The Web Untangled

by Impossible Numbers

Gift of the Silken Tongue

Fluttershy hovered over her sun-topped reflection and tried not to strangle anyone.

On one side of her, Applejack stood belly-deep in the water with a lone straw jutting from her skewed lips. On the other side, the four beavers folded their forelimbs and beat their tails impatiently on the log dam.

In the privacy of her mind, Fluttershy groaned. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the day had perfect relaxation-on-the-lawn-with-classical-music weather, and she knew, just knew, that she was going to be stuck here for the next few hours instead.

“I don’t suppose,” she said, using the coaxing tones of one who knows she’s going to get a flat refusal but who is sticking to the script anyway, “you could allow them a little leeway this side of the south fields?”

“Nope,” said Applejack.

Fluttershy’s ears drooped. “That’s fine. So long as I understand your position. Uh… so your position is not going to change the teeniest tiniest itty bit at all?”

“Eeyup,” said Applejack.

So much for that side of the divide. Fluttershy turned to the beavers, who at once broke out into high-pitched chatter, fist-thumping at some points and beating their tails against the logs at others.

“But don’t you see?” she said pleadingly. “This is important land for Applejack. She needs all the fruit she can sell to look after herself and her family. Waterlogged trees die. Just because the Apples aren’t going to eat the produce themselves, doesn’t mean they can ignore all this.”

The papa beaver stuck his tongue out at her, an impressive feat considering the buck teeth in the way.

Fluttershy gasped. “Mister McGnasher! There are children here! May you be forgiven!”

Both the beaver son and the beaver daughter stuck their tongues out at her too. She threw up her hooves in despair, and then instantly wished she hadn’t.

“Fluttershy,” said Applejack, a little more kindly than before. “Ah know you’re thinking of what’s best for both of us, an’ Ah really do appreciate it. But we have this same talk over an’ over an’ over. You know they’re just doing it to annoy me now. Ah keep telling ‘em there’s some good estuaries over Everfree way, but do they listen?”

The mama beaver patted her partner on the shoulder until he leaned back, and then chattered away for a solid minute. Fluttershy could hear the level tone in her voice, and nodded at every other beaver word. Anything to encourage calmer voices.

“I understand you want what’s best for your young ones,” she said. “This is good green land, and I know there are lots of scary creatures near the Everfree forest that you don’t want your kids to run into. They deserve a safe home with plenty of food. But you have to understand Applejack’s not a bully, and she doesn’t have a grudge against you.”

“Yet,” muttered Applejack. The mama beaver narrowed her eyes.

A wavering groan rose up from the bottom of the dam. Fluttershy breathed again. Good old Grandpa Sawbones.

“Why don’t you go see what he wants,” she said, “and we’ll continue this when you get back?”

While the other beavers filed down the slope of timber, Mister McGnasher pointed at his eyes, and then pointed at Applejack. She glowered and returned the gesture, prompting from him a much less respectful gesture back. He hopped out of sight.

They always want to be enemies, Fluttershy thought sadly. If only those two knew how many things they really have in common. Stubborn pride, for a start.

“They’re not out to get you, you know,” she said once the pattering feet had died away.

“Oh, Ah see. Tryin’ to soften me up until they come back, huh?”

Fluttershy waved her forelimbs frantically. “No! Not at all! I wouldn’t do anything as sneaky as that, and you know it!”

“All right, all right. Ah’m sorry. It’s just…” Applejack looked across at the apple trees around them, all rising from the waters like swamp mangroves. “It gets so frustrating after the umpteenth time. But you gotta get ‘em off my land before you go. Just as well Ah’m staying to watch ‘em. Can you imagine what would happen if we both left with Twilight? Those pests would be scurrying back to my orchard quicker than a pig to a trough on truffle day.”

They do the same thing here they always do elsewhere, and suddenly they’re just pests!? Flickering heat bloomed behind her ribs.

Thankful for any stray rope out of this conversational rockslide, however, Fluttershy said, “Oh, you’re not going with Twilight, then? That’s interesting.”

Applejack shrugged. From one side of her mouth to the other, the straw waggled. “Not really. Ah’ve heard of what those Hair-Splitters were like from Granny Smith. She met ‘em once when she was travelling around Equestria. Creepy bunch, she said. They were so grey and dead-looking, an’ they had a weird way of staring all the time. Tweren’t natural, she said. An’ after seeing them pictures Twilight showed me” – she shuddered, gritting her teeth – “no thanks. Ah think Ah’m happier sitting this one out.”

“But they’re just normal ponies, same as the rest of us.” Embers sparked inside her chest. “That’s really unfair of you, Applejack. Just because they look a bit different.”

