit his teeth hard enough he could hear one crack, but the needle still inched forward; now pressing against the outer layers of his robes. The pressure increased as the ichor covered needle sank through layer after layer until he could feel the oozed point against his flesh. He held his breath and pushed with the last burst of strength his body could muster, squeezing his eyes shut. All the muscles in his body flexed.

A flash of blue streaked across the darkness behind his eyelids. The spider squealed in pain, and he no longer felt its weight on him. He opened his eyes. Another flash of blue streaked across the air over him and struck the monster at his right; illiciting another pain filled shriek. A smell similar to burned hair wafted off of it and filled the air. He turned his head, and the aged, wooly face of Dolly stared back at him; her faded white, curledhorns pointing forward.

“What are you doing here, girl? I know I sent the order to you as well.”

The pregnant ewe shook her head — the vanilla wool bouncing with the movement.

“Cut the web!” A soprano warbled somewhere and every where at once.

His right hand found the dagger hooked and sheathed on his belt and drew it. The blade sliced through the webbing anchoring him to the earth just as quickly as it cut through the air. As soon as the strand was cut, the strength that had been fleeing from him returned and a renewed vigor surged through him. He sprung to his feet and put himself between the monstorus spiders and Dolly. The ewe however, bumped her head against his legs and stood beside him — her curled horns still tingling with blue sparks. The charred spider on the ground twitched, but Johnathan was quick to stomp as hard as he could on the creature's chest. The exoskeleton shattered and the large spider stopped moving. 

"Jeez, don't run too far ahead. I'm supposed to be looking after you." The voice warbled with laughter. “Are you okay?” Aethel asked as she came to a stop near the two of them. Her hood had been thrown back in the quick jaunt up the hill — the feathers on top of her head bristled, and her two sapphire eyes glaring forward. 

“I'm fine,” he said, taking a long breath, "Took your time, didn't you?" 

"Hey, I hate to admit it, but these legs can only run so fast." She said, with a sad laugh. “What are these things doing here?” She asked, turning her attention back to the spiders, “Are they normal here? I haven't heard of them being this far south.”

“What do you mean?” Johnathan asked, “Do you know what they are?”

“Mist Spinners.” She answered. “They're native to the Mistlands far in the North. According to the books I've read, at least. I wonder what these are doing here? I've never read of them migrating...”

“What's with their webs?” He asked, as he stooped down to pick up his crook from the ground. He sheathed his dagger, and held the iron-headed crook in front of him. “It felt as if I was the most tired I've ever been. Could barely lift my arms. Felt like I was about to sleep." 

“According to Aveander's Bestiary,” She began. “Mist spinners hunt by digging hidden burrows, and sending out tiny strands along the current of the air to find any approaching prey through the mana they channel through the webs. When prey comes close enough they spring up from their hidden holes and use a different type of web that pulls the target's energy to the earth. Aveander speculates that they tap into that flow of energy to refresh their mana.”

“Why aren't the others attacking?”

“They're pack hunters.” She answered, “When they have enough prey, they send out a small force to gather some more, while they leave most of their pack behind to guard the ones wrapping up their querey.”

“So they think five rams is plenty, is what you're saying...” his voice trailed off.

“Possibly. They won't attack. The ones you got was part of their off-group, I think...should we leave the five there?” She asked, turning her eyes towards the shepherd. “Maybe they'll just leave afterwards.”

“No.” He stated, “If a predator thinks your flock is an easy mark they'll come again and again. Better to deal with it at the outset.” The slowly flowing breeze began to spin around him again.

“I was afraid you'd say that.”