But now, like the mantis, who had grown of Nature's
necessity alongside it, the giant spiders were an archaic and dying
race. And though each year the gathering was larger---as if some last
instinct called all in desperation to the place of spawning---each time
the number of eggs left untouched (by the mammals which had come to prey
on them) was smaller. And without the ensuing cannibalism among the
hatchlings---out of which several hundred would be reduced to perhaps a
dozen---those that survived were more feeble, easier for both the
mantises and natural attrition to kill. An era born of the violence of
men was slowly passing.
Kalus turned without ceremony or awareness and made his way back to the
path. He climbed without feeling, or knowing where he was, and heard a
voice inside him say it was all right, he still had the woman.
Then all at once he felt the fullness of what he had learned, and knelt
down and leaned forward against the cold indifferent stone. His arm
gave his eyes no comfort.
Skither was dead.
Sylviana watched him with apprehension. She had felt an unreasoning
terror as he stood before the wounded insect; but now a fear more akin
to reality, and therefore duller and deeper, presented itself. She
could not know what was said to him, but she knew him well enough to
understand at least a part of what he was feeling.
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