“Ah don’t say you’re wrong. It’s just… well, Ah can’t help it. Ah look at them pictures alone, and, well… ugh!” Another shudder, another round of gritted teeth. “Gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

Despite the flames starting to build up within her heart, Fluttershy felt a countervailing wind of sense push its way through. She’d seen the pictures herself, held up in Spike’s claws after he’d belched them out of his dragon fire. Since Twilight had never met a Hair-Splitter, the pictures were meant to give her an idea of what to expect.

Even in inky prints, the pupil-less stares had made her squirm a little. Almost as much as she’d squirmed seeing the two-thousand-page tome they called a book of etiquette. At least the book could be closed and ignored; presumably, the real ponies would object to such behaviour.

Still, ponies are ponies, no matter how creepy.

“You’re always willing to help ponies out, come rain or shine,” she said, stoking up the fires. “I’ve never seen anything stop you from doing what you thought was right by your friends.”

“Don’t you try an’ shame me into doing it! Ah said no, an’ Ah mean no!” Applejack bit her tongue, yelped, and more calmly continued, “You’re right, you’re right. Ah know it makes no sense. You’re not wrong, exactly. It jus’ ain’t something sensible, that’s all. It’s down to feelings. Ah jus’ don’t wanna do it.”

“I wasn’t trying to shame you into doing anything,” said Fluttershy, but she folded her forelimbs and pressed them against her barrel as though to hold back the heat. “I just wish Twilight and Spike weren’t going by themselves. No one seems keen to join them.”

“Ain’t you joining ‘em, then? Sounds like your mug of cider, if you ask me.”

“Er…” The words smothered her little fire altogether. “Well… I, uh… I don’t know… I mean, if I thought I could help in any way…”

“Well, it is a negotiation.” Applejack gave her a knowing smirk. “Thought you’d be all for that, soft-heart that you are.”

Fluttershy frowned at the dam. “Point taken, but there’s no need to rub it in.”

“Sorry. Well, Ah won’t hold nothing against you. You don’t wanna do it, that’s fair. Ah understand.”

I do wanna do it.

Fluttershy shushed the treacherous thought, but then saw its expression and gave in.

I’m just not sure I can, though. All those books are too much, and then I’d have to make sure I could remember every little thing, or else they’d tear me apart. Well, not literally, but the other way’s no fun either. At least, I hope it’s not literally. It isn’t literally, is it?

“How did the Hair-Splitters last this long anyway?” she murmured to herself. “They’re so picky. Someone would’ve angered them by now, right?”

Shouldn’t I at least try? The others must be worrying about Twilight and Spike too. Twilight must be worrying about Spike. Spike’s definitely worrying about her. What if she breaks under all the pressure? She explodes whenever she gets a test like this. What if she implodes instead this one time? Spike can’t look after her alone. He smells of fear too. Who’s going to look after him?

She realized Applejack had stopped talking. “I’m sorry?”

“Ah said: from what Ah heard, all the political types in Equestria take turns appeasing ‘em. Stops us ponies cracking under the nitpicky pressure. That’s what Spike told me, anyway. Ah guess Twilight drew the short straw this time. Anyway, the Hair-Splitters just find all the little mistakes funny in a smug way, Ah guess. Even the best negotiators can’t be perfect.”

Behind Fluttershy, the patter of feet faded into being, accompanied by beavery sniggers and snide comments that burned her ears. Once more, Applejack’s jaw stiffened.

“Welp,” she said, “hope you’re ready for round two. Those fuzzballs ain’t gonna give an’ inch if you coddle ‘em.”

Fluttershy forced a smile onto her face, but in her mind’s eye she was banging their heads together with a scream. Another deep breath. Relax. You can do this…

“I don’t suppose…” she began.

“Nope,” said Applejack, frown scarring her face with slashes of dark shadow.

“All right.” She turned to the beaver family’s glares instead, and suppressed a weary sigh. “Let’s try this one more time…”

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The centre of the cottage’s den was clear. Around the skirting board, across the sofa, atop the tables and chairs, and on the ceiling, spiders encircled the impromptu arena. All eyes focused on the space. Occasionally, a pair of fangs munched on spider treats.

Scorpions, whip spiders, vinegaroons, and other unusual creatures gathered with the desert spiders on the windowsill. In spite of their stingers, pincers, and strange claw-like pedipalps, they managed to blend in with the eight-legged menagerie anyway. Fluttershy glanced across, but struggled to pick them out.

She stood within one half of the circle, legs stiff, fighting the prickle of embarrassment down her spine.

