Though not
intelligent enough to recognize the mantis as its mortal enemy, every
instinct it possessed warned of extreme danger.
Moving to the place on the ledge he had prepared for just such a
conflict, the Mantis dug his four hook-clawed hind legs into carefully
etched footholds in the rock. Swaying from side to side he tightened
his grip, extending his foreclaws to the limit. Then pawing the air
like a boxer, he stood ready for the spider's charge.
In a way he almost felt sorry for it. He could see that it was young
and inexperienced, and as such stood no real chance against him. But he
also knew that it was his place in Nature to kill it. There could be no
moral question here, only death for one and survival for the other. And
the Mantis had no intention of dying.
Confused and afraid the spider charged. The Mantis simply waited for it
to rush blindly into his outstretched foreclaws, then clamped down
sharply on the thorax joints of its first four legs. Holding it
securely in place, he used his superior height to bring down powerful
jaws upon its vulnerable forehead. From there it was only a matter of
ritual. The acidic saliva softened its thick outer skeleton, while the
razor-sharp triangular jaws tore away with frightening precision. The
tarantula strained mightily, but could not free itself from the
mantis' vice-like grip.
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