Tarantulas guarded the front row. When a neighbouring nurse spider adjusted the yellow egg sac on her abdomen, one tarantula rounded on her until she stopped fidgeting. Fluttershy wished they didn’t. It was all very well keeping things civilized, but they looked too much like big bullies at times.

Overhead, the ceiling was one sagging cobweb, looking less like a normal spider’s web and more like a scraggly grey tent. The vague outline of the lamp pressed down on the middle. Red social spiders ushered a few stragglers into the spider equivalent of seats, accepting grains in return.

Sometimes they learn a bit too much from ponies, she thought grimly. Social spiders always did things like that. She guessed it was civilization-envy.

“Do you all have to watch?” she whispered. “It’s… really nothing interesting.”

Not a leg twitched in the place. Her few hopes fell apart under all the stares.

“Forget I said anything,” she mumbled.

The lone jumping spider stood within the other half of the circle, back to the open doors of the front of the cottage. Its legs were also stiff. With little hope, Fluttershy wondered if this one was getting stage fright too. At least she was only being judged by thousands if not millions of tiny, thinking, silent minds that would remember her smallest gaffes for days and days and days –

She shook her head, almost smacking her muzzle with her pink locks, and held her breath.

The jumping spider raised his pedipalps. Even the slight crunching of grains stopped for a moment.

Fluttershy raised her wings. After a few seconds, she curled them forwards in a better imitation of her little tutor.

Please don’t be too hard, please don’t be too hard, please don’t be too hard. Dozens of possibilities switched back and forth in her mind. Her pectoral wing muscles twitched like a jumpy racer before the flag.

The jumping spider began.

Where the pedipalps had been raised, now there was a dark blur. Narrowing her eyes, Fluttershy could focus on the shaking appendages, the way their shaking kept within a tight range while the whole thing eased down and then eased up, ebbing and flowing as floats on an invisible wave. Flicking her focus to the front four legs, she noticed a slight tapping, a punctuation code marking the bars of the arachnid’s silent melody.

After a few seconds, it stopped. Both pedipalps remained poised. With the barest of shuffling, all eyes were turned towards her.

OK, OK… She chewed her lip. So the first part was “Hello, I have tasty treats, please don’t eat my face.” Well, that’s straightforward Spider. Which means the correct response is… uh… Oh yes, of course.

A few breaths were all she needed. It didn’t help she was a weak flyer anyway, but her heart was going to be in for a rough ride.

Her first few flaps shook the webbing overhead, and she stopped at once. The second time, she barely twitched the tip of each alula. Afterwards, she closed her eyes and forced each front to shiver.

That’s it. A grin stretched itself across her face, but she finally pushed it down. She remembered just in time to stare back at the little tutor watching her. Eye contact was key.

Fluttershy’s quivering wings burned at once. Gritting her teeth, she found the right amount of shake and then, once sure they weren’t going to flap or stiffen, she eased them up and down, bobbing one moment, jerking back and forth the next. Both shoulders scraped and stung. Her legs and neck were stiff with concentration. Only in time did she remember to raise and lower her forelegs, and then she felt her wings stop when the messages got tangled on the way to her muscles.

Seconds squeezed her withers and wings until she thought her heartbeat was about to explode, sweat clung to her legs, and she groaned and finally flexed the last punctuation mark and let herself flop where she stood.

Hopefully, she’d just said, “Treat is nice, I am not going to eat your face, please be friends.”

How… do they… do it? she wondered between the panting. Cramp squeezed down to her wing bones. Can I even fly again after this?

Why is he still staring at me? I didn’t get it wrong, did I? Wait, did I say “be friends” or “is friend”? Oh, dear.

To her relief, the jumping spider spread his forelimbs wide and lowered his front. A spider nod.

All together, the spiders around the room drummed their forelegs and clicked their mandibles in what she inferred was polite applause. In turn, she spread her forelimbs and bowed her front to the left side, and then again to the right side.

“You’re very sweet,” she said, smiling. “It’s a bit exhausting, but I’ll get there.”

From the front door onwards, the circle flowed and collapsed. Spiders streamed away and piled up behind her. On the floor, the jumping spider spun around and twitched its fangs.

A silhouette stood in the doorway. Its eight legs gleamed dark blue.

Crab spiders dived into flowerheads and closed the petals after themselves. As one, the spitting spiders on the table did something that, one year ago, she’d very patiently if wearily taught them not to do. Even the tarantulas burst out of their skins and scuttled away, leaving scraps flapping in the wake of running legs.

“You!” Fluttershy gaped at it.

The funnel-web spider glowed with the sunlight framing its glossy back, but the dark patches beneath darkened further to create an even stronger contrast. Hairy legs eased into a comfortable position. Unlike the scissor-shaped mandibles of the other spiders, this one’s flexed and curled up and down, curved fangs slicing as claws.

One drop of black liquid ran along the tip.

Fluttershy’s ears sagged. Unfortunately, she was aware of the huddle of spiders shivering behind her. All eyes were on her. Feeling a million stares burning the skin, her ears erected themselves in a futile attempt at looking stiff and unwavering. If only they didn’t shiver so much.

“I told you last time,” she said warningly. “No! You don’t behave nicely like the others. I want you to leave us alone now.”

The funnel-web did not move.

“You heard me! This is supposed to be Special Spider Time. You get along in my house or you’re not allowed in.”

In defiance, the funnel-web took a few steps forwards.

Frantically, she tried to memorize the insides of her store cupboard. What if it bites someone? Did I remember to buy the anti-venom this year? I know I’ve still got last year’s, but I don’t remember the expiration date. And what if it doesn’t leave this time?

“Well…” she said. “I suppose…”

Suppose what? I made it very clear that he couldn’t come back. What if I go back on my promise? No one would take me seriously again. And then they could come back at any other time.

Dark, terrifying fascination drew her gaze to the drop still quivering on its fang.

The jumping spider alone hadn’t moved. Now it zipped forwards, waving its pedipalps barely inches in front of the newcomer. Fluttershy noticed three scorpions scuttle past, with stingers raised, to support it.

At once, the funnel-web reared up. Four legs poised to crash back down. Fangs waited to strike. The scorpions froze in mid-scuttle, and the jumping spider hopped out of reach before the eight dark blue legs leaped forwards and the poison splattered around the wood.

“NO YOU DON’T!”

It backed off. Fluttershy stood above the jumping spider, all four legs caging it in. Both dots in the wood sizzled slightly, but she kept her glare up and focused on the eight dark blue legs braced inches before her nose.

“How dare you try anything so mean-spirited! You think you can come right into my house, bold as anything, showing off and bullying my guests, just because you can kill a pony with one bite? I am so sick and tired of bullies like you intimidating good and friendly creatures who only want a chance to be themselves in peace. Now I don’t care if you think you’re bigger than them or are better than them or could bite my nose right now and try and poison me. You have no right whatsoever to act so disgracefully!”

Up close, she could count the hairs on its abdomen. They always said in her books that funnel-webs were among the most primitive spiders, but then she remembered the tarantulas carrying food, and even the distant scorpions rushing forwards, and she, if anything, pressed her glare closer to the raised fangs.

“Now you can go home right now,” she spat. “And you just think about what you’ve done. There’s no excuse for what you just tried, and you know you shouldn’t have even thought it.”

Finally, after a staring match that made her eyes water and made the water evaporate in the crossfire, the funnel-web lowered its front. Dark blue legs curled up. She recognized the spider’s body language.

“Yes, you should be ashamed of yourself,” she continued, but now she softened her tone to a whisper. “Now, maybe one day you’ll learn good manners and proper respect, and maybe if you’re good and make it up to my friends, we’ll let you join in. Until then, I want you to take your punishment like a mature little spider and leave now. It’s always good to understand right and wrong, and how you can do better next time. Is that OK?”

Feebly, two dark blue pedipalps waved.

“Good. Now will you please leave?”

Dragging its front half along the floorboards, the funnel-web stretched its rear legs back and pulled. The scraping stopped, but it refused to take its eyes off her glare. Only once it had inched past the welcome mat did it turn tail and scuttle away.

She didn’t dare relax until the silhouette vanished down the path and out of sight. Behind her, another round of arachnid applause broke out. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she flapped up and hovered over the jumping spider, which waved its thanks.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said, “but it needed saying. It’s species like that funnel-web that give spiders a bad name.”

Slowly, the tarantulas ventured outside, and a few minutes later the swarms were munching and crunching again. Fluttershy watched as a pile of treats were gently lowered onto the floor, beneath her dangling tail, as an offering. If only they understood, she thought.

“Sorry,” she said. “Ponies don’t eat that. It’s special food, and all for you. Ponies eat special pony food instead. But you’re welcome to share it with my new guests today before they go back to the zoo. Everyone has their own needs and wants. The important thing is that you get yours.”

While the pile disintegrated and the grains spread out among the carpet of scurrying legs, Fluttershy found her gaze drawn to the open door. Beyond the trickling stream and the winding path amid the greenery, the sky dimmed under a jade tinge.

Perhaps one more try couldn’t hurt, she thought. There’s still time.